“Dear Miss Hayes,“We shall be delighted to take you to Mrs. Cholmondeley’s to-morrow evening, and will call for you at a quarter to nine.“Yours very sincerely,“Jessica Benny.”
“Dear Miss Hayes,
“We shall be delighted to take you to Mrs. Cholmondeley’s to-morrow evening, and will call for you at a quarter to nine.
“Yours very sincerely,
“Jessica Benny.”
“There! You see you have no alternative,” cried Emma, triumphantly. “Just scribble a nice little note and say that you accept their kind offer with much pleasure.”
When I had despatched my reply, and taken up my needlework, Emma continued—
“I wonder if you will know any one in the room. I dohopeLady Hildegarde will be there. I am sure she will look after you, and make it pleasant for you.”
I was not so sanguine on this point, but I merely said with a laugh—
“Perhaps we shall have Lady Polexfen, too. Do you thinkshewill make it pleasant for me?”
“She is a cold, arrogant wretch; not one bit like her mother or her brother. I wish he were to be there. He would be sure to notice you.”
“Notice me!” I echoed.
“There, now—there, now! My dear Gwen, you know what I mean. No offense, as they say. Upon my word, when your eyes flash like that, I feel quite terrified. I cannot think where you get your pride—and you are desperately proud—certainly not from your poor dear father. He had not a scrap of pride—except—just on one subject.” And she gazed rather dreamily at the lamp.
“And what was that subject?” I inquired.
No answer. She did not seem to hear me. Her thoughts were far away.
“What subject, Emma,” I repeated, “was my father’s one sensitive point?”
“Oh”—rather confusedly—“it was an old, old story. It is no use in recalling it now. Would you mind running into my room, dear, and fetching me the large scissors?”
It was evident that my usually communicative stepmother wished to change the conversation.
The next evening I placed myself and my toilet entirely in Emma’s hands. She was a clever hairdresser, and lingered long over my adornment; it being, as she confessed to me, “a labor of love.” When the last pin had been fastened, she surveyed me with an air of critical approval, and said—
“Now, Gwen, look at yourself, and tell me your candid opinion of Miss Hayes?”
I rose up and surveyed my appearance in a narrow little mirror in her wardrobe, whilst Emma stood on a chair and held the flat candle triumphantly over my head.
I wore my thick fair hair turned off my face as usual; a long plain white satin gown, a lace fichu knotted in front, and a little gold necklet and locket which had once belonged to my own mother.
“I think, since you ask me,” I said, “that Miss Hayes is absurdly overdressed, most unsuitably got up. This magnificent satin, this cobwebby lace, are ridiculously out of place onme.”
“They don’t look out of place, I can assure you; you become them to the manner born. You might be a countess in your own right, as far as your appearance and style are concerned. I must say, Gwen, that you are a girl that it is a pleasure to dress; you have quite a grand air, such a remarkable carriage.”
“Carriage!” I repeated, with a laugh of scorn. “I wish Ihada carriage—yes, and a pair—so that I need not intrude upon the Miss Bennys; three in a fly are too many.”
“Oh, and do take care of your gown, darling; lift it up well, and hold the train in your lap. This is only a dress rehearsal for Christmas Day, and I should besovexed if you got your frock tumbled or soiled.”
I promised in the most solemn manner to take the greatest care of my toilet, andrefused for the tenth time the eagerly pressed loan of her diamond brooch, “just to give the lace a finish.”
“My dear Emma, I am going to this party to please you; I am wearing lace and satin fit for a duchess to please you; but I really must decline the diamonds. As it is, people will be quite sufficiently tickled, when they compare my costume with my position and surroundings; they will say all sorts of nasty things.”
“They will say you are a princess in disguise!”
“Pooh! they will say I am a pauper who has been swindling some London dressmaker! I shall make myself small, and sit in a corner, and try and escape notice,” and I sailed into the sitting-room.
Here I found an immediate opportunity of testing the effect of my transformation. Mrs. Gabb, who (as an excuse to obtain aprivate view) was making up the fire, dropped the poker with a frightful clang, as she ejaculated—
“Good laws—laws me! Well—I never!” which I accepted as a very handsome tribute to my splendid appearance. In another five minutes the glories of my costume were concealed beneath a long fur-trimmed evening cloak (yet another relic of Emma’s wealthy days), and I found myself shut into a fly, with my back to the horse, and driving away with the two Miss Bennys and Mrs. Montmorency Green, their cousin. I ventured to thank them, rather timidly.
“It is so very kind of you to take me,” I murmured; “and I am quite ashamed of crushing you like this.”
“Well, you must only make yourself assmallas you can,” said the elder, with asperity.“We would doanythingto oblige dear Mrs. Cholmondeley; and she made quite a point of our taking you with us.”
The tone in which this was said left no doubt on my mind that Miss Benny was extremely surprised at Mrs. Cholmondeley’s enthusiasm.
“I suppose it will not be a large party?” I hazarded, still more timidly.
“Not a large party! We shall have half the county;every onewill be there. The Moate is such a dear old place—splendid pictures, grand reception-rooms—and the Cholmondeleys do everything so well; they gave three weeks’ invitation, so it’s sure to be extra smart!”
Three weeks’ invitation, and I had been asked at the eleventh hour! I now shrank into my corner of the fly and relapsed into silence, feeling as small as Miss Benny could possibly desire.
As we bowled steadily along the hard country roads, my three companions launched into the news of the neighborhood, entirely ignoring my presence. I gathered that Mrs. Montmorency Green was a newcomer, and that her cousins were anxious to post her up in all the fashionable intelligence.
