"Of pleasures, those which occur most rarely give the greatest pleasure."—Epictetus.
Dr. Luttrell's fit of pessimism did not last long. The very next day he had a sharp twinge of remorse, when he went round to Galvaston House to take leave of his patient, and Mr. Gaythorne put a slip of folded paper in his hand.
"I am an old man," he said,—and his thin fingers held the young doctor's hand in a firm grasp,—"and I am using an old man's privilege. I know what a hard, up-hill fight life is at present to you, and I should like to ease the burden a little," and to Marcus's intense and overwhelming surprise he found it was a cheque for five hundred pounds.
Marcus never could remember what he said, but his first attempt to stammer a few words of gratitude for this unexpected and magnificent gift was promptly checked.
"It is all very well," observed Alwyn rather gloomily when Olivia told him of his father's munificence. She had shed tears of joy when Marcus had shown her the cheque.
"My father has settled up accounts with Dr. Luttrell after his own fashion, but he has not paid my debts." And then in a deeply moved voice, "There are some debts that cannot be paid. 'I was a stranger and ye took me in.' How many doors do you suppose, Mrs. Luttrell, would have opened to a starving outcast that Christmas night?" and then his blue eyes flashed with an expression of intense feeling that became him well.
"I shall never be able to repay either of you. I shall never try," he went on. "Do you know, as I lay on that doorstep too weak and stiff to move, and the doctor bent over me, it seemed to me, in my dazed condition, as though it were the face of a beneficent angel. God bless you both, for you have made a man of me." And then he lifted the kind, womanly hand to his lips.
Olivia missed her friends at Galvaston House, sorely, but she had more time to devote to Greta.
One day they had a pleasant outing together. Greta, who still hankered after her old home, had proposed that she and Olivia should go down to Medhurst together.
"It is only an hour's journey," she observed, "And there is a dear old inn where we could have tea. And just now it will be at its best. The horse-chestnuts will be out in the Grange garden, and the pink and white may at Ivy Dene." And Olivia consented readily. But though she thoroughly enjoyed the little expedition, and fell in love with Medhurst and the old church, the longed-for visit was only productive of disappointment to Greta.
Ivy Dene, in Olivia's eyes, was not a desirable abode. The rooms were low and cramped, and had a mouldy, disused smell in them. Even the little three-cornered drawing-room with the bay-window overlooking the village green and the elm-tree did not please her. The solitary old man in a smock-frock, with a red handkerchief knotted loosely round his lean old throat, might be a picturesque object in the distance, but on wet days she fancied even the green might be a dreary outlook. As they sat over their tea in the little inn parlour she gave her opinion in her usual downright fashion.
"Dear Greta," she said, "I do not advise your taking this step. Ivy Dene Lodge would want a good deal of money spent on it to make it decently habitable. And even if it were painted and papered from garret to basement it would never be a really comfortable house. All those small rooms opening into each other are so inconvenient. And then it is damp. I am sure Marcus would say so; and then I am certain you would be moped to death. There are no young people at the Grange. Only that stout, middle-aged couple we met in the pony-carriage, and the vicar is old and a widower. I do think it would be terribly dull for you." And Greta owned rather regretfully that her friend was right.
Her poor little air-castles had crumbled into nothingness. Her longings for the sweet country air and rustic quiet were doomed to be frustrated. In her heart she felt that Olivia was wise. A solitary life at Ivy Dene would hardly content her. And after all was she so ready to leave Brompton? She had found friends there—real friends—the Luttrells and Mrs. Broderick and the Gaythornes, and though she still felt terribly lonely in her big house, perhaps it would be better for her to wait a little.
"I suppose I should feel rather like a ghost if I tried to settle here," she said, presently. "I do not think so badly of poor little Ivy Dene as you do. It would be quite large enough for me, but somehow Medhurst itself seems changed."
After tea they walked to the Grange, and asked leave to go into the garden, and Greta showed her friend the lime walk, and the orchard and the big elm-tree where they had swung their hammock.
"I think it looks just as lovely as it did in the old days," she said as they paced down the smooth velvety lawn. And even Olivia allowed that the Grange had not disappointed her. It was a fine, picturesque-looking house, and as they passed to the front, she had a glimpse of a handsome hall panelled in oak. "If you could only live at the Grange," she said, and Greta smiled.
Mrs. Broderick told her niece that she was growing very gay and worldly. Actually Marcus had taken her and Greta to the Royal Academy one afternoon, and they had sat in the Park afterwards. And Olivia in her new spring dress and hat had looked the embodiment of youth and freshness, and another afternoon they had gone to St. James's Hall to hear Sarasate.