“They have a large house-party at the Moate, and there will be a lawn meet to-morrow,” said Miss Benny.
“I wonder if the Somers will give a dance this winter?” added her sister. “I should like Annie here to see the Abbey—it’s such a wonderful old place. The library is what was once the monks’ refectory.”
“Oh, there will be no dances at the Abbey now that Lady Hildegarde has married herdaughter,” remarked her sister decisively.
“But she has a son!”
“My dear Jessica, a mother does not give balls for her son: she leaves that to other women!”
“They have lost a lot of money lately; old Mr. Somers is in his dotage, and has burnt his fingers badly over investments in South America, and the sonmustmarry money. Both families wish him to marry”—here the fly rattled over a sheet of stones, and I lost the name.“His mother is quite determined about it. I don’t call her a good-looking girl, and I can’t imagine what any of the men see in her, except unlimited effrontery. She calls herself advanced.Icall her abominably fast. She goes about everywhere alone, just as she pleases, hunts, and keeps race-horses. They say her style of conversation is most extraordinary. She shoots, smokes, fishes, and rules her poor father with a rod of iron. In fact, she is just like a young man!”
“Only, young men don’t generally rule their fathers with a rod of iron,” said the cousin, smartly.
“And I don’t believe that she keeps race-horses,” put in Miss Jessica.
“I should like to see her. I hope she will be at this place to-night,” remarked Mrs. Green. “If sheis, you must be sure and point her out.”
“Oh, you may easily recognize her! She is always surrounded by a multitude of men, and you can hear her voice above the band!” rejoined Miss Benny. Then, suddenly, to me, “Are you asleep, Miss Hayes?”
“Oh no.”
“I’m afraid”—with a sigh—“you will find it rather dull to-night, as you are a stranger, and know so few people. However, you can amuse yourself looking at the pictures—they are all masterpieces, and there is sure to be a good supper.”
I made no reply. No doubt I must make up my mind to play therôleof looker-on; I was well accustomed to the part.
We were now in the avenue, which was very long, and quite a string of carriages were already disgorging their contents. We drove under a portico, stepped out on red cloth, were ushered up by powdered footmen, and passed on to the ladies’ room, where three or four smart maids were ready to relieve us of our wraps. The Miss Bennys and their cousin nodded to several acquaintances, and made a bold and combined assault upon the dressing-table. The sisters Benny were dressed alike in prim black evening dresses, with stiff little bouquets pinned in on the left side—just over the region of the heart.Their hair was extremely neat, and really their anxiety was unnecessary; however, they powdered their noses and twitched their fringes; meanwhile, I had divested myself of my long mantle, and patiently awaited their good pleasure.
At last they were ready, and as Miss Benny’s eyes fell on me I saw a change come over her whole face. She glanced expressively at her relatives, and then again at me. As I waited humbly for her to pass out, she found her voice.
“Uponmyword!” she exclaimed, with a very forced smile. “If we are to go byappearances, Miss Hayes”—now looking me up and down from head to foot—“we should walk afteryou!” And then, with a violent toss of her head, she led the way out of the room, followed by her cousin, Miss Jessica Benny, and last and least—myself.
THE CHALGROVE EYEBROWS.
Wepassed into a large, oak-paneled hall, and then up a wide, shallow staircase, carpeted with soft crimson carpet, and lined with large oil paintings, chiefly portraits. At the head of the stairs we were received by Mrs. Cholmondeley, all smiles, diamonds, and blue crêpe. She was surrounded by a crowd which appeared to have overflowed from the reception-rooms. Our hostess passed on my three companions, with three smiles and three hurried nods, but looked at me for quite five seconds, and, putting forth a most dainty hand, drew me affectionately towards her.
“She is in my charge now,” she called after the Miss Bennys. “Thank yousomuch. Dear me!” she continued, turning to me with a little dry laugh, “do you know that you are a very pretty and distinguished-looking girl, and are bound to be the belle of the evening? Yes, indeed, my charming, blushing Cinderella. Aubrey Price, come here,” beckoning to an extremely lackadaisical young man, who now lazily approached. “I give Miss Hayes into your charge. Take the greatest care of her. Take her to the refreshment-room—the morning-room, you know—and get her tea—or something.”
And, behold! I was launched out there and then into an acquaintance. My cavalier surveyed me, and I surveyed my cavalier, with much gravity. He was fair, slight, rather good-looking, and clean-shaven. He displayed a vast expanse ofshirt-front, and wore a pair of exquisitely fitting gloves.
“Well, I suppose we must obey orders,” he answered, “whether you want tea or not.”
We accordingly wended our way to the buffet, where he exerted himself to procure me a cup of coffee, and stood and watched me as I sipped it. I looked up suddenly, and caught his rather small, keen blue eyes fixed on me, and nearly upset the contents of my cup over the front of my immaculate white gown.
“These sort of half-and-half affairs are ghastly,” he remarked, as he took my cup. “Don’t you think so?”
“No; I do not,” I answered bravely, for this fine old house, crowds of gay, well-dressed people, delicious strains of a string band, lights, flowers, pictures, were to my mind extremely enjoyable.“But, of course, I should prefer a real dance.”
“And I shouldnot,” he rejoined energetically. “Here, at least, you can sneak away and go to sleep in a comfortable armchair; but at what you call a ‘real dance,’ upon my word, the way in which hostesses drive and hustle one about is enough to call for the intervention of the police or the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals; and, if you stand against a wall, people trample on your feet!” At the mere recollection of his sufferings, he almost looked as if he was going to cry.
“The remedy is in your own hands,” I replied unfeelingly. “Dance.”
“No, no,”—shaking his head,—“not if I know it. I don’t mind sitting out now and then, just to oblige; but I draw the line at dancing. I’m too old.”
I gazed at him in amazement. He could not be more than four or five-and-twenty at the most.
“Then why do you go to dances, where you are so cruelly ill-used?” I asked; “hustled, as you say, and driven about and trampled on?”
“Oh, I only go when duty calls me, and, thank goodness, that is not often. When the ball is given by one’s cousin’s cousin, or one’s aunt, or some old pal of my governor’s.”
“Then your father is actually alive?”
“Alive! I should think so! And a younger man than I am.Hedances, so does my mother.”
“Really! And you go about in a bath-chair?”
“Well, not justyet. I’m not altogether so feeble as I look”—in a bantering tone. “I say, are you staying in the house?”
“No; I have only just arrived.”
“Then”—with much animation—“did you notice if it was freezing when you came along?”
“No; it was just beginning to drizzle.”
“Then that’s all right. You see, the hounds meet here to-morrow, the best draw at this side of the county, and the country is all plain sailing, very sound going. You hunt, of course?”
“No, indeed. But do you?”
“Don’t I? Every one hunts down here. I’ve had fifty days this winter already.”
“Oh, then you are not too decrepit to ride?” I inquired.
He stared at me for a second, and burst into a roar of laughter as he answered—
“I hunt six days a week regular; there’s nothing to touch it.”
“You must require a good many horses.”
“Yes, pretty well; I have thirty, but two of them are dead lame, and three are mere jumping hacks. Would you like to come down-stairs and do the picture-gallery? This blessed demi-semi dance won’t begin for an hour.”
“I should like to see the pictures very much indeed,” I answered; and we made our way slowly back to the head of the stairs. The crowd was immense. There seemed to be two or three hundred people present. The grand staircase was deserted now. Guests had arrived and ebbed away to the ball-room or tea-room. We descended the delightfully shallow stairs side by side, I moving with the dignity due to my rich satin train, which trailed behind me languidly.
There were some new arrivals in the hall, chiefly men. One of them looked up suddenly, and I saw that it was Mr. Somers. He contemplated me and mycavalier with unconcealed surprise. However, he had evidently made up his mind that I was no ghost, but my own solid self, for as I put my white slipper on the last step, he came forward with an out-stretched hand, and said—
“How do you do, Miss Hayes? You were the last to speed me, and almost the first person I meet when I return home. Hullo, Aubrey,” to my companion, “going strong, eh? How are all the horses?”
“Oh, fairly fit. When did you come back?”
“This afternoon; and my sister put me on duty at once, you see. She is stopping all night for the meet to-morrow, and so am I.”
“So am I,” echoed the other triumphantly.
“How is Mrs. Hayes?” inquired Mr. Somers. “Is she here this evening?”
“She is pretty well, thank you. No, she is not here to-night.”
“Are you staying in the neighborhood?”
“Yes; for the present—at Stonebrook.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. Where areyoubound for, Aubrey?”
“We are going to do the pictures. I’m showman.”
“What a preposterous fraud! Miss Hayes, he knows no more of pictures than he does of making a watch! I’ll take you round the gallery; at least, I know a Landseer from a Rubens.”
“Not a little bit of it,” rejoined the other. “Miss Hayes was given into my sole charge—were you not, Miss Hayes?—and I am responsible for her. Go up-stairs—you will find some old friends,” he added, rather significantly.
During this polite competition for mycompany, Miss Benny and her cousin had been hovering about in our vicinity, and now accosted me—
“Ahem, Miss Hayes, my dear, the dancing will not begin for half an hour; don’t you think you had better come and sit withustill then?”
But I had not forgotten my recent treatment at her hands, and said—
“Oh, thank you, Miss Benny, I am just going to see the pictures, as you recommended, and you know Ihavesat with you for nearly an hour already in the fly, and you will have me again going back.”
Miss Benny sniffed, glared, and backed herself away in purple wrath.
“I see you are a match for Miss Benny,” said Mr. Somers, with a grin.
“Miss Hayes is a match for most people. She has been pitching intomefor not dancing,” said my escort with serene complacency.
“And quite right too, youarea lazy beggar!”
But I noticed that Mr. Somers looked at me with a puzzled air. I dare say he scarcely recognized the meek, shabbily dressed girl of last July in the present Miss Hayes. I was puzzled also—I scarcely recognized myself. I wastête montée; my surroundings, my splendid gown, had transformed me; it was certainly another young woman, a total stranger, who was sauntering about in my body, and treading on air!
“When the dancing begins I shall fetch you, Miss Hayes. I hope you will give me the first waltz,” and he took out a small pencil, “and two others. May I have five and ten?”
“Yes; but I should warn you that I am not an experienced performer.”
“So much the better; you won’t want to steer,” writing rapidly on his shirt cuff.
To my great surprise I saw Mr. Aubrey Price also preparinghisshirt cuff for manuscript.
“And I—how many may I have, if you please?”
“Oh, really, I should not like to victimize you,” I protested.
“Nonsense! Shall we say the first square and thepas de quatre?”
“Very well, if it will not be too fatiguing for you,” I replied, and he also scribbled on his cuff; and then we walked on into the picture-gallery.