"Livy has had more work than play. I mean her to enjoy herself a little," he said when Aunt Madge accused him playfully of spoiling his wife, but Olivia refused to endorse this.
"No one could be happier," she told herself day after day. Marcus's practice was certainly improving, and he was getting very intimate, too, with Dr. Bevan, and it was already settled between them that he should look after Dr. Bevan's patients while he was away in August.
Dr. Bevan had an extensive practice and was not young, and Dr. Luttrell suspected that he would soon take a partner. He had complained more than once lately that he was sadly overworked, but Marcus never could be sure if these hints were intentionally dropped. To be Dr. Bevan's partner would be the acme of his ambition, but in that case a good house would be absolutely necessary.
Olivia had only been joking when she had made the observation. She had no idea that Marcus even entertained such an idea for a moment, but Marcus, who had his foot on the first rung of the ladder, was eager to climb. All his spare time was spent in study. He still went to the Models, to gain experience he would say, but in reality because the people loved to have him, and because it gratified his organ of benevolence.
As the summer wore on the weather became exceedingly hot and oppressive, and Greta, who had taken a small house at Eastbourne for July and August, insisted on carrying off Olivia and Dot for the first month.
"It would be doing me the greatest kindness," she said almost tearfully as she gave the invitation, "for how could I enjoy anything alone? Dr. Luttrell has promised to run down from Saturday to Monday, and perhaps we could even induce him to stay longer, and it would do Dot so much good." And it was this last consideration that had the greatest weight with Olivia.
"But oh, Marcus! how am I to leave you?" she began in rather a dismal voice. But Marcus soon proved to her that he was only too willing to part with her.
"My good child," he said, "the idea of your hesitating for a moment. Miss Williams is behaving like a brick, and she had planned it all beforehand, too. Do you suppose she would have taken a house, if she had not meant you and Dot to go too?"
"But, Marcus," she pleaded, "I do not really need the change; you only said yourself the other day that I had never looked so well."
"Yes, and Eastbourne will enable you to keep well," he returned, cheerfully. "Think of a month of sea breezes; does not your maternal heart swell at the idea of Dot in a big sun-bonnet, stumping over the beach with her spade and bucket? Why, you and Miss Williams will be as happy as the day is long."
"Oh, no; not without you, Marcus," returned Olivia, tenderly. "Do you think any enjoyment would be perfect without my husband?" But as Marcus quietly reasoned with her, she yielded at last with a good grace.
"I could not well refuse, Aunt Madge, could I?" she said to her usual confidante, "when Greta wanted me so; and then it will do baby so much good. Marcus declares that Martha will manage all right, and that he will not be dull; and he has promised to spend a whole week with us if he can. And really, it is so very, very kind of Greta, and she is so happy about our coming."
"You are a wise woman, Livy," replied Aunt Madge. "And I am proud of you, and so is Marcus, for we both of us know you are making a brave effort. Deb shall give Martha a helping hand, now and then, when I can spare her. And Marcus has promised to have a cup of tea and chat with me sometimes on his way home from the Models. By-the-bye, when do Mr. Gaythorne and Mr. Alwyn return?" But Olivia could not answer this question.
Galvaston House would not be ready for them until the end of July. She knew that in his last letter to Marcus, Alwyn had spoken of their going on to Scarborough. He had given a good account of his father, he was less feeble and walked better; but Bournemouth was too relaxing, and they both felt the need of more bracing air.
"I shall keep him away until September, unless he turns restless," he had finished, and Marcus had strongly commended this.
Greta sometimes heard from Alwyn. He wrote to her from time to time, and she would read his letters to Olivia.
The house that she had taken at Eastbourne was charmingly situated. From the windows they had a view of the sea, and Beachy Head in the distance. Marcus took them down and settled them in, and after the first few days Olivia got over her homesickness and thoroughly enjoyed her life.
In the mornings they were always on the beach with Dot, either reading or working, or watching the happy groups of children.
In the afternoons and evenings they either drove or walked over the downs. Greta, who was resolved to spare no expense, had hired a pretty little victoria for the month.
When Marcus came down for his promised week, he spent most of his time boating, and one or two days they went out in a sailing-boat and carried their luncheon with them. Both Greta and Olive proved themselves good sailors.
Greta had entreated her friend to prolong her visit, but Olivia would not hear of this.
"Martha had been left long enough," she said, decidedly, and she could not remain away from Marcus any longer. And Marcus was too glad to get his bright companion back to say a dissenting word.
"Oh, Aunt Madge, I have had such a splendid time," were Olivia's first words when she went round to Mayfield Villas on the morning after her return. "Greta has been such a dear, she has thoroughly spoilt me; but the loveliest time of all was the week Marcus spent with us."