The gallery was full of people, and between looking at them and the pictures the moments flew. I had not half made the tour of the paintings when I found Mr. Somers already claiming me. We went up-stairs to the dancing-room—twoimmense drawing-rooms, decorated with flowers and palms. The deep windows held seats, and there were two or three sofas at one end of the ball-room, otherwise it was empty. A string band was stationed in the conservatory. Many couples were swimming round to the strains of the Hydropaten waltz, and in another second Mr. Somers and I had joined them.
The floor was perfect, and the music corresponded. Dancing came to me almost by nature, and I had been extremely well taught; then I was young, slender, tireless. We went round, and round, and round, with an easy swing, until the waltz ceased in one long-drawn-out, wo-begone wail.
“Thank you,” said my partner; “thatwasa treat! Your estimation of your dancing is too modest. You dance like a South American.”
As I had never seen a South American, I could not say whether that was a compliment or otherwise. Whilst we threaded our way into the tea-room, I noticed that my partner appeared to know every one, and that they all seemed glad to see him. Smiling ladies accosted him and asked when he had come back; men slapped him on the shoulder, and I noticed that some looked hard at him, and then sharply at me. At last we reached our goal, and as he brought me an ice he said—
“Where did you learn to dance?”
“In Paris. I was at school there for four years.”
“Then, of course, you speak French like a native?”
“I can make myself understood.”
“I see you are accustomed to under-rate your accomplishments. Shall we go into the next room, and get out of this crush?”
We moved into what was Mrs. Cholmondeley’s boudoir, and was now reserved for sitters-out. Here I recognized several familiar faces. Amongst them the Miss Bennys and their cousin, who were seated in a row watching me. Close beside us, before the fire, stood an animated, not to say noisy group, consisting of half a dozen young men and several girls. One of the latter was the center of attraction; every one of the others seemed to address her, or to wish for her sole attention, and I did not wonder. She appeared to be exceedingly vivacious and amusing, and was pretty and uncommon-looking. Her costume was peculiar, but I rightly guessed it to be the work of a Parisian artiste. The body was of blackcrêpe de Chinegathered into bands of gold embroidery, the shirt of white brocade, with a thick border of Neapolitan violets; a crimson crêpe scarf was tied negligently round her dainty waist, violets were tucked into her bodice and her hair, which was fair and very abundant. She had penciled, dark eyebrows, and dark gray eyes, which former afforded a striking contrast to her light locks. I never saw any one with a more piquant expression, or with such a wonderfully varied play of features. She wore unusually long gloves, and brandished an enormous black feather fan, as she talked with much volubility. Suddenly she caught sight of my companion, and paused as he said—
“How are you, Miss Chalgrove?”
“Why, Everard!” she exclaimed, “I had no idea you were here, though I knew you were expected. Why did you not come with Maudie?”
“I had only just arrived, and, like you ladies, I had all my unpacking to do, and to dress and fix my hair.”
“But you had no dinner here——?”
“Yes, I had something on the stairs, like the children. Have you had good sport this winter?”
“Capital! I’ve brought one of my gees here; father is here, too. He has brought old Champion.”
“I saw him going very well on Saturday week,” put in a tall, thin man. “From Benson’s Cross, you know. He was quite in the first flight in that second run, you remember.”
And now every one of these people began to talk clamorously, and at once—and all about hunting. Their conversation was extraordinary (to an outsider). Mr. Somers was drawn into the conversation, and was not a whit behind-hand; but justflowed like a tide into the subject, as interested and excited as the most rabid fox-hunter among them. I caught such scraps as—“Got hung up in a nasty corner,” “Miss Flagg at the bottom of a ditch, her saddle in one field, her horse in the other,” “scent catchy,” “foxes not very good,” “drains all open,” “the pace terrific,” “the ladies screaming behind him.” It was all Greek to me.
I stood a little aloof, though not conspicuously so—for the room was full—and watched this girl. She had a loud, clear, far-carrying voice and laugh; she was small, slight, and dazzlingly fair, her fair skin enhanced by her black brows and lashes. Somehow, her face seemed familiar to me; she was like some one I knew. Who could it be? As I meditated, I glanced unconsciously into the great mirror above the chimney-piece, in which we were allreflected, and instantly recognized who it was that she resembled. It wasmyself! I recalled with a sudden thrill that my own mother’s name was Chalgrove. Perhaps this girl was some connection—perhaps my cousin! More unlikely things might be!
She was smart, popular, pretty, wealthy, and what is known as “in the swim.” She was holding quite a small court on the hearthrug—a gay, quick-witted, and capricious queen.
What a contrast to myself—a poor obscure nobody, and at the present moment nothing more nor less than a mere daw decked out in peacock’s feathers! I gazed at Miss Chalgrove—I had heard of her—Lord Chalgrove’s sole child and heiress. I stared at her contemplatively in the mirror; suddenly she looked up, and our eyes met! Whatever she was about to saydied away in a sort of broken sentence, and then she unexpectedly touched me on the arm with her fan, and said with a radiant smile—
“Yes, I see it too! Is it notextraordinary? We are as like as the proverbial two peas; only you are the better looking of the two—the sweet pea, and I am the common or garden pea! Joking apart, we might be sisters. Wheredidyou get the Chalgrove eyebrows and upper lip?”
I colored furiously, for I was instantly the center of attention. It seemed to me that every eye was fastened on my face, and the distinctive Chalgrove features! To my immense relief, Mrs. Cholmondeley at this moment made a sort of swoop into our circle, saying as she did so—
“Come away, my dearest child! you have fallen for your sins into the hunting set. They can talk, think, dream of nothing else. Were they not talking of horses? Oh, Mr. Somers, your sister is looking for you.”
I heard a scrap of another conversation as I was being swept off—the words, “My double—who is she?”
“I see,” continued my hostess, “you are getting on capitally! I’m going to introduce you to Sir Fulke Martin. Heaskedto be presented. He is immensely rich, so be sure you areverynice to him!”
“WE NEED NOT ASK IF YOU HAVE ENJOYED YOURSELF.”
Sir Fulke, who appeared to be expecting us, was a stout, bald gentleman, with a pair of hard brown eyes and a fixed smile. He bowed profoundly over his stiff shirt-front, as we were introduced; then Mrs. Cholmondeley immediately cut me adrift, saying in her quick little way—
“Now, Sir Fulke, there is a dance going on. Do take Miss Hayes into the ball-room!”
Sir Fulke piloted me carefully—danced with me carefully, but there was not thesame swing and go as with my former partner. Sir Fulke gasped out several leading questions, and threw out filmy feelers in order to discover who I was, and where I came from. I did not satisfy his curiosity. Perhaps, if he had known that he was merely dancing with Miss Hayes, who lived in cheap lodgings in Stonebrook, he would have abandoned me in the middle of the room! He was very full of information about himself, and talked of his place, his shooting, his hunters, his intimate friend the Duke of Albion, and his sister la Comtesse de Boulotte.
As we danced, he paused several times to rest and to take breath, and as we stood against the wall on one occasion, I found that my neighbor was Miss Chalgrove.
“Ah, sohereyou are!” she exclaimed gaily.“We ought to know one another, don’t you think so—and without any formal introduction? Are you staying in Stonebrook?”
“Yes, for the present.”
“You hunt, ofcourse?” gazing at me eagerly.
“Not I. I have never even been on a horse’s back.”
“What!” she ejaculated, as if such an idea was too difficult to grasp.
“Then we are not alike in everything. Why, I”—touching herself with her fan—“livein the saddle—spend my days there, and would sleep there if it were possible.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve heard you are a splendid horse-woman.”
“I’m going to have such a day to-morrow! I’ve brought over a new hunter, a French steeplechaser, and mean to cut them all down—men and women. Look out, and you’ll see an account in theField.”
“Yes—I shall certainly look for it, and I hope you will get the brush.”
“Have you any sisters?” she asked suddenly.
“No—no sisters or brothers.”
“Neither have I. How I wish——”
Whatever she was about to wish was cut short by her impatient partner, who now put in his claim, and plunged along with her into the revolving crowd.
I danced with Mr. Aubrey Price (the owner of thirty hunters), and as we subsequently promenaded in the long corridor, we encountered a spare, gray-haired, gentlemanly man, who stared so fixedly at me that I felt quite uncomfortable.
“That is Lord Chalgrove,” said Mr. Price. “He looked as if he knew you?”
“Oh no, he does not. I have never seen him in my life.”
“Well, Ihopehe will manage to recognize you again, at any rate. I wish he would keep his daughter in order! What do you think she said to me just now?”
“I am sure I cannot imagine.”
“That she would like to hold a class to teach young men manners?”
“Were you to be a pupil?”
“Ofcourse! I shouldn’t wonder if my would-be teacher comes to grief to-morrow. It’s a nasty country, tricky fences, and, by Jove! by all accounts, she has got a horse to match.”
“Why does her father allow her to ride him?”
“Allowher! It’s little you know Dolly Chalgrove. She allowshimto hunt—she allows him to call his soul his own! He gives her a very loose rein; he is a widower, you see, and she’s his only child, and very clever and taking, and like a sister of his that was ill-treated and that died, and so he makes it up to Dolly. Capital business for Dolly, eh?”
“Yes, I suppose it is, in some ways.”
“A wonderful girl to ride to hounds, has a string of hunters and pays top prices; very odd, but very good-hearted and genuine—no nonsense about her. They say she is to marry Somers. I’m not sure thathequite sees it, but his mother is awfully keen on it. He will be Lord Chalgrove if he lives long enough; his father is the next male heir, and it would be a sound thing to keep the money and the title in the same family. The Somers are fearfully hard up.”
“Are they?”
“Yes; so I suppose it is bound to come off. Lady Hildegarde is very strong.”
“Then you take for granted that Miss Chalgrove would accept Mr. Somersas a matter——”
“As a matter of course,” he finished briskly.
“What nonsense! How can you tell?”
“A straw shows how the wind blows!”
“I give you that straw for your opinion, and,” now warming up, “I think it is too bad to discuss a girl, and take all sorts of things for granted. It is taking a great liberty with her name.”
“Hullo,nowI’m catching it! I mean no harm; every one discusses his neighbors’ little affairs. I don’t know what we should do without them. If you bar that subject, whatarewe to talk about—come now?”
“Books, politics, the weather.”
“No, thank you”—with great scorn.
“Well, then, horses.”
“Ah, that’s better.”
We were now in the ball-room oncemore, where we were promptly joined by Mr. Somers.
“You look as if you two were quarreling,” he remarked; “so I think I had better separate you at once.”
“Yes, I’m crushed flat. I’m not to talk of my neighbors. We have fought over Miss Chalgrove.”
“Indeed! That is strange, for she and I have just had a severe passage-at-arms.”
“Oh, that does not surprise me! It’s quiteen règle,” and he grinned significantly.
Mr. Somers took no notice of the impudent hint, but said,“It’s about a horse she will ride, in spite of her father or any one—a steeplechaser she has picked up—and she is bound to have some nasty accident if some one does not shoot him. I’ve a good mind to shoot him myself, although he is a magnificent fencer, and can go all day—a French horse, called Diable Vert.”