"You look the very essence of a sunbeam, Livy," returned Mrs. Broderick, with an admiring look; "but what a nut-brown mayde you have become. Well, was Marcus pleased to get his wife and child back?" And then Olivia smiled happily, for only she knew how she had been missed.
Dr. Bevan left town early in August and Dr. Luttrell took up his position aslocum tenens, and in spite of the emptiness of London found plenty of work.
Sometimes, as Olivia walked in the direction of Brunswick Place with Dot toddling beside her, the victoria with its bay horses would pass her. How Olivia would dimple with amusement as Marcus gravely lifted his hat to her.
Ever after a victoria with bay horses figured in Olivia'schâteaux d'espagne.
Greta complained bitterly of her dullness when her friends had left. "Eastbourne has lost its charms," she wrote, "and the crowds of people on the Parade only make me feel more lonely. If it were not for fear of Dr. Luttrell, I should come back to Brunswick Place at once, but I dare not run the gauntlet of his sarcasms.
"My one amusement is making smocks for Dot. I have finished the pale blue one and it looks lovely, and now I have begun a cream-coloured one; in spite of your stuck-up pride, Olive, you cannot prevent me from working for my darling Dot."
This reproachful sentence was the outcome of a hot argument.
Greta had tried in her affectionate way to lavish gifts upon her friend, but Olivia had steadily refused to allow this.
"No, Greta," she had said, "you do far too much for me already. I have been treated like a princess for a whole month, but I will not have presents heaped on me. Even poor people have their feelings, you know, and rich people must respect them." But this dignified speech made no impression on Greta.
"You may call it proper pride," she said, contemptuously, "but I call it selfishness, for you are just depriving me of my greatest pleasure. Well, if you choose to be stiff and obstinate you must have your way, but you cannot hinder me from finishing those smocks." And Olivia, who was full of admiration for Greta's exquisite smocking, announced graciously that the smocks were to be the exception.
"I was obliged to put my foot down, Marcus," she said afterwards, "or she would have bought everything I admired. Perhaps I am proud, but no one but my husband or Aunt Madge shall buy my frocks." And as Olivia said this she held up her head, and looked so dignified and handsome that Marcus refrained from teasing her. Evidently such pride was no fault in his eyes, and it was certain that he very much enjoyed choosing his wife's gowns.
Greta was the first to return. The Gaythornes stayed away until the middle of September.
When Alwyn paid his first visit, Olivia was rejoiced to see the improvement in him. He had gained weight and flesh, and looked very handsome; but Marcus was less satisfied with Mr. Gaythorne.
"He is an old man before his time," he observed. "I am afraid he will never throw off his invalid habits now. He can just potter about in the sunshine and amuse himself with his flowers and museum, but he will never be capable of work again. The least effort to concentrate his thoughts for more than a few minutes seems to irritate his brain. Nothing pleases him better than to creep up to the grand new studio and watch Alwyn at his work.
"'I shall be proud of him yet,' he said that to me yesterday, and if you had seen his face, Livy, when he said it!"
"Of all the paths that lead to a woman's lovePity's the straightest."—Beaumont and Fletcher.
One afternoon in October Olivia sat at her work in the front parlour. She was expecting Greta to join her, and more than once she had looked at the clock on the mantelpiece as though wondering at her lateness.
The folding-doors were open; the young couple had taken advantage of their improved circumstances to add to their scanty stock of furniture. The dining-table and mahogany chairs bought second-hand in Dr. Luttrell's bachelor days and the small, ugly chiffonier had been moved into the smaller and duller back room, and the front parlour had been transformed into a dainty sitting-room. Greta's skilful fingers and good taste had been placed at her friend's service. To gratify Marcus's love of comfort two really handsome saddle-back chairs were beside the fireplace, and a little round table occupied the centre of the room. A second-hand writing-table with drawers had been picked up in the city as a great bargain and appropriated for Marcus's use. Over it hung the sketch of Dot and the kitten, long ago presented by the grateful artist. The pretty blue carpet and curtains gave an air of finish.
By Marcus's desire the folding-doors were always kept open, and Olivia no longer felt herself stifled for want of air. This afternoon the little sitting-room looked at its best. A bowl of dark-red cactus dahlias stood on the table, an offering from Alwyn, and a magnificentLilium auratum, a gift from Greta, blocked up the dining-room window.
When the door-bell rang Olivia laid down her work with a pleased smile, and the next moment Greta entered the room.
"How late you are, you naughty girl," she said, kissing her affectionately. "I have been sewing for the last hour."
"Yes, I know; something unforeseen detained me," and then Greta dropped her eyes in sudden embarrassment and blushed. "Oh, Olive dear, can you guess what I have to tell you this afternoon?" and then Olivia looked at her steadily.