“Oh, by Jove! I know him—a real nasty-tempered brute. He won two or three good races, and then cut up rusty. They say he killed a jockey at Auteuil.”
I stood against the wall between the two men as they talked, and noticed that the sofas were occupied, the recesses of the windows full of lookers-on. Lady Bloss and her daughter were sitting together, and surveying me and my companions with unaffected interest. The former presently beckoned to me to approach. I did so, rather reluctantly, followed by my two cavaliers, whilst Sir Fulke hovered at a little distance.
“Oh, good evening, Miss Hayes,” said Lady Bloss, in her loftiest manner. “So surprised to seeyouhere!”—looking meslowly up and down. “Pray, where is Mrs. Hayes?”
“She is at home,” I meekly replied.
“And so you came alone; how very independent!”
“Oh no; I came with the Miss Bennys.”
“I did not know that you ever went out of an evening. We had a little dance last week, and I would have asked you, only I did not think you would like theexpenseof a fly!” And she threw back her head, and sniffed.
I am sure Mr. Somers heard, and also Mr. Price; and a girl at the other side of Lady Bloss tittered quite audibly.
I, however, merely bowed. It was a safe reply. What could I say?—the expense of a flywasan object to me. However, I was soon whirling round the room with my partner; and I had numerouspartners, I could have danced every dance thrice over. Yes, I was enjoying myself enormously. I suppose my head was turned; I could not understand myself. I was surely a changeling. My luxurious surroundings, my splendid gown had transformed me. As I have said before, it was another young woman than Gwendoline Hayes—a stranger, who was walking about in her body, who received admiring glances with an air of cool unconcern, who accepted Sir Fulke’s and Mr. Price’spetits soinswith affable condescension.
I saw Lady Polexfen fanning herself languidly in the doorway. As I passed out on her brother’s arm there was a block, and we stood for an instant side by side. She was splendidly dressed in silver brocade and sea-green, and ablaze with diamonds; her waist resembled an hour-glass,and her hair was dressed French style, over her ears. She affected not to see me, but she was as fully conscious of my vicinity as I was of hers. A tall, dark, sardonic man was beside her. Her brother did not notice her, but I did, as she turned to the dark man and whispered something, at which he laughed delightedly—and then looked hard at me.
Mr. Somers took me in to supper. It was served at little tables—a commendable arrangement—and we sat downtête-à-tête.
“I suppose you are staying with friends in the neighborhood?” said my companion in his genial voice.
“No; we are only in lodgings in Stonebrook.”
“Lodgings! I did not know there were such things to be had. Don’t you find it rather—rather—slow?”
“We must cut our coat according to our cloth. We cannot afford grand quarters.” (I saw his eyes fixed momentarily on my, so to speak, “coat” of filmy lace and satin.) “The doctors ordered my stepmother out of London to some dry, bracing climate. Of course, we should have preferred Biarritz, or Nice; but—well, here we are at Stonebrook instead, and it suits Emma pretty well.”
“You have seen my mother, of course?”
“Oh yes, she has been to call on us.” I was on the eve of adding—and we are to dine with youen familleon Christmas Day; but something inexplicable restrained me.
“She has only lately returned home, and I hope we shall often see you and Mrs. Hayes?”
I made no answer. I did not think his wish was at all likely to be realized.
“By the way, you saw Miss Chalgrove. Do you know that you are curiously alike in appearance—only you are much the taller of the two? The resemblance struck me the first time I saw you; you might be sisters, or, at any rate cousins.”
“I have no sisters or cousins.”
“Oh, surely you must have cousins—even half a dozen. Why, I possess half a hundred.”
“If I have, I have never heard of them.”
“Do you mean to say that you have no relations?”
“None that I know of. My father had an only brother in the navy. He was drowned years ago, and he himself lived in India so long that he lost sight of all his connections.” (I did not mention my mother. Why should I tell him that she had been disowned by her family?)“I had not seen my father since I was eight years old.”
“Then I saw him, and knew him well, quite recently—knew him better than you did, if I may say so, Miss Hayes, for, of course, two men have more in common than a man and a little girl in pinafores. He was a rare good sort.”
“Yes, I believe he was. I wish he was alive now with all my heart. It seems so hard that people in the prime of life are cut off, and old men and women who have lived their lives out, and are tired of existence, drag on wearily year after year.”
“Yes, there’s my poor father,” said Mr. Somers; “his bodily health is good—it is the health of a young man—whilst his mind is dying.”
I had heard of that, but felt it only polite to express sympathetic surprise.
“He was in a railway accident years ago, and it’s coming against him now. And how is Mrs. Hayes?” he inquired, rather abruptly.
“Pretty well.”
“I am coming to see her immediately—to-morrow—only it is a hunting day; but, perhaps, I can look in for a flying visit.”
“And was your expedition successful?” I asked.
“No, not a bit. The business part was a dead failure, and only throwing good money after bad; but, as you may have noticed, I’m not at all clever. I did my little best, and I could do no more. However, I enjoyed the trip, as a trip, extremely. There is the band again: shall we go and take a turn?”
“But I believe I am engaged to some one,” I answered, rising all the same.
“Pray, how can you tell? you have no program—no, not even a shirt-cuff!”
And thus persuaded, against my conscience, we began; but, before I had been twice round the room, I was claimed by Sir Fulke, and not alone Sir Fulke, but a little weather-beaten cavalry man, who was very positive that “this washisdance.”
As we stood disputing amicably, I was suddenly arrested by a higher power. Alas! poor Cinderella’s trivial triumph was over, her hour had come.