"Do you mean," she began, anxiously—but Greta, blushing still more rosily, interrupted her, "Yes, I do mean it; and, Olive, dear friend, truest of friends, you must congratulate me, for I am so happy."
"You take my breath away, Greta. Are you and Alwyn actually engaged?"
"Yes, dear, we settled it this afternoon; but, of course—of course, I have known for weeks what he meant and wished. He has gone round now to tell his father, and will be here presently. Dear Olive, why are you so silent? Are you not glad about this?"
"I am glad that anything should make you happy," returned Olivia, gently. "And you know how deeply interested I am in your and Alwyn's welfare. But forgive me, Greta, if I ask one question. Are you sure, are you perfectly sure, that this step will be for your happiness——"
Then Greta looked at her in surprise, and there was a reproachful expression in her grey eyes.
"Sure! when I have loved him all these months. My dear Olive, what can you mean? Alwyn is the only man I could ever marry."
"Oh, how it relieves me to hear you say that Dear Greta, I am so fond of you both. Alwyn is charming; but until you said that I was afraid to congratulate you. You know my views on this subject, dear. Do you remember how we talked on the beach at Eastbourne? I am afraid that more than once I made you a little sad; but I was thinking of this. I knew then in my own mind that Alwyn had begun to care for you, and I wanted you to have plenty of time for consideration."
"Oh, yes; you made your meaning clear to me even then," returned Greta, smiling; "but, indeed, no consideration was necessary. When Alwyn came to me and said quite simply that he loved me and wanted me to be his wife, I just put my hand in his without a word. It almost shocked me to see his gratitude. He kept saying over and over again that he was not worthy of me; that he knew he had done nothing to win my respect, and I should not be able to look up to him. Oh, Olive, he quite broke down when he said this, but I soon comforted him. 'I only remember two things,' I said to him,—'that you love me, and that you need me.' And after that we understood each other."
"Dearest Greta. Aunt Madge was right when she told me that you were born into the world to be somebody's crutch."
"Did she say that?" and Greta's eyes had a dreamy look in them; "but I tell Alwyn that I mean to lean on him. Indeed, Olive, you must not undervalue him. Alwyn is stronger than you think. He has repented truly and deeply of all his boyish mistakes, and those who love him should utterly and for ever wipe out the record of his past. See how devotedly his father loves him; his forgiveness was absolute."
"Dear, you need not say any more;" and Olivia embraced her with tears in her eyes. "I can only wish you all the happiness you deserve."
"In that case my happiness would be little enough; but, of course, I know what you mean. And, Olive, for the first time in my life I can say with truth that I have found my vocation. It will be such a privilege to be allowed to take care of Alwyn; he is far from strong, and he will need care for a long time. I wonder if you know the feeling I have about that? With Dr. Luttrell you cannot have had it. You have never been anxious about him; and then he has always taken care of you. But I shall always have to think for Alwyn."
"Oh, you are right there!"
"We shall think for each other," she went on, fearing that she had admitted too much. "And there is one thing of which I am certain that I shall have every right to be proud of him. Do you know what his father says? that he has genius, unmistakable genius, and he is no mean judge. 'Mark my words, he will be an R.A. yet;' he only said that to me a few days ago."
"Marcus thinks the same; but, Greta, there is one thing: if you marry Alwyn, you will have to take his father too; you can never separate them."
"Those were Alwyn's very words," returned Greta, with a soft flush which made her look years younger; "but, indeed, I love him already for Alwyn's sake, and because he is so good to him. Oh, Olive dear, if you knew the joy it will be to me to have someone for whom I can care again. I do not want my life to be too easy or free from responsibility; but I do want it to be real, actual life. Mrs. Broderick and I were only talking about it yesterday. She says what single women miss in their lives is some absorbing interest; a work that shall fill up all the crannies."
"Oh, Aunt Madge is very strong on that point. I remember, before I knew Marcus, that we had wonderful talks on this subject. She used to be so fond of quoting Carmen Sylva's speech, 'A woman does not become a mother, she is a mother from her birth. A woman's family satisfies her vocation, but does not create it.' And she used to tell me to mother my pupils. 'You must love them hard,' she would say, 'and live their young lives as well as your own;' but, thank God, we can always find objects for our love. I should make you laugh, Greta, if I told you how I mapped out my future as an old maid; but I am quite sure I should have made a good one."
Just then the door-bell rang, and Alwyn entered; he looked eager and excited.
"Well, has she told you?" were his first words, as Olivia met him with outstretched hands; and then, as she warmly congratulated him, his eyes glowed with feeling. "I have not deserved such a prize, have I, Mrs. Luttrell? but Greta has promised to make the best of me. Will you forgive me if I take her away for a little? My father is most impatient to welcome his new daughter, and he will only excite himself if we keep him waiting."
"Go with him, Greta, dear," returned Olivia; "Mr. Alwyn will bring you back to us." And then Greta rose at once, though she looked a little shy.
As Olivia stood at the door watching them as they crossed the road, Marcus came up Harbut Street.
"Where are those two going?" he asked, curiously. "I thought Miss Williams was to spend the evening with us." Then Olivia linked her arm in his and drew him into the passage.
"Oh, do come in, Marcus," she said, breathlessly. "I cannot talk at the street-door, and I have such a lot to tell you." Then Marcus put down his hat and drew off his gloves with exasperating slowness.
"We have been married nearly three years," he said, flecking the dust off his coat-collar, "but I never remember the day when, as you so elegantly express it, you had not a 'lot to tell me.'"
"Yes, but something has really happened," she returned, ignoring this provoking speech.
"Oh, indeed," was the cool answer; "so they have settled it at last, have they? Well, I have changed my opinion lately. Gaythorne may not be quite up to the mark, but he will make a good husband. I suppose he is taking her across for the parental blessing?" And then Olivia admitted that this was the case.
"I am so glad that you really do not mind," she said, in a relieved tone; "but I fancied you would not approve. You almost said as much one day."
"Oh, even great intellects change their opinions sometimes," returned Marcus, dryly; "Sir Robert Peel and Gladstone, for example. And then most people know their own business best. Perhaps if you were to cross-examine me severely I might own that Alwyn Gaythorne is not the man I should have selected for your interesting friend, but as she has chosen him, she is evidently of another opinion, and this is one thing in his favour, he is thoroughly in love with her, and really, take him all in all, he is not a bad fellow," and Olivia, who understood her husband perfectly, was quite content with this opinion.
When Marcus went upstairs to wash his hands, whistling the air of "My old Dutch," she knew he was quite as much excited as she was.
When Greta came back she looked a little flushed and agitated, and, at a sign from Alwyn, Olivia took her upstairs.
"What is it, dear?" she said, gently, as Greta shed a few tears; "was not Mr. Gaythorne nice to you?"
"Nice?" repeated Greta, with a little sob; "he was as dear as possible. If I had been Olive he could not have been more gentle. I tell Alwyn that I shall be quite spoiled between them, but somehow as he talked to me I could not help thinking of poor father and of my mother. How happy mother would have been, for she was always so fond of Alwyn."
"Yes; dear, I understand."
"Yes, and Alwyn understands, too. He told me so just now. He said that though this was the happiest day of his life, he could not help missing his mother and Olive. Olivia, do you know that Mr. Gaythorne means us to live with him? I was just a little bit frightened when I heard that, and I am afraid Alwyn saw it, for he spoke about it afterwards."
"Does he wish it himself?" Olivia was careful to reserve her own opinion. Both she and Marcus had their own views on this subject.
"I do not know what he really wishes, and it was too soon to discuss things, but he did say that he thought that his father ought not to be left alone, and, of course, he is right, and it is for him to decide," and then she gave an embarrassed little laugh.
"Mr. Gaythorne was very good to me, but you know what an autocrat he is. He wants it to be soon, very soon. Oh, he quite took my breath away, and I could see Alwyn was sorry for me. He thinks it is the impatience of the disease and that we must humour him a little. Alwyn was so beautifully gentle with him and so considerate for me, but he saw how overwhelmed I was."
"Yes, one wants quiet at first to realise one's happiness," returned Olivia, sympathetically. "Now I am going to make the tea, and you shall join us when you like."
But when she got downstairs she found Alwyn alone. He was pacing up and down as though he were anxious.
"Where is Marcus?" she asked at once.
"Oh, someone wanted him at No. 25, Sligo Street. I was to tell you that," and then, with a change of tone, "I hope my father did not really upset Greta."
"Oh, no; she was only a little overwhelmed."
"No wonder! You know what my father is, Mrs. Luttrell. He never will wait for anything. If a thing is to be done it must be done at once. Only yesterday I was laughing at him, and telling him he would have made an excellent slave-driver. He is immensely pleased and excited, and he treated Greta as though she were a princess. He has fine manners, you will allow that, but the dear girl looked dreadfully shy and embarrassed. And then, to put her at her ease, he wanted her to promise that she would marry me as soon as possible. It was no use trying to hush him, for he would have his say. I got her away at last by pretending you would be waiting tea for us. Oh, here she comes," and his face brightened as he hurried to hisfiancée'sside. Greta had recovered her tranquillity, and when Marcus entered she received his congratulations as happily as possible.
Olivia went over to Galvaston House the next day.
Mr. Gaythorne was evidently expecting her.
"Well," he said, holding her hand, "I suppose you have come to congratulate me on my new daughter. I tell Alwyn he is a lucky dog. A sweet girl and three thousand a year. Not that either he or I care about the money,—there will be plenty for Alwyn, plenty. I was telling them both last night," he went on, "that there must be no delay and nonsense. In my state of health any procrastination would be foolish. I want to see him with a good wife. Crampton is all very well, but a wife will understand him better. The house will hold us all. With the exception of the library and my own bedroom, it will all belong to them. Alwyn can refurnish the drawing-room, if he likes; and there is that little room on the first floor, opening into the conservatory, that would make a charming morning-room for Greta. He can havecarte blancheto do what he likes, and she and Crampton will manage the house between them, so what is the use of waiting?"
And as Olivia noted the old man's feverish excitement she could not help thinking that a short engagement would be best, and when Alwyn walked with her to Mayfield Villas she told him so.
"I quite agree with you," was his answer. "Dr. Luttrell and I had a talk over things last night, but I do not mean Greta to be bothered with plans and preparations until she has had a few days' quiet You do not know her as well as I do, Mrs. Luttrell. Greta is so unselfish, so absolutely self-less, that she will do anything for the good of those she loves. In the old days she always yielded her wishes to Olive, and she is just as ready to do so now," and, as Alwyn said this with his bright, winning smile, Olivia was not quite so sure, after all, that Greta had made a mistake.
"A friend who is both intelligent and well-affected is the most valuable of all possessions."—Herodotus.
About a fortnight after this eventful afternoon, Olivia received a note from Greta begging her to bring her work and to spend a few hours with her. The invitation was a pressing one. "Please do not disappoint me," she wrote, "for I want to talk to you so much. I think I can promise that we shall have no interruption. Alwyn is going up to town for the afternoon, and will not pay his usual call." And then Olivia, who had planned to have tea with Aunt Madge, put off her visit until another day, and sent a verbal message of acceptance.
It was one of those late October days, when a touch of frost in the air gives a hint of the approaching winter, and the bright little fire in Greta's pretty morning-room was very welcome.
Greta was sitting at her embroidery frame as usual. Her deep mourning was relieved by the little knot of white chrysanthemums and red leaves that she wore, and her fair, serious face looked bright and animated. "Dear Olive, it was so good of you to come," she said, as she ensconced her guest in a big easy-chair. "I suppose you guessed that I wanted you particularly," and Olivia nodded.
"I could hardly sleep thinking about it all. Olive, we have settled the day. Mr. Gaythorne gave Alwyn no peace, and so he was obliged to speak to me. He said it was very soon to ask me, and that he would willingly have given me more time, but that in his father's state of health any delay would only harass him, so I said that I would be ready by the middle of December. I hope you do not think I am wrong?"
"No, indeed. I think you are very wise."
"Alwyn was so grateful," went on Greta; "he knew my objection to a winter wedding; but, as he says, it will be so nice to begin the new year together; and, after all, what do these outward things matter? At first I thought I would be married in my travelling-dress, and go straight away from the church; and then I remembered how Alwyn once said that brides ought always to wear white, that it was symbolical and poetical, and that you agreed with him."
"Marcus thought just the same!" returned Olivia; "and though I was in mourning for dear mother, Aunt Madge bought me a lovely white cashmere. Alas! I have never worn it since, but sometimes I take it out and look at it. I remember how pleased Marcus was with it. Shall you wear silk or satin, Greta?" and then Greta owned that she had already decided on a rich ivory-coloured silk.
"But we will not discuss mytrousseaujust yet," she observed, blushing. "There is plenty of time for that. I shall have seven weeks for my preparations. I want to tell you about yesterday, Olive. You know I had promised to have luncheon at Galvaston House, and that Alwyn was to fetch me, but before we left this house it was all settled, and after luncheon Alwyn told his father. The dear old man was so pleased; he made Alwyn bring down his mother's trinkets, a pearl necklace and some diamond stars, and such splendid rings that he had given her, and he told Alwyn that they were all for me; you know I never cared much for jewelry, but Alwyn will always want me to be well dressed, so I shall have to be smart. I think I liked best a little cross set with diamonds, that Olive used to wear; he gave me that, too."
"How pleased Alwyn must have been."
"Yes, and, of course, I was pleased, too; and then Mr. Gaythorne made Alwyn take me over the house. What a handsome house it is, Olive! I like it ever so much better than Brunswick Place. I had no idea it was so large, but Mr. Gaythorne said that Italian palaces had spoilt him, and that he must always have plenty of space. There is a room on the first floor opening into the conservatory that will make a charming morning-room, and then the studio is so lovely. Alwyn has been buying such beautiful things, and there is to be a corner fitted up for my use, where my embroidery frame can stand. I shall so love to watch him work; but oh, Olive, is it not absurd? Mr. Gaythorne talks of refurnishing the drawing-room, but it is not the least necessary. I want you to convince him of this, and to beg him not to spend money so needlessly. I have so many nice things of my own; all this beautiful china and those inlaid Japanese cabinets. A new carpet and a little fresh cretonne is all that is needed. And I know Alwyn agrees with me."
"Very well, then, we must bring Mr. Gaythorne to reason."
"I took Mrs. Crampton into confidence," went on Greta, "when she showed me the kitchen and store-rooms. What a nice creature she is, and how admirably she manages! There is to be another maid kept, so I asked if I might bring Merton; she has been with us so many years that I should dislike to part with her, and Alwyn has promised to speak to his father."
Olivia listened and approved; there was no mistaking Greta's happiness; she looked on the bright side of everything, and would allow of no drawbacks. When Olivia ventured to hint that Mr. Gaythorne might be trying at times, Greta only smiled and said, "That was very likely, only Alwyn managed him so beautifully, and she hoped in time to do the same. I know that he dislikes visitors," she went on, "but, as you and Dr. Luttrell are exceptions, I do not so much mind, and I shall be quite happy with Alwyn."
"Oh, no doubt," returned Olivia, in her quick, decided way; "but you must remember, Greta dear, that we owe a duty to our fellow-creatures, and you must not allow Mr. Gaythorne to carry his misanthropical views too far. There is no need for him to be troubled with visitors; he is far too ailing for much fatigue and exertion; but surely you and Alwyn can entertain your friends in your own rooms," and, though Greta hesitated and looked rather alarmed at the idea of opposing her formidable father-in-law-elect, she was soon brought to acknowledge that society would be good for Alwyn.
"There is no hurry, we can be quiet this first winter," she said; "but, of course, if people call upon me, I shall return their visits, but we cannot settle beforehand. I shall first wait and see what Alwyn wishes, and you must own, Olive, that I have not led a gay life here."
"By-the-bye," observed Olivia, suddenly, "what have you decided to do with this house and furniture?" but Greta had evidently not taken these matters into consideration.
"All the best things will go to Galvaston House, I suppose," she replied, looking round her, "but most of the furniture is old-fashioned and not up-to-date. I suppose people would call it handsome, and, of course, the oak in the dining-room is in thoroughly good taste. I must talk to Alwyn about it; perhaps it might be let furnished. Dear father used to say selling furniture was such a mistake,—one never got the full value."
"I remember how grand I thought it the first day I called," returned Olivia, smiling. "The drawing-room with that beautiful conservatory opening out of it, and the plush curtains, and those luxurious couches made me feel so shabby. But I suppose the drawing-room at Galvaston House is still better. The glass door opening on the garden is so pleasant, and those Venetian cabinets and that carved settle are really beautiful."
"Yes, and it would be such a pity to modernise the room. Besides, what does one want with a drawing-room at all? I am sure I never enter mine. I shall live in the morning-room and the studio, and I suppose in the evenings we shall be in the library. Ah, you are laughing, because I have thought it all out in this matter-of-fact way, but I assure you I hardly slept last night." And then by mutual consent they began on the mysteries of thetrousseau, and they had not half finished when Olivia looked at the clock and declared that she had stayed too long.
"The world goes up and the world goes down and the sunshine follows the rain," says the old song, and human life is certainly made up of passing clouds and gleams of sunshine.
While Alwyn superintended the decorations of the new rooms at Galvaston House, and brought his artistic taste to bear on every petty detail for the use of his lady-love, and while Greta busied herself over hertrousseau, Dr. Luttrell was engaged from morning to night among his patients.
With the damp, foggy days of November had come the dreaded epidemic, influenza. All the doctors were overworked, and more than one of them succumbed to the malady,—amongst them Dr. Bevan.
Marcus, who had been devoting himself to his poor patients, suddenly found the charge of a large practice thrown on him, and had scarcely time to take his meals. For a few days Dr. Bevan was extremely ill, and even when a short change had recruited his health it was evident that he would never be able to do the same amount of work again.
"He has been overworking himself for years," Mrs. Bevan said to Marcus, with tears in her eyes; "but he would never spare himself, and now Dr. Randolph says that this utter breakdown is the result. Oh, it is all very well for him to say that it is better to wear out than rust out, but if a man has a wife and children he has no right to risk his life in this way. It might not hurt a younger man to rise from his bed night after night in the depths of winter, but for my husband it is simply suicidal. When he gets well he must and shall have a partner. What is the use of waiting until Wilfred is ready to come into the practice," for Wilfred Bevan, the eldest son, was at that time walking the hospitals. And here Mrs. Bevan, with her comely face looking quite worn and aged with anxiety, hurried away to sit with her husband.
Olivia had her own private anxieties. Those long solitary days were very trying to her, but she never dared be long absent from home lest she should miss one of Marcus's flying visits. His meals were taken at any odd hour, but if he came in for a minute on his morning round there was always a cup of good soup ready for him, or later in the day some hot coffee. But perhaps the best cordial to the tired, harassed doctor was the sight of his wife's bright face. He would drink the soup, snatch up his little daughter for a kiss and go back to his work refreshed, but even to him the strain was excessive.
Olivia, who was unwilling to damp Greta's cheerfulness, would pour out her troubles to her Aunt Madge, and Mrs. Broderick would listen with her usual sympathy.
"I hope it is not wicked of me, Aunt Madge," she would say, "but I do feel so worried and anxious. Marcus declares he is quite well, but he is so tired every night that he can hardly drag himself to bed, and when morning comes he is not a bit rested. I think Dr. Bevan's illness has made me nervous, for I am always dreading that Marcus will break down too."
"Women need lot of faith, don't they, Livy? Doctors' wives as well as soldiers' wives, but I am not sure that you need fear for Marcus. He is really strong, and at his age a little hard work will not hurt him. He has his laurels to gather, you must remember that. 'It is an ill wind that blows no one any good.'" But Olivia, who was tired and depressed, was not so ready to be comforted.
"I would rather go on being poor than see my poor boy work so hard," she said, mournfully. "But it is not only that, Aunt Madge. Marcus is very tender-hearted, and it makes him so unhappy when he loses a patient. Of course I know why he looked so dull last night, that poor young fellow Basil Greenwood is dead."
"Yes, I know; Dr. Randolph was called in," returned Mrs. Broderick; "but a hundred physicians could not have saved him, the fever ran too high."
"He was only eighteen and his poor mother doated on him, and now she is ill too. They called Marcus up last night; he did not get back till nearly five, but I had the fire lighted and some hot cocoa ready for him. Marcus scolded me; he is always so afraid of my knocking up, but I know he was glad of the cocoa. I tell Greta that I cannot be much with her just now. I am so afraid of missing him when he comes in, and of course she understands, but it is a little hard for her, poor child."
"Greta is very good," returned Aunt Madge. "She makes the best of things. By-the-bye, what is this I hear of a grand new dress for the wedding?" And then Olivia did brighten up a little.
Greta had begged in the most loving way that Olivia's dress and bonnet for the occasion should be her gift, and the dark heliotrope silk and dainty bonnet to match were at that moment in Greta's wardrobe.
"I tell Greta that it is far too handsome," replied Olivia, "and that Marcus will object to my being so smart, but she only laughs at me. There is such a lovely cape to go with it, but somehow, in spite of Greta's kindness, I shall not enjoy it one bit, unless Marcus has time to go with me."
"Oh, he will make time; don't be so lugubrious, Livy. You are just out of heart about things, but we must have cloudy days some time. Don't you remember what Longfellow says?
"'Nothing that is can pause or stay,The moon will wax, the moon will wane,The mist and cloud will turn to rain,The rain to mist and cloud again,To-morrow be to-day.'"
"Yes, and November fogs will pass too. Well, dear Aunt Madge, I must go, and as usual you have cheered me up. What should I do without you, I wonder."
"I am glad you find the old log useful," returned Mrs. Broderick, "so come and grumble as often as you like. Greta is coming to tea with me to-morrow, and Mr. Alwyn has promised to fetch her. Why don't you come too, and you shall have a real Scotch tea, bannocks and scones and seed cake," but Olivia shook her head at this tempting invitation. "Marcus had asked her to go round to the model lodging houses," she said, "to see two families in trouble. And then it was that poor boy's funeral." And then Mrs. Broderick said no more.
"Poor Livy," she said to herself, as she lay alone in the twilight, "one may make light of her little troubles, but they are real to her. And I do not wonder that she worries over Marcus. Dr. Randolph was only speaking of him this morning. He told me what a splendid worker he was.
"'Bevan may be thankful to have got hold of such a man,' those were his very words. 'But he must be prudent and not burn the candle at both ends as Bevan did. "The foul fiend" has got hold of Harris now, he is Dr. Mordaunt's partner, and was married a few weeks ago. Apollyon, as we call it at our house, does not spare doctors,' but I hope, I really do hope, that Livy has not heard this."