The Miss Bennys waylaid me with grave, determined faces, much to my companions’ disgust, and Miss Benny said in a very loud voice—
“Scott, the fly man, is waiting, Miss Hayes. We promised not to detain him after one o’clock; it is now half-past one. Therefore, if you are returning inourcharge, I must ask you to come home atonce.”
“And my dance?” cried Mr. Aubrey Price.
“And mine?” echoed Sir Fulke.
There was no use in attempting to resist them—no time to take leave of my hostess: she was at supper. I was in the Miss Bennys’ clutches; they were inexorable. This wastheirmoment of triumph, and I was carried away, followed to the very door of the fly by four eligible partners, uttering loud regrets.
Mr. Somers pressed my hand as he said good-by, and added, “I shall look forward to seeing you soon—in a day or two.”
“We need not ask if you have enjoyed yourself, Miss Hayes,” exclaimed the elder Miss Benny in an acrid key. “I admire your”—I thought perhaps she was goingto say dress or dancing, but it was my—“wonderful self-confidence! Mrs. Cholmondeley seems to havequitetaken you up! She is fond of doing that; she took a fancy to an Australian girl, she met on board ship, and actually brought her home, and had her with her, taking her everywhere for months. People called her the kangaroo; she was a horror.”
The tone implied, that I was a horror also,—if not actually a kangaroo. I burst out laughing. I laughed loud and long; I could not stop. I suppose I was almost hysterical. The reaction from the late brilliant scene, where I had been made much of, where I had danced and enjoyed the pleasures of this life for the very first time, where I had been conscious of whispered flattering comments, and eloquently flattering eyes, where I had sniffed a little of the intoxicating incense of admiration, and felt that youth and beauty are a great power, was too much. Then to come down to being one of four in a close stuffy fly, to remember the dingy little bedroom in which I must shed my fine feathers—how seven-and-sixpence for my share of the conveyance would pinch my weekly purse, and that I had forgotten to buy bacon for the morrow’s breakfast! All these thoughts and contrasts were jumbled up in my excited brain, and I laughed loud and long. My indecorous hilarity was succeeded by a freezing silence—a terrible, accusing, blank silence, which lasted the whole way home. For five long miles there was not a sound in that fly, save a sneeze or a yawn. The experience was appalling; it got upon my nerves. I felt inclined to sing or to scream. Luckily I controlled myself, or I should probably have beendelivered at the door of the lunatic asylum. At last we drove up to Mrs. Gabb’s. I opened the door and sprang out, then I politely thanked the Miss Bennys for their escort, and wished them all a fair good night—which met with no response.
“WHOARETHESE CHALGROVES?”
I letmyself in with a latchkey—Mr. Gabb’s own particular key—and crept stealthily up-stairs, hoping that Emma was asleep, and that I could thus sneak past her door unheard; but no: she was evidently on the watch for my return, and called out to me to come into her room, desiring me to “turn up the lamp, take off my cloak, and tell her all about it!”
I obediently sat down on a low chair facing her, and began to describe everything to the best of my power; the drive, the arrival, the lovely old house, the crowds, the dresses, and how Mrs. Cholmondeley had singled me out and introduced me to partners.
“Your dress is almost as fresh as ever—that is one comfort. Was Lady Hildegarde present?” inquired Emma anxiously.
“No, only Lady Polexfen. She did not notice me. But Mr. Somers was also there. He fulfilled your fondest hopes—he ‘noticed me’ a good deal.”
“What do you mean, Gwen?”
“I mean that he danced with me three or four times, took me in to supper, and finally put me into the fly.”
“That was very kind of him. Just like him!”
“Oh, I had plenty of partners. I was not at all an object of charity, I can assure you! Mr. Somers asked for you, and said he was coming to see you immediately, and oh, Emma, I had such a curious experience! I met a girl to-night who might be my own sister, we are so much alike. She remarked the resemblance too, and Mr. Somers said that it struck him the first time he ever met me.”
“And who was she?”
“A Miss Chalgrove; the Honorable Dolly Chalgrove.”
I noticed that Emma gave a little start.
“My mother’s name was Chalgrove. This girl and I are so much alike that we might be cousins. She is so bright and animated and fascinating, that I took a fancy to her on the spot. Iwishshe was my cousin. It is really too bad that I have no relatives, not a single cousin, and Mr. Somers has fifty!”
“I dare say you have fifty third or fourth cousins somewhere in the west of Ireland,” said Emma shading her face with her hand (and I noticed with a sharppang how thin and transparent that hand had become). “But it would take a lifetime to discover them, and probably they would not repay the trouble. Your father was not anxious to claim them. After his mother’s and his brother’s death, some ‘cousin’ took advantage of his absence abroad to claim the little property that was his by right. He might have gone to law, but he would not. It would have brought him home, and cost him another fortune.”
“Well, but, Emma, what about my mother’s relations?”
“They were a forbidden topic—a dead letter. Your father could not bear their name mentioned. They were very grand people, who expected their only daughter to make a brilliant match, instead of running away with a penniless army doctor—they never acknowledged her, never forgave her, no, never noticed her, no more than if she had ceased to exist. She fretted a good deal when she was in poor health. She wrote, and they returned the letter unopened. Your father, easy-going man as he was, resented this to the end of his days; and when he received a letter afterherdeath, he treated it in the same fashion—returned it as it came.”
“But all this time, whoarethese Chalgroves? Please tell me, Emma, for of course you know.”
“Yes; but your father did not wishyouto know. However, circumstances alter cases. He never dreamt that you would be left almost homeless and friendless, instead of living under his own roof, surrounded with every comfort and pleasure his love could give you.”
“Yes, of course, I know all that—I am confident of that; but, once more, about the Chalgroves?”
“I will tell you another time—to-morrow——”
“No, no; now. Please, please; it won’t take you five minutes, and I shall not rest or sleep till you satisfy me.”
“I can tell you very little, dear. Your father was extremely reticent on this one subject; but I believe that he and your mother met at a fancy ball. It was a case of love at first sight on both sides. Her people would not hear of it. She was extremely pretty, charming, and young, and they expected her to make a splendid match. They hurried her away to a distant country place, but it was all of no use; and when she heard that he was going to India she insisted on accompanying him, and she ran away and they were married in London. I believe she made an attempt to see her people and say farewell before she sailed, but they refused to receive her, and sent out a message, ‘Not at home.’ She did not want anything from them, only to say good-by. They were furious, and never forgave her; her father was inflexible. He and her mother are dead long ago. Her brother is Lord Chalgrove.”
“I saw him to-night,” I broke in; “he looked so hard at me!—I suppose he noticed the likeness. And he is my uncle, and that nice girl is my first cousin. How strange!”
“Yes. How strange that you should come across them here! They live in Northamptonshire, where they have a lovely old place called The Chase. Your mother was the Honorable Gwendoline Chalgrove, but she dropped the prefix altogether when she married, so I was toldby people at Jam-Jam-More. She was a most graceful, elegant creature, a splendid horse-woman, but as ignorant of the value of money, or of housekeeping, as an infant—as, indeed, I might say, myself! Your father was devoted to her memory, and I was never one bit jealous. Her memory was dear to me, too, though I never saw her. There was something so touching and so romantic about her life—a delicate girl brought up in luxury, abandoning everything for love, and fading away like a fragile flower in an uncongenial climate!
“Your father used to go and look at her grave every Sunday morning. Over it there stood a white cross, and just the one word ‘Gwendoline.’ He kept all her little belongings under lock and key, in a leather despatch-box—her Prayer-book, sketches, and letters (I gave you her little trinkets); they are all in the big bullock trunk down-stairs, along with your father’s books and clothes. I’ve never had the heart to open it. Mrs. Gabb keeps it in the back hall. Would you like to examine it?”
“Yes, I should very much.”
“And these people that you met to-night—it was certainly a wonderful chance your coming across them. I am so glad you wore your white satin, darling. Perhaps your uncle may make inquiries, and find out who you are. Of course, the first advances—any advances—must come fromthem.”
“Of course!” I assented emphatically.
“You may suppose that it was a delicate question for me to meddle with—asecondwife; but once or twice I did venture to say that it was a pity to lose sight of the Chalgroves, on your account. Your father never would hear me out; you were never to know them. The topic was his Bluebeard’s closet, and I dared not open it.”
“I don’t wonder.”
“Oh, you must not be like him. I have heard that the present lord is a simple, unaffected, homely man. He may discover you—why not?—from the likeness, if he even heard your name.”
And she pushed back her hair, and sat up in bed, her eyes blazing with excitement. An alluring vision was before them as she spoke. She already beheld me comfortably installed in Chalgrove Chase! Oh, I knew hersowell!
“You have got an idea into your head,” I said,“and please, please, chase it out immediately. Lord Chalgrove will never seek me out; he does not know of my existence. He was probably surprised to see that an ordinary young woman had been endowed with the family type of feature. He will never give me another thought, no more than if he saw a groom wearing a suit of clothes resembling the Chalgrove livery. His daughter, who is not at all conventional, actually addressed me, and asked how I came by the Chalgrove eyebrows.”
“Oh, my dear Gwen! And whatdidyou say?”
“What could I say?” I answered, rising. “I said nothing. ‘How does one say nothing?’ To you I say, at last. ‘Good night.’” And, stooping down, I kissed her, and, gathering up my various accoutrements, departed, and crept up to my own room.
But I did not go to bed immediately. I sat brushing my long fair locks, and slowly reviewing all the events of this remarkable evening.
Between intervals of hair-brushing, I studied the Chalgrove brows and upper lip that confronted me in that miserable looking-glass. The eyebrows were slightly arched, finely penciled, and quite black. The Chalgrove lip was short, and a little—well, if not scornful—haughty. And it was a lying lip: for, as far as one is permitted to know one’s self, I was neither.
The clock was striking three when I crept into bed, and fell asleep almost as my head touched the pillow, and enjoyed unusually interesting dreams.
The next morning a brace of pheasants and a huge bouquet of violets were left at the hall door, with Mr. Everard Somers’ compliments for Mrs. Hayes.
We went to tea at the rectory that afternoon. I took my guitar, by request, and played and sang. I was becoming quite a society girl! I wore a smart toque—made by my own hands—and a bunch of violets, and received an unusual share of the conversation. The fame of mydébuthad been noised abroad; one girl asked me where I got my guitar ribbons; another, where I got my toque; a third, where I had obtained the lovely violets, and who was my dressmaker?
“I hear your daughter looked quite nice last night,” said Mrs. Blunt (our rector’s wife), affably.
“Nonsense, mother,” said her well-named daughter. “We were told she was the beauty of the evening, the cynosure of all eyes, and I’m sure I am not surprised.”
When we returned home it was late, and we were sorry to find that Mr. Somers had called: his card lay on the table.
Mrs. Gabb hurried up after us to explain.
“I thought as how you were in, Mrs. Hayes, so I asked him up, and he sat and waited for over half an hour. He wrote a bit of a note. It’s there in the blotter.” And there it was: