Chapter Eleven.The Garden Fête.The garden fête came off yesterday, and on the surface was a roaring success. The weather was ideal; the vicarage garden proved all that was necessary in the way of a background, and the arrangements were so extraordinarily complete that my practical mind was constantly confronted with the question, “Won’t thiscostfar more than it gains?” In a big city a charity entertainment may throw out expensive baits with a fair chance of catching a shoal of fat and unwary fish; but in a small village the catch can be calculated to a sou. The big fish of the neighbourhood will heave a sigh of duteous resignation, put a five-pound note in the purse, and start for the fray prepared to spend it all, but not one penny more! The smaller fry carry out the same policy with ten or fifteen shillings. The minnows take half-a-crown, with which they pay for tea, and purchase soap at the provision stall, reporting to their husbands at night that, after all, the money was not wasted. The Vicar might just as well have it as the grocer. All the attractions in the world cannot worm shillings out of a public which is so prudent and canny that it has self-guarded itself by leaving its cash at home!Many times over yesterday afternoon I saw the flicker of longing in feminine eyes as they gazed upon the tempting novelties displayed upon the stalls, but the next moment the lips would screw, the feet pass by. Guild garments must be bought; tea paid for; tickets bought for the novel Treasure Hunt, wherein—with luck!—one might actuallygainby the outlay. The visitors lingered to gaze at the pretty china, and glass, and embroideries with which Delphine had filled her stall; but the afternoon wore on, and it looked as full as ever—horribly full! There were none of those bare, blank spaces which stall-holders love to see. At five o’clock we marked off the odd sixpences; at six o’clock we dropped a whole shilling, but still—hardly a sale!Delphine looked—a vision! At the first glimpse of her in her cobweb fineries, I was ill-bred enough to gape, whereat she blushed and said hurriedly:—“Yourdressmaker! Yes! Isn’t it a duck?”And knowing the prices which Celeste charges for ducks with such feathers, I wondered, and—feared! Did the Vicar know? Was it possible that with his small stipend he could afford such extravagances? Had the silly little thing ordered, and neverasked? Was it my fault for having given the address? Could I have helped doing so, when I was asked? Ihadsaid she was expensive. It was some small comfort to remember that, and Charmion would say it was no concern of mine. A dozen such disconcerting thoughts raced through my mind, but I shook them off, and said heartily:—“It is lovely!Youare lovely! I had no idea you were such a beauty. What does your husband say?”Her face clouded.“Nothing. Doesn’t notice. Likes me as much in an old print. But I—loveit! Oh, you don’t know what bliss it is to feel ‘finished off’. Everything new, good, pretty, and to match!” She gave a rapid swirling movement of the hand to call my attention to such details as shoes and stockings, embroidered bag, and glorified garden hat. “It’s nothing toyou. You have had them all your life, but I have only longed and—starved!”She spoke with a passionate emphasis, which to many people would seem out of all keeping with the subject; but I am young, and a girl, so I understood. There are many empty-headed women in whom the craving for pretty things is as strong as the masculine craving for drink and cards. Circumstances have compelled these women to wear the plainest, most useful of clothes, while every shop window shows a tantalising display of colour and beauty, and other women not half so pretty as themselves bloom with a borrowed radiance!No mere man can understand the inborn feminine joy in the feel of fine smooth fabric, nor the blending of delicate colours, the dainty ruffling of lace. To the rich these things come as a matter of course, and the working classes are satisfied with garish imitations; it is the poor gentlewoman with the cultivated taste, the cultivated longing for beauty, to whom temptation comes in its keenest form. It had come to Delphine, and she had succumbed. I devoutly hoped and prayed that the shock of the coming bill would prevent further extravagances!Charmion and I took charge of the Treasure Hunt. We had given the treasures, which were laboriously chosen with a view to suitability. Umbrellas (lashed flat to the trunks of trees!) bags, photograph frames, writing cases, boxes of handkerchiefs, chocolate, cigarettes, scent, and—this was a cunning idea!—cash orders on a big London store.There was a great rush for tickets, and the Vicar—very flurried, and out of his element, poor man!—dragged in the Squire to help us. The Squire had arrived with his mother an hour before, and had sat under a cedar, drinking tea with a selection of old ladies and gentlemen, looking as though he liked it quite well. Whenever he met my eye, he glowered, as if to say, “How dare you look at me!” and I smiled back, as that seemed to annoy him most. Now, as the Vicar brought him up, I could hear his muttered protests: “Rather not! Can’tyou—isn’t there something else?” Pleasing thing, I must say, to have a man forced to help you against his will!Well, it was no use making a fuss before a score of curious eyes, so for the next half-hour we stood side by side, selling tickets, explaining the rules of the Hunt, marshalling the seekers in readiness for the signal to start. He is capable enough, I will say that for him, and has a patent knack of silencing garrulous questioners. It was the funniest thing in the world to stand at the end of the lawn, and watch these rustic backs—young, old, and fat middle-aged—all poised on one leg, swaying to and fro, straining to be off! Excruciatingly funny to watch the stampede, after the loud “One—two—three—and away!” The plunges, the waddles, the skelter of flying heels! One might have thought the gold of Klondyke was hidden in the kitchen garden. I laughed, and laughed, in a good old Irish paroxysm of merriment, until the tears rolled down my cheeks. Mr Maplestone stared, turned on his heel, and stalked away.I strolled back to the upper lawn, and the first person I saw was old General Underwood sitting in his bath-chair, which had been drawn under the shade of a tree, so that he might see everything, and yet be well out of the way. He was too much out of the way, poor old dear! to judge by his looks, and agreeably pleased to see my approach.“Well, young lady, and how are you to-day? You look very fresh and charming!”“That’s very nice of you, General! I do like to be admired. Isn’t this rather a dull corner for you? Wouldn’t you like to be moved?”He looked around with his old, blue eyes.“Everyone seems to have gone. There was quite a crowd here a few minutes ago. I sent my man to the village to post some letters.”“We can manage without him. There is a Treasure Hunt going on at the other end of the garden. That is why this part is so empty. Mrs Merrivale has hidden a lot of parcels among the trees and shrubs, and everyone who pays a shilling can go and search for a treasure.”“Ha!” His face lit up with the hunting instinct, which seems dormant in us all. “Treasures—I see! A good idea. Worth more, I presume, than the entrance shilling?”“Oh, much, much more.” The pride of the donor sounded in my voice; then I looked at the poor, old, tired, wistful face, and had a brilliant idea. “General, shallwego hunting—you and I? I’ll push and you’ll steer, and we’ll both look, and if it’s a man’s present, it’s yours, and if it’s a woman’s, it’s mine, and if it’s neutral, we’ll toss! They’ve only just started, so we’re in time.”He gripped the handle involuntarily, then loosened it to say:—“My dear, I’m too heavy. Wait till my man—”“Nonsense! I’m as strong as a horse. Who waits is lost. To the right, please, General. Straight down this path, and into the herbaceous garden.Quiteslowly, and keep a sharp eye between the branches.”He quite chuckled with delight. Viewed from the vantage ground of a bath-chair, a Treasure Hunt was delirious excitement, but hewasheavy! I remembered a sharp upward curve some way further on, and had a vision of myself pushing, with arms extended to full length, and feet at a considerable distance between the arms, as I have seen small nursemaids push pram-loads of fat twins. How undignified it would be if I slipped half-way, and the chair backed over my prone body! Then, of course, the thing happened which I might have been sure and certainwouldhappen under the circumstances. We came face to face with Mr Maplestone, and the General called out:—“Hi, Ralph! There you are. Just the man we want. Miss Wastneys and I are hunting. Come and give a hand.”“Oh, if you have the Squire, you won’t need me. I’ll go off on my own,” I cried quickly; but it was no use, the old man wanted both, and both he would have. The Squire was to push behind; I was to take the handle and pull in front; he himself must be free to hunt, since he was handicapped by old eyes. He issued orders with the assurance of a Commander-in-Chief, and we listened and obeyed.I started by feeling annoyed and impatient, but honestly, after the first few minutes, it was great fun. The Squire was an abominable pusher; first he pushed too little and left all the work to me; and then, being upbraided, he pushed too hard and tilted me into a run; then we changed places, and he took the wrong turnings, wheeled past plain grass beds where nothing could possibly be hidden; then webothtook the back, and the General peered from side to side, and saw nothing, and grew discouraged, and sighed, and said his luck had gone. No treasures for him any more!I will say for Ralph Maplestone that he is sweet to that old man! He treats him just in the right way, as deferentially as though he were in full health and strength, a martial figure riding gloriously to conquest! We cheered him up between us (I did it rather nicely, too!) and became quite friendly in the process. Two people can’t join in pushing a bath-chair and remainde haut en bas. The thing is impossible. I was most nice to Ralph Maplestone, and he appeared to be nice to me.Suddenly, in the middle of a bush, I saw a glint of brighter green, the tissue-paper wrapping of a treasure, and instantly my fingers gripped the chair. Mr Maplestone would have pushed on, but I frowned and grimaced, and he looked and saw too, and we both puffed and panted, and demanded a rest, during which I stood elaborately at one side of the bush, and he stood at the other, so that the old dear could hardly miss seeing the paper.Even then I had to give, it a surreptitious push before discovery came; but he had no suspicions, not one, and was as pleased as a boy at the thought that his old eyes had been sharper than our young ones. We all took a turn at opening the parcel, and it turned out to be a vanity bag, fitted with a mirror and other frivolities, so of course it was presented to me, and I arranged my hair in the mirror, and powdered my nose with the puff, just to shock them, which, by the way, it fully succeeded in doing.“Girls didn’t do that in my day!” croaked the General.“Allgirls don’t do it now!” grunted the Squire.“My dear, you look far nicer without it.” This was the General’s second venture. I turned to the Squire and asked solemnly, “DoI?” and he gave one quick look, and then stared past me—through me—blankly into space.“I am no judge,” he said curtly.Well, let me be honest! Itwasflirtatious of me, I knew it was, and hurried to rub off the powder, and get back to my briskest, most business-like manner. As we had paid three entrance fees, we were entitled to a treasure apiece, if we could find them, and I insisted upon keeping up the search to the very last moment. It amused the General; it amused me; I honestly believe that it amused Mr Maplestone, as far as he was capable of being amused. He was quite human; once or twice, as we rushed after a “scent,” he was evenlively. I began to think he might really be quite nice.We found one other parcel—a box of cigarettes—and then made our way back to the lawn, where the General’s valet was waiting, and took over the chair. Delphine came up to me and slipped her hand through my arm.“Evelyn, you have managed beautifully, but you must be dead tired and longing for tea. I’m going to stand over you and make you rest. Stupid of Jacky to send the Squire to help you! You’d have been happier with anyone else, but he’s so dense, so in the clouds, that he doesn’t notice these things. Evelyn, isn’t it strange how he dislikes you?”“Who? Your husband?”“Nonsense. No. You know quite well—Mr Maplestone. At first, of course, one can understand he was prejudiced; butnow! And when you have been so nice!”“Thank you for that. I’m glad you appreciate me. Why are you so sure the Squire does not?”“Because,” she said imperturbably, “he tells me so!”Curiosity is a terrible thing. It’s bad enough when it concerns itself about other people, but when it comes to oneself, it’s ten times worse. Iachedto ask, “When?” and “Where?” and “How?” and exactly in what words Mr Maplestone’s dislike had been expressed, but pride closed my lips, and I would not let myself go. Of course I had known before, but I had imagined that after the chair episode—What stings is not the dislike itself, but the putting it into words to such a confidante as Delphine. No, let me be honest; the dislike itselfdoessting. I have my own petty feminine craving, and it is to be liked, to have people appreciate and approve of me, if they do nothing more. Even indifference is difficult to bear, butdislike— Well, thank goodness, I have lived in a warm-hearted country among warm-hearted people who have loved me for my name if for nothing else. Really and truly, I believe this ugly, red-headed man is the first person who has ever dared to speak openly of dislike for Evelyn Wastneys!I pity and despise him. I wouldn’t have his approval if I could. Henceforth I shall never think of him, nor mention his name. To me he is dead. All is over between us before anything ever began! It is finished. This is the end. The fête ended at nine o’clock, and Charmion and I, with the other stall-holders, went into the vicarage to enjoy a supper of scraps. As a rule I adore scrap suppers after everyone has gone, and the servants have gone to bed, and the guests make sorties into the pantry, and bring out plates of patties and fruit, and derelict meringues, and wobbling halves of jellies and creams. They taste sogood, eaten in picnic fashion before the fire, with a shortage of forks and spoons, and a plate as a lucky chance. But somehow last night things didn’t go! I think perhaps there were too many “scraps” which should by rights have been sold and paid for in good hard cash. The Vicar was full of hospitable zeal, and evidently enjoyed pressing the good things upon his guests, but there was something in Delphine’s pale glance which checked merriment. She had had her fun, the interest of planning, the excitement of playing hostess to the country-side, the satisfaction of knowing herself to be the best-dressed, most admired woman present, and of queening it over women who had hitherto patronised herself. Poor little butterfly! she had enjoyed her hour, but now the sun had gone down, and she was counting the cost. The treasurer added up the coins handed in from the various stalls and announced the total. There was a little pause.“Ah!” said the Vicar slowly. “More than last year, but not so much as we hoped. How will it work out, dear, after paying expenses?”“Oh, Jacky, I’mtired! Can’t we have supper in peace, before worrying about money!” she cried pettishly.Not another word was said.When we were driving home, Charmion gave me a shock.“I rather like Mrs Maplestone,” she said dreamily. “She is stiff and conventional, and it has never even occurred to her that anyone can disagree with her views, and still have a glimmering of right, but, at least, she is sincere. If one could burrow deep enough beneath the surface, she’d be worth knowing.”“I don’t like people who have to be burrowed. Life is too short. And I am perfectly certain that I should shock her into fits. Personally, I don’t intend to take the trouble of excavating!”“That’s unfortunate, for she wishes to know you. She has invited us to dinner next Wednesday to meet some friends.”“Charmion! You didn’t accept?”“Certainly I did. Wasn’t it your express desire to be sociable, and to know your neighbours?”“Oh, not them—not there! It’s pleasant knowing a few people, but one is at liberty to choose. I think you might have consulted me!”In the soft dusk she laughed, and stretched out a caressing hand.“Tired, dear, and—cross? I thought you’d be pleased. Why and wherefore? Tell me the truth?”“Oh, don’t be so tiresome, Charmion. Of course I am tired. I’ve been on my feet all day long. Cross! Why should I be cross? Only—I don’t choose to accept hospitality from that man. I tell you plainly I won’t go.”She bowed her head, deliberately, once and again.“Oh, yes, Evelyn, you will! I gave you your choice, and having made it you will play fair. I should have preferred to remain peacefully at Coventry, but having taken the first step at your request, I don’t propose to allow you to force me into societyalone.”What could I say? What was itpossibleto say? There is no way out of it. I shall just have to go!
The garden fête came off yesterday, and on the surface was a roaring success. The weather was ideal; the vicarage garden proved all that was necessary in the way of a background, and the arrangements were so extraordinarily complete that my practical mind was constantly confronted with the question, “Won’t thiscostfar more than it gains?” In a big city a charity entertainment may throw out expensive baits with a fair chance of catching a shoal of fat and unwary fish; but in a small village the catch can be calculated to a sou. The big fish of the neighbourhood will heave a sigh of duteous resignation, put a five-pound note in the purse, and start for the fray prepared to spend it all, but not one penny more! The smaller fry carry out the same policy with ten or fifteen shillings. The minnows take half-a-crown, with which they pay for tea, and purchase soap at the provision stall, reporting to their husbands at night that, after all, the money was not wasted. The Vicar might just as well have it as the grocer. All the attractions in the world cannot worm shillings out of a public which is so prudent and canny that it has self-guarded itself by leaving its cash at home!
Many times over yesterday afternoon I saw the flicker of longing in feminine eyes as they gazed upon the tempting novelties displayed upon the stalls, but the next moment the lips would screw, the feet pass by. Guild garments must be bought; tea paid for; tickets bought for the novel Treasure Hunt, wherein—with luck!—one might actuallygainby the outlay. The visitors lingered to gaze at the pretty china, and glass, and embroideries with which Delphine had filled her stall; but the afternoon wore on, and it looked as full as ever—horribly full! There were none of those bare, blank spaces which stall-holders love to see. At five o’clock we marked off the odd sixpences; at six o’clock we dropped a whole shilling, but still—hardly a sale!
Delphine looked—a vision! At the first glimpse of her in her cobweb fineries, I was ill-bred enough to gape, whereat she blushed and said hurriedly:—
“Yourdressmaker! Yes! Isn’t it a duck?”
And knowing the prices which Celeste charges for ducks with such feathers, I wondered, and—feared! Did the Vicar know? Was it possible that with his small stipend he could afford such extravagances? Had the silly little thing ordered, and neverasked? Was it my fault for having given the address? Could I have helped doing so, when I was asked? Ihadsaid she was expensive. It was some small comfort to remember that, and Charmion would say it was no concern of mine. A dozen such disconcerting thoughts raced through my mind, but I shook them off, and said heartily:—
“It is lovely!Youare lovely! I had no idea you were such a beauty. What does your husband say?”
Her face clouded.
“Nothing. Doesn’t notice. Likes me as much in an old print. But I—loveit! Oh, you don’t know what bliss it is to feel ‘finished off’. Everything new, good, pretty, and to match!” She gave a rapid swirling movement of the hand to call my attention to such details as shoes and stockings, embroidered bag, and glorified garden hat. “It’s nothing toyou. You have had them all your life, but I have only longed and—starved!”
She spoke with a passionate emphasis, which to many people would seem out of all keeping with the subject; but I am young, and a girl, so I understood. There are many empty-headed women in whom the craving for pretty things is as strong as the masculine craving for drink and cards. Circumstances have compelled these women to wear the plainest, most useful of clothes, while every shop window shows a tantalising display of colour and beauty, and other women not half so pretty as themselves bloom with a borrowed radiance!
No mere man can understand the inborn feminine joy in the feel of fine smooth fabric, nor the blending of delicate colours, the dainty ruffling of lace. To the rich these things come as a matter of course, and the working classes are satisfied with garish imitations; it is the poor gentlewoman with the cultivated taste, the cultivated longing for beauty, to whom temptation comes in its keenest form. It had come to Delphine, and she had succumbed. I devoutly hoped and prayed that the shock of the coming bill would prevent further extravagances!
Charmion and I took charge of the Treasure Hunt. We had given the treasures, which were laboriously chosen with a view to suitability. Umbrellas (lashed flat to the trunks of trees!) bags, photograph frames, writing cases, boxes of handkerchiefs, chocolate, cigarettes, scent, and—this was a cunning idea!—cash orders on a big London store.
There was a great rush for tickets, and the Vicar—very flurried, and out of his element, poor man!—dragged in the Squire to help us. The Squire had arrived with his mother an hour before, and had sat under a cedar, drinking tea with a selection of old ladies and gentlemen, looking as though he liked it quite well. Whenever he met my eye, he glowered, as if to say, “How dare you look at me!” and I smiled back, as that seemed to annoy him most. Now, as the Vicar brought him up, I could hear his muttered protests: “Rather not! Can’tyou—isn’t there something else?” Pleasing thing, I must say, to have a man forced to help you against his will!
Well, it was no use making a fuss before a score of curious eyes, so for the next half-hour we stood side by side, selling tickets, explaining the rules of the Hunt, marshalling the seekers in readiness for the signal to start. He is capable enough, I will say that for him, and has a patent knack of silencing garrulous questioners. It was the funniest thing in the world to stand at the end of the lawn, and watch these rustic backs—young, old, and fat middle-aged—all poised on one leg, swaying to and fro, straining to be off! Excruciatingly funny to watch the stampede, after the loud “One—two—three—and away!” The plunges, the waddles, the skelter of flying heels! One might have thought the gold of Klondyke was hidden in the kitchen garden. I laughed, and laughed, in a good old Irish paroxysm of merriment, until the tears rolled down my cheeks. Mr Maplestone stared, turned on his heel, and stalked away.
I strolled back to the upper lawn, and the first person I saw was old General Underwood sitting in his bath-chair, which had been drawn under the shade of a tree, so that he might see everything, and yet be well out of the way. He was too much out of the way, poor old dear! to judge by his looks, and agreeably pleased to see my approach.
“Well, young lady, and how are you to-day? You look very fresh and charming!”
“That’s very nice of you, General! I do like to be admired. Isn’t this rather a dull corner for you? Wouldn’t you like to be moved?”
He looked around with his old, blue eyes.
“Everyone seems to have gone. There was quite a crowd here a few minutes ago. I sent my man to the village to post some letters.”
“We can manage without him. There is a Treasure Hunt going on at the other end of the garden. That is why this part is so empty. Mrs Merrivale has hidden a lot of parcels among the trees and shrubs, and everyone who pays a shilling can go and search for a treasure.”
“Ha!” His face lit up with the hunting instinct, which seems dormant in us all. “Treasures—I see! A good idea. Worth more, I presume, than the entrance shilling?”
“Oh, much, much more.” The pride of the donor sounded in my voice; then I looked at the poor, old, tired, wistful face, and had a brilliant idea. “General, shallwego hunting—you and I? I’ll push and you’ll steer, and we’ll both look, and if it’s a man’s present, it’s yours, and if it’s a woman’s, it’s mine, and if it’s neutral, we’ll toss! They’ve only just started, so we’re in time.”
He gripped the handle involuntarily, then loosened it to say:—
“My dear, I’m too heavy. Wait till my man—”
“Nonsense! I’m as strong as a horse. Who waits is lost. To the right, please, General. Straight down this path, and into the herbaceous garden.Quiteslowly, and keep a sharp eye between the branches.”
He quite chuckled with delight. Viewed from the vantage ground of a bath-chair, a Treasure Hunt was delirious excitement, but hewasheavy! I remembered a sharp upward curve some way further on, and had a vision of myself pushing, with arms extended to full length, and feet at a considerable distance between the arms, as I have seen small nursemaids push pram-loads of fat twins. How undignified it would be if I slipped half-way, and the chair backed over my prone body! Then, of course, the thing happened which I might have been sure and certainwouldhappen under the circumstances. We came face to face with Mr Maplestone, and the General called out:—
“Hi, Ralph! There you are. Just the man we want. Miss Wastneys and I are hunting. Come and give a hand.”
“Oh, if you have the Squire, you won’t need me. I’ll go off on my own,” I cried quickly; but it was no use, the old man wanted both, and both he would have. The Squire was to push behind; I was to take the handle and pull in front; he himself must be free to hunt, since he was handicapped by old eyes. He issued orders with the assurance of a Commander-in-Chief, and we listened and obeyed.
I started by feeling annoyed and impatient, but honestly, after the first few minutes, it was great fun. The Squire was an abominable pusher; first he pushed too little and left all the work to me; and then, being upbraided, he pushed too hard and tilted me into a run; then we changed places, and he took the wrong turnings, wheeled past plain grass beds where nothing could possibly be hidden; then webothtook the back, and the General peered from side to side, and saw nothing, and grew discouraged, and sighed, and said his luck had gone. No treasures for him any more!
I will say for Ralph Maplestone that he is sweet to that old man! He treats him just in the right way, as deferentially as though he were in full health and strength, a martial figure riding gloriously to conquest! We cheered him up between us (I did it rather nicely, too!) and became quite friendly in the process. Two people can’t join in pushing a bath-chair and remainde haut en bas. The thing is impossible. I was most nice to Ralph Maplestone, and he appeared to be nice to me.
Suddenly, in the middle of a bush, I saw a glint of brighter green, the tissue-paper wrapping of a treasure, and instantly my fingers gripped the chair. Mr Maplestone would have pushed on, but I frowned and grimaced, and he looked and saw too, and we both puffed and panted, and demanded a rest, during which I stood elaborately at one side of the bush, and he stood at the other, so that the old dear could hardly miss seeing the paper.
Even then I had to give, it a surreptitious push before discovery came; but he had no suspicions, not one, and was as pleased as a boy at the thought that his old eyes had been sharper than our young ones. We all took a turn at opening the parcel, and it turned out to be a vanity bag, fitted with a mirror and other frivolities, so of course it was presented to me, and I arranged my hair in the mirror, and powdered my nose with the puff, just to shock them, which, by the way, it fully succeeded in doing.
“Girls didn’t do that in my day!” croaked the General.
“Allgirls don’t do it now!” grunted the Squire.
“My dear, you look far nicer without it.” This was the General’s second venture. I turned to the Squire and asked solemnly, “DoI?” and he gave one quick look, and then stared past me—through me—blankly into space.
“I am no judge,” he said curtly.
Well, let me be honest! Itwasflirtatious of me, I knew it was, and hurried to rub off the powder, and get back to my briskest, most business-like manner. As we had paid three entrance fees, we were entitled to a treasure apiece, if we could find them, and I insisted upon keeping up the search to the very last moment. It amused the General; it amused me; I honestly believe that it amused Mr Maplestone, as far as he was capable of being amused. He was quite human; once or twice, as we rushed after a “scent,” he was evenlively. I began to think he might really be quite nice.
We found one other parcel—a box of cigarettes—and then made our way back to the lawn, where the General’s valet was waiting, and took over the chair. Delphine came up to me and slipped her hand through my arm.
“Evelyn, you have managed beautifully, but you must be dead tired and longing for tea. I’m going to stand over you and make you rest. Stupid of Jacky to send the Squire to help you! You’d have been happier with anyone else, but he’s so dense, so in the clouds, that he doesn’t notice these things. Evelyn, isn’t it strange how he dislikes you?”
“Who? Your husband?”
“Nonsense. No. You know quite well—Mr Maplestone. At first, of course, one can understand he was prejudiced; butnow! And when you have been so nice!”
“Thank you for that. I’m glad you appreciate me. Why are you so sure the Squire does not?”
“Because,” she said imperturbably, “he tells me so!”
Curiosity is a terrible thing. It’s bad enough when it concerns itself about other people, but when it comes to oneself, it’s ten times worse. Iachedto ask, “When?” and “Where?” and “How?” and exactly in what words Mr Maplestone’s dislike had been expressed, but pride closed my lips, and I would not let myself go. Of course I had known before, but I had imagined that after the chair episode—What stings is not the dislike itself, but the putting it into words to such a confidante as Delphine. No, let me be honest; the dislike itselfdoessting. I have my own petty feminine craving, and it is to be liked, to have people appreciate and approve of me, if they do nothing more. Even indifference is difficult to bear, butdislike— Well, thank goodness, I have lived in a warm-hearted country among warm-hearted people who have loved me for my name if for nothing else. Really and truly, I believe this ugly, red-headed man is the first person who has ever dared to speak openly of dislike for Evelyn Wastneys!
I pity and despise him. I wouldn’t have his approval if I could. Henceforth I shall never think of him, nor mention his name. To me he is dead. All is over between us before anything ever began! It is finished. This is the end. The fête ended at nine o’clock, and Charmion and I, with the other stall-holders, went into the vicarage to enjoy a supper of scraps. As a rule I adore scrap suppers after everyone has gone, and the servants have gone to bed, and the guests make sorties into the pantry, and bring out plates of patties and fruit, and derelict meringues, and wobbling halves of jellies and creams. They taste sogood, eaten in picnic fashion before the fire, with a shortage of forks and spoons, and a plate as a lucky chance. But somehow last night things didn’t go! I think perhaps there were too many “scraps” which should by rights have been sold and paid for in good hard cash. The Vicar was full of hospitable zeal, and evidently enjoyed pressing the good things upon his guests, but there was something in Delphine’s pale glance which checked merriment. She had had her fun, the interest of planning, the excitement of playing hostess to the country-side, the satisfaction of knowing herself to be the best-dressed, most admired woman present, and of queening it over women who had hitherto patronised herself. Poor little butterfly! she had enjoyed her hour, but now the sun had gone down, and she was counting the cost. The treasurer added up the coins handed in from the various stalls and announced the total. There was a little pause.
“Ah!” said the Vicar slowly. “More than last year, but not so much as we hoped. How will it work out, dear, after paying expenses?”
“Oh, Jacky, I’mtired! Can’t we have supper in peace, before worrying about money!” she cried pettishly.
Not another word was said.
When we were driving home, Charmion gave me a shock.
“I rather like Mrs Maplestone,” she said dreamily. “She is stiff and conventional, and it has never even occurred to her that anyone can disagree with her views, and still have a glimmering of right, but, at least, she is sincere. If one could burrow deep enough beneath the surface, she’d be worth knowing.”
“I don’t like people who have to be burrowed. Life is too short. And I am perfectly certain that I should shock her into fits. Personally, I don’t intend to take the trouble of excavating!”
“That’s unfortunate, for she wishes to know you. She has invited us to dinner next Wednesday to meet some friends.”
“Charmion! You didn’t accept?”
“Certainly I did. Wasn’t it your express desire to be sociable, and to know your neighbours?”
“Oh, not them—not there! It’s pleasant knowing a few people, but one is at liberty to choose. I think you might have consulted me!”
In the soft dusk she laughed, and stretched out a caressing hand.
“Tired, dear, and—cross? I thought you’d be pleased. Why and wherefore? Tell me the truth?”
“Oh, don’t be so tiresome, Charmion. Of course I am tired. I’ve been on my feet all day long. Cross! Why should I be cross? Only—I don’t choose to accept hospitality from that man. I tell you plainly I won’t go.”
She bowed her head, deliberately, once and again.
“Oh, yes, Evelyn, you will! I gave you your choice, and having made it you will play fair. I should have preferred to remain peacefully at Coventry, but having taken the first step at your request, I don’t propose to allow you to force me into societyalone.”
What could I say? What was itpossibleto say? There is no way out of it. I shall just have to go!
Chapter Twelve.A Revelation.The Vicar has called to tell us that Delphine has made up her accounts, and that the fête has cleared fifty pounds more than the smaller affair last year. He seemed pleased and proud, and I was delighted, too, and immensely relieved, because I had really been horribly afraid there would be no profit at all! Curious to think where all the money came from to pay heavy expenses, and still clear so much! It just shows how small sums add up. I asked if Delphine were very pleased, and he hesitated, and said:—“She seems tired. Feeling the reaction, no doubt. She worked so hard.”An imp of curiosity tempted me to see if he were really as blind as he appeared.“She made a splendid hostess. And didn’t she look charming, too? I am sure you were proud of her in that lovely new frock!”His eyes softened with a deepgloweylook, which was reserved for Delphine alone.“I am always proud of her. She always looks charming; but the dress—I am afraid I must plead guilty. I know nothing about her dress.”“Really? Truly? You couldn’t tell what it was like?”“Not for a thousand pounds!”I stared at him, frowning.“If I had a husband I shouldlikehim to know. I should be furious if I made a special effort, and he didn’t even notice that I had anything new.”He smiled with a forbearing air.“Surely not! I think better of you, Miss Wastneys. Dress is altogether unimportant.”“Not to me. Not to your wife. There are some women to whom it is the greatest temptation in life.”He looked outraged, disgusted, and changed the subject with a resolute air, but I was glad that I had spoken. A husband can be too unworldly, and lost in the clouds. It would be the best thing in the world for Delphine if hedidnotice, and that in more ways than one!In the afternoon Charmion and I called at the vicarage to congratulate Delphine, and found her distinctly the worse for wear. Pale, heavy-eyed, and inclined to snap, a very different creature from the radiant butterfly of three days ago. She was glad to see me, however, I was someone to snap at, which was what she wanted most at the moment, and she worked off quite a lot of steam, hectoring me about things I might have done better, or not done at all, and impressing on meforfuture occasions that I should be less independent, and take more advice. She likewise informed us, quite incidentally and “by the way,” that Mrs Ross had disliked my hat and Mrs Bruce had asked if Charmion were anaemic—such a colourless skin!—and Mrs Someone Else thought it so “queer” that we should live together! Altogether she behaved like a spoiled, ill-tempered child, but she looked so young and worried and pretty through it all, that on the whole I felt more sorry for her than myself. As for Charmion, she smiled, with an air of listening from an illimitable distance, which I can quite understand has an exasperating effect on people who do not understand and care. It exasperated Delphine now. I saw the blue eyes flash, and the pink lips set, with a peevish desire to “hit back!”“Mrs Bruce said her family know the Fane family quite well. They come from the same county. She was telling them about you, but, of course, not knowing your husband’s Christian name made it difficult. She thought it so queer to have your own Christian name printed on your cards—”“Did she?” said Charmion blandly.“It is an American custom,” I put in hastily. “I should do the same if I had such a fascinating name.”“I wouldn’t!” Delphine said—“it’s so queer. Unless, of course, one’s husband had a hideous name—Elisha, or Jonathan, or something like that. Even then one might leave it out.”“I shouldn’t dream of marrying anyone called Elisha.”“What was—is—your favourite man’s name?”“Jacky,” said Charmion naughtily.Delphine’s eyes flashed.“Was that your husband’s name?”“Oh no.”The pink lips opened to ask a further, more definite question, but it died unsaid. The steady gaze of Charmion’s eyes prevented that. She would be a bold woman who could defy that silent challenge!We made our escape, and walked home in silence. Charmion seemed very depressed, and went to bed at nine o’clock. Next time I see Delphine Merrivale, I shall tell her plainly that I will—not—have Mrs Fane annoyed with questions about the past!Last night we dined at the Hall. Last night things happened. We started feeling quite festive and excited, for, after a strictly domestic life for nearly five months, it becomes quite thrilling to dine in another house, and to eat food which one has not ordered oneself. As we drove along the lanes, we amused ourselves like schoolgirls, guessing what we “would have,” and who would “take us in”. Charmion, as the married woman, would obviously fall to the Squire. I hoped I should be at the other end of the table, with a partner who was sweet tempered and appreciative. Bridget had come back from posting a letter, bearing the thrilling news that the Squire’s car had been to the station to meet a party of guests. Two fine, upstanding ladies, and a gentleman with a figure like a wooden Noah in the Ark. The shoulders of him!—that square you might have cut them with a knife! It was refreshing to know that we were to meet people who didnotlive within a radius of five miles. I rather hoped those shoulders would fall to my share!They did. He is an American. I might have guessed that by the description, and one of the “fine upstanding ones” is his bride, and they have been “doing” England for a few weeks, before starting on a year’s honeymoon in the East. The explanation of their appearance at the Hall is that they “chanced” to have met the Squire years ago in America, and wished to renew the acquaintance. So things came about! Mr Elliott is an interesting man, and, like all Americans, loves to talk about his own country. He was pained and shocked to hear I had never crossed the Atlantic, until I told him that half myself, in the person of an only sister, had gone in my place. I was just going to add that Charmion also had spent a great part of her life in the States, when—something stopped me—one of those mysterious impulses which, at times, lay a finger on our lips, and check the coming words.Charmion sat on one side of the Squire, Mrs Elliott on the other. I was half-way down the table, sandwiched in between a dozen comfortable, middle-aged worthies, who were all intimate friends, if not actually related to each other, and their conversation, though interesting to themselves, was not thrilling to an outsider. I saw the American’s quick eye dart from one to the other, and hoped he was not classifying the company as typical English wits! The dinner itself was long, heavy, and unenterprising; a Victorian feast, even to the “specimen glass” decorations. One rose and one spray of maidenhair, in a tall thin glass, before each separate diner. Charmion and the Squire talked and laughed together, and seemed quite happy. She is a lovely creature when she is animated; there is a dainty charm about every movement which makes her seem of a different clay from human creatures. Even to see Charmioneatis a beautiful thing!All the same, that dinner was a trial of patience, and I was thankful when it was over. In the old-fashioned way, we left the men to their smoke, and wandered through the drawing-room into a big domed palm-house, which in its fragrant dimness, with the giant palms reaching to the very roof, looked much more inviting than the drawing-room with its glaring incandescent lights.The American bride attached herself to me and chatted amusingly enough. Before her marriage she had lived “out west,” so I plied her with questions about ranch life. Kathie writes regularly enough, but she is a wretch about answering questions, and is not half detailed enough to satisfy my curiosity. We stood leaning against one of the tiered flower-stands, enjoying the scent and the beauty, chatting together so lightly and calmly, blankly unsuspicious, as we so often are in the big moments of life, of what lies immediately ahead. Between the spreading branches I caught sight of Charmion looking at me with raised, inquiring brows. She had noted my eagerness, and was wondering what point of interest had been discovered between the wordy American and myself. I raised my voice, and cried happily:—“Oh, Charmion! Mrs Elliott knows Kathie’s home. She has stayed there herself. I am asking her all about it.”She smiled, and moved forward as if to join us. Mrs Elliott gave a little start, and repeated curiously, “Charmion! Is Mrs Fane called Charmion? That’s a very unusual name. I have only heard it once before. Very sweet, isn’t it, but association goes for so much!”“It does. In this case it makes the name all the more charming.”“Why, yes, that is so. Mrs Fane is a lovely woman. But I guess I was less fortunate in my specimen. I never met her myself, but she married a man I knew well, and—ran away from him on their honeymoon!”I laughed. I am so glad I laughed. So glad there was time to say lightly, “Shewassoon tired!” before, between the spreading leaves of a palm, I caught Charmion’s eyes—my Charmion!—staring into mine, and knew that she had overheard—knew more—knew, in a blundering flash of intuition, that the words which had just been spoken referred to no stranger, but to herself! Fortunately for us both, Mrs Elliott was facing me, so she did not see, as I did, the sudden pause, the blanching face, the dumb appeal of the stricken eyes.I flashed back reassurement, and at once led the way forward—out of the conservatory, back to the drawing-room, affecting to be tired, to want to sit down. Mrs Elliott followed, unperturbed. It didn’t matter to her where she went, the one indispensable necessity was to talk, and to have someone to listen. She continued her history with voluble emphasis.“I should think itwassoon! Well, I guess she might have thought it out before she went so far. Too hard on a man to be treated like that. Kind of humiliates him before his friends, that a woman couldn’t put up with him one month—”“I shouldn’t worry abouthispride,” I said curtly. “What about hers? It would be worse than humiliating for a woman to beobligedto go! He must have been a poor thing!”“Well, I don’t know. He was a real popular man. He may have been a bit careless and extravagant; quite a good many young men are that, but they settle down into staid, steady-going husbands if the right woman comes along to help. Doesn’t seem to me, Miss Wastneys, that it’spossiblefor any man to be so bad, that in three weeks the woman who had promised to stick to him till death should throw up the sponge!”It did not seem so to me, either, so I made no comment. I should not have been human if I had not burned to ask questions, but I would not allow myself to do it. What Charmion wished me to hear, she would tell me herself. The time had come when shewouldtell me. I knew that. This chance encounter had decided the moment when her silence should be broken.Mrs Elliott smothered a yawn, and straightened a diamond bracelet on her wrist. The diamonds were massed together so heavily that the weight dragged them to the inside of her arm, leaving only the plain gold band in sight, a hiding of treasures which did not please the owner.“Well,” she said deliberately once more, “I guess it was a real cruel trick. Whatever he’d done, she put herself in the wrong that time. The poor fellow’s not done a mite of good ever since.”I had to hold myself tight to prevent a start.Not done! She talked of the man in the present case, as though he were alive, as though—stupefying thought!—Charmion was not a widow after all! The thought was stupefying, but even as it passed through my brain, I realised that no word of her own had been responsible for my conviction that her husband was dead. It was rather because she neverdidmention him that Kathie and I had made so sure that he did not exist. My thoughts dived into the past, recalling faded impressions. I remembered how Kathie had said, “She must have loved him dreadfully not to be able to refer to him even now!” And how I had been silent, fighting the impression that it was the ghost of sorrow, rather than of joy, which sealed Charmion’s lips.The door opened, and the men came into the room. The different groups broke up and drifted here and there; into the palm-house to look at the flowers, back into the drawing-room to talk, drink coffee, and glance surreptitiously at the clock. In this old-fashioned household, no one thought of providing any other amusement for a dinner party than the dinner itself. Having been well fed, the guests were expected to amuse themselves for the hour thatremained. In an ordinary way I could have taken my share in the amusing; I like talking, and am never troubled by not knowing what to say. Given people to listen, and look appreciative, I can monologue for an indefinite time. But—to-night!Inside the palm-house I could see Charmion’s grey figure reclining in a wicker chair, her face ivory-white against the cushions. She was waving her fan to and fro, and listening with apparent attention to the conversation of her companions. I guessed how little she would hear; how bitter must be the dread at her heart; how endlessly, interminably long the moments must seem.“Miss Wastneys, would you care to see the picture we were talking about at dinner?”It was Mr Maplestone’s voice. I looked up and saw him standing by my side, and rose at once, thankful for any movement which would pass the time. We left the room together, walked to the end of the long corridor, and drew up before the picture of an uninteresting old man with several chins, and the small, steel-blue eyes which seem a family inheritance. This was a celebrated Romney, which had been the subject of a protracted law-suit between different branches of the family, which had cost the losing party over a thousand pounds. I thought, but did not say, that I would have been obliged to anyone who would have taken him away, free, gratis, for nothing, rather than that he should hang on my walls. Spoken comment, under the circumstances, was a little difficult and halting!“This is the Romney.”“Oh yes.”“My grandfather.”“I see. Yes. How interesting.”He laughed—a short, derisive bark.“That’s the last thing you can call it! A more uninteresting production I never beheld. What right had he to waste good canvas? That is one point in which we do show more common sense than our ancestors. We do not consider it necessary to inflict our portraits on posterity.”“No. We don’t. At least—”He swung round, facing me, with his back to the open drawing-room door, his face suddenly keen and alert.“Miss Wastneys—never mind the picture! I brought you out as an excuse. I wanted to ask—Whats the matter?”The question rapped out, short and sharp. I looked at him, made a big effort to be bright, and natural, and defiant, and realised suddenly that I was trembling; that, while my cheeks were hot, my hands were cold as ice; that, in short, the shock and excitement of the last half-hour was taking its physical revenge. For two straws I could have burst out crying there and then. It is a ridiculous feminine weakness to be given to tears at critical moments, but if you have it, you have it, and so far I have not discovered a cure. I could have kept going if he had taken no notice, and gone on talking naturally; but that question knocked me over, so I just stared at him and gulped, and pressed my hands together, with that awful, awful sensation which comes over one when one knows it is madness to give way, and yet feels that the moment after next you are just going todoit, and nothing can stop you!I thought of Charmion, sitting calm and quiet in the palm-house; I thought of that first horrible interview in the inn parlour; I thought of my heroic ancestors. It was no use; every moment I drew, nearer and nearer to the breaking-point. I still stared, but the Squire’s face was growing misty, growing into a big, red-brown blur. Then suddenly a hand gripped my arm, and a voice said sharply:—“Don’t cry, please! No necessity to cry. You are tired. I will order the car. It shall be round in five minutes. You can surely pull yourself together for five minutes?”The voice was like a douche of cold water. I shivered under it, but felt wonderfully braced.“Oh, thank you, but we ordered a fly.”“That’s all right. I’ll see to that. No one shall know anything about it. You will leave earlier than you expected—that’s all. I’m sorry”—his lean face twitched—“the time has seemed so long!”“It’s not”—I said feebly—“it’s not that!” But he led the way back to the drawing-room, taking no notice. Five minutes later “Mrs Fane’s carriage” was announced, and we bade a protesting hostess good-night.Charmion and I sat silent, hand in hand, all the way home. She felt cold as ice, but she clung to me; her fingers closed over mine. Just as we reached our own door she whispered a few words.“I’ll come to your room, dear. Wait up for me.”The time had come when I was to hear Charmion’s story from her own lips!
The Vicar has called to tell us that Delphine has made up her accounts, and that the fête has cleared fifty pounds more than the smaller affair last year. He seemed pleased and proud, and I was delighted, too, and immensely relieved, because I had really been horribly afraid there would be no profit at all! Curious to think where all the money came from to pay heavy expenses, and still clear so much! It just shows how small sums add up. I asked if Delphine were very pleased, and he hesitated, and said:—
“She seems tired. Feeling the reaction, no doubt. She worked so hard.”
An imp of curiosity tempted me to see if he were really as blind as he appeared.
“She made a splendid hostess. And didn’t she look charming, too? I am sure you were proud of her in that lovely new frock!”
His eyes softened with a deepgloweylook, which was reserved for Delphine alone.
“I am always proud of her. She always looks charming; but the dress—I am afraid I must plead guilty. I know nothing about her dress.”
“Really? Truly? You couldn’t tell what it was like?”
“Not for a thousand pounds!”
I stared at him, frowning.
“If I had a husband I shouldlikehim to know. I should be furious if I made a special effort, and he didn’t even notice that I had anything new.”
He smiled with a forbearing air.
“Surely not! I think better of you, Miss Wastneys. Dress is altogether unimportant.”
“Not to me. Not to your wife. There are some women to whom it is the greatest temptation in life.”
He looked outraged, disgusted, and changed the subject with a resolute air, but I was glad that I had spoken. A husband can be too unworldly, and lost in the clouds. It would be the best thing in the world for Delphine if hedidnotice, and that in more ways than one!
In the afternoon Charmion and I called at the vicarage to congratulate Delphine, and found her distinctly the worse for wear. Pale, heavy-eyed, and inclined to snap, a very different creature from the radiant butterfly of three days ago. She was glad to see me, however, I was someone to snap at, which was what she wanted most at the moment, and she worked off quite a lot of steam, hectoring me about things I might have done better, or not done at all, and impressing on meforfuture occasions that I should be less independent, and take more advice. She likewise informed us, quite incidentally and “by the way,” that Mrs Ross had disliked my hat and Mrs Bruce had asked if Charmion were anaemic—such a colourless skin!—and Mrs Someone Else thought it so “queer” that we should live together! Altogether she behaved like a spoiled, ill-tempered child, but she looked so young and worried and pretty through it all, that on the whole I felt more sorry for her than myself. As for Charmion, she smiled, with an air of listening from an illimitable distance, which I can quite understand has an exasperating effect on people who do not understand and care. It exasperated Delphine now. I saw the blue eyes flash, and the pink lips set, with a peevish desire to “hit back!”
“Mrs Bruce said her family know the Fane family quite well. They come from the same county. She was telling them about you, but, of course, not knowing your husband’s Christian name made it difficult. She thought it so queer to have your own Christian name printed on your cards—”
“Did she?” said Charmion blandly.
“It is an American custom,” I put in hastily. “I should do the same if I had such a fascinating name.”
“I wouldn’t!” Delphine said—“it’s so queer. Unless, of course, one’s husband had a hideous name—Elisha, or Jonathan, or something like that. Even then one might leave it out.”
“I shouldn’t dream of marrying anyone called Elisha.”
“What was—is—your favourite man’s name?”
“Jacky,” said Charmion naughtily.
Delphine’s eyes flashed.
“Was that your husband’s name?”
“Oh no.”
The pink lips opened to ask a further, more definite question, but it died unsaid. The steady gaze of Charmion’s eyes prevented that. She would be a bold woman who could defy that silent challenge!
We made our escape, and walked home in silence. Charmion seemed very depressed, and went to bed at nine o’clock. Next time I see Delphine Merrivale, I shall tell her plainly that I will—not—have Mrs Fane annoyed with questions about the past!
Last night we dined at the Hall. Last night things happened. We started feeling quite festive and excited, for, after a strictly domestic life for nearly five months, it becomes quite thrilling to dine in another house, and to eat food which one has not ordered oneself. As we drove along the lanes, we amused ourselves like schoolgirls, guessing what we “would have,” and who would “take us in”. Charmion, as the married woman, would obviously fall to the Squire. I hoped I should be at the other end of the table, with a partner who was sweet tempered and appreciative. Bridget had come back from posting a letter, bearing the thrilling news that the Squire’s car had been to the station to meet a party of guests. Two fine, upstanding ladies, and a gentleman with a figure like a wooden Noah in the Ark. The shoulders of him!—that square you might have cut them with a knife! It was refreshing to know that we were to meet people who didnotlive within a radius of five miles. I rather hoped those shoulders would fall to my share!
They did. He is an American. I might have guessed that by the description, and one of the “fine upstanding ones” is his bride, and they have been “doing” England for a few weeks, before starting on a year’s honeymoon in the East. The explanation of their appearance at the Hall is that they “chanced” to have met the Squire years ago in America, and wished to renew the acquaintance. So things came about! Mr Elliott is an interesting man, and, like all Americans, loves to talk about his own country. He was pained and shocked to hear I had never crossed the Atlantic, until I told him that half myself, in the person of an only sister, had gone in my place. I was just going to add that Charmion also had spent a great part of her life in the States, when—something stopped me—one of those mysterious impulses which, at times, lay a finger on our lips, and check the coming words.
Charmion sat on one side of the Squire, Mrs Elliott on the other. I was half-way down the table, sandwiched in between a dozen comfortable, middle-aged worthies, who were all intimate friends, if not actually related to each other, and their conversation, though interesting to themselves, was not thrilling to an outsider. I saw the American’s quick eye dart from one to the other, and hoped he was not classifying the company as typical English wits! The dinner itself was long, heavy, and unenterprising; a Victorian feast, even to the “specimen glass” decorations. One rose and one spray of maidenhair, in a tall thin glass, before each separate diner. Charmion and the Squire talked and laughed together, and seemed quite happy. She is a lovely creature when she is animated; there is a dainty charm about every movement which makes her seem of a different clay from human creatures. Even to see Charmioneatis a beautiful thing!
All the same, that dinner was a trial of patience, and I was thankful when it was over. In the old-fashioned way, we left the men to their smoke, and wandered through the drawing-room into a big domed palm-house, which in its fragrant dimness, with the giant palms reaching to the very roof, looked much more inviting than the drawing-room with its glaring incandescent lights.
The American bride attached herself to me and chatted amusingly enough. Before her marriage she had lived “out west,” so I plied her with questions about ranch life. Kathie writes regularly enough, but she is a wretch about answering questions, and is not half detailed enough to satisfy my curiosity. We stood leaning against one of the tiered flower-stands, enjoying the scent and the beauty, chatting together so lightly and calmly, blankly unsuspicious, as we so often are in the big moments of life, of what lies immediately ahead. Between the spreading branches I caught sight of Charmion looking at me with raised, inquiring brows. She had noted my eagerness, and was wondering what point of interest had been discovered between the wordy American and myself. I raised my voice, and cried happily:—
“Oh, Charmion! Mrs Elliott knows Kathie’s home. She has stayed there herself. I am asking her all about it.”
She smiled, and moved forward as if to join us. Mrs Elliott gave a little start, and repeated curiously, “Charmion! Is Mrs Fane called Charmion? That’s a very unusual name. I have only heard it once before. Very sweet, isn’t it, but association goes for so much!”
“It does. In this case it makes the name all the more charming.”
“Why, yes, that is so. Mrs Fane is a lovely woman. But I guess I was less fortunate in my specimen. I never met her myself, but she married a man I knew well, and—ran away from him on their honeymoon!”
I laughed. I am so glad I laughed. So glad there was time to say lightly, “Shewassoon tired!” before, between the spreading leaves of a palm, I caught Charmion’s eyes—my Charmion!—staring into mine, and knew that she had overheard—knew more—knew, in a blundering flash of intuition, that the words which had just been spoken referred to no stranger, but to herself! Fortunately for us both, Mrs Elliott was facing me, so she did not see, as I did, the sudden pause, the blanching face, the dumb appeal of the stricken eyes.
I flashed back reassurement, and at once led the way forward—out of the conservatory, back to the drawing-room, affecting to be tired, to want to sit down. Mrs Elliott followed, unperturbed. It didn’t matter to her where she went, the one indispensable necessity was to talk, and to have someone to listen. She continued her history with voluble emphasis.
“I should think itwassoon! Well, I guess she might have thought it out before she went so far. Too hard on a man to be treated like that. Kind of humiliates him before his friends, that a woman couldn’t put up with him one month—”
“I shouldn’t worry abouthispride,” I said curtly. “What about hers? It would be worse than humiliating for a woman to beobligedto go! He must have been a poor thing!”
“Well, I don’t know. He was a real popular man. He may have been a bit careless and extravagant; quite a good many young men are that, but they settle down into staid, steady-going husbands if the right woman comes along to help. Doesn’t seem to me, Miss Wastneys, that it’spossiblefor any man to be so bad, that in three weeks the woman who had promised to stick to him till death should throw up the sponge!”
It did not seem so to me, either, so I made no comment. I should not have been human if I had not burned to ask questions, but I would not allow myself to do it. What Charmion wished me to hear, she would tell me herself. The time had come when shewouldtell me. I knew that. This chance encounter had decided the moment when her silence should be broken.
Mrs Elliott smothered a yawn, and straightened a diamond bracelet on her wrist. The diamonds were massed together so heavily that the weight dragged them to the inside of her arm, leaving only the plain gold band in sight, a hiding of treasures which did not please the owner.
“Well,” she said deliberately once more, “I guess it was a real cruel trick. Whatever he’d done, she put herself in the wrong that time. The poor fellow’s not done a mite of good ever since.”
I had to hold myself tight to prevent a start.Not done! She talked of the man in the present case, as though he were alive, as though—stupefying thought!—Charmion was not a widow after all! The thought was stupefying, but even as it passed through my brain, I realised that no word of her own had been responsible for my conviction that her husband was dead. It was rather because she neverdidmention him that Kathie and I had made so sure that he did not exist. My thoughts dived into the past, recalling faded impressions. I remembered how Kathie had said, “She must have loved him dreadfully not to be able to refer to him even now!” And how I had been silent, fighting the impression that it was the ghost of sorrow, rather than of joy, which sealed Charmion’s lips.
The door opened, and the men came into the room. The different groups broke up and drifted here and there; into the palm-house to look at the flowers, back into the drawing-room to talk, drink coffee, and glance surreptitiously at the clock. In this old-fashioned household, no one thought of providing any other amusement for a dinner party than the dinner itself. Having been well fed, the guests were expected to amuse themselves for the hour thatremained. In an ordinary way I could have taken my share in the amusing; I like talking, and am never troubled by not knowing what to say. Given people to listen, and look appreciative, I can monologue for an indefinite time. But—to-night!
Inside the palm-house I could see Charmion’s grey figure reclining in a wicker chair, her face ivory-white against the cushions. She was waving her fan to and fro, and listening with apparent attention to the conversation of her companions. I guessed how little she would hear; how bitter must be the dread at her heart; how endlessly, interminably long the moments must seem.
“Miss Wastneys, would you care to see the picture we were talking about at dinner?”
It was Mr Maplestone’s voice. I looked up and saw him standing by my side, and rose at once, thankful for any movement which would pass the time. We left the room together, walked to the end of the long corridor, and drew up before the picture of an uninteresting old man with several chins, and the small, steel-blue eyes which seem a family inheritance. This was a celebrated Romney, which had been the subject of a protracted law-suit between different branches of the family, which had cost the losing party over a thousand pounds. I thought, but did not say, that I would have been obliged to anyone who would have taken him away, free, gratis, for nothing, rather than that he should hang on my walls. Spoken comment, under the circumstances, was a little difficult and halting!
“This is the Romney.”
“Oh yes.”
“My grandfather.”
“I see. Yes. How interesting.”
He laughed—a short, derisive bark.
“That’s the last thing you can call it! A more uninteresting production I never beheld. What right had he to waste good canvas? That is one point in which we do show more common sense than our ancestors. We do not consider it necessary to inflict our portraits on posterity.”
“No. We don’t. At least—”
He swung round, facing me, with his back to the open drawing-room door, his face suddenly keen and alert.
“Miss Wastneys—never mind the picture! I brought you out as an excuse. I wanted to ask—Whats the matter?”
The question rapped out, short and sharp. I looked at him, made a big effort to be bright, and natural, and defiant, and realised suddenly that I was trembling; that, while my cheeks were hot, my hands were cold as ice; that, in short, the shock and excitement of the last half-hour was taking its physical revenge. For two straws I could have burst out crying there and then. It is a ridiculous feminine weakness to be given to tears at critical moments, but if you have it, you have it, and so far I have not discovered a cure. I could have kept going if he had taken no notice, and gone on talking naturally; but that question knocked me over, so I just stared at him and gulped, and pressed my hands together, with that awful, awful sensation which comes over one when one knows it is madness to give way, and yet feels that the moment after next you are just going todoit, and nothing can stop you!
I thought of Charmion, sitting calm and quiet in the palm-house; I thought of that first horrible interview in the inn parlour; I thought of my heroic ancestors. It was no use; every moment I drew, nearer and nearer to the breaking-point. I still stared, but the Squire’s face was growing misty, growing into a big, red-brown blur. Then suddenly a hand gripped my arm, and a voice said sharply:—
“Don’t cry, please! No necessity to cry. You are tired. I will order the car. It shall be round in five minutes. You can surely pull yourself together for five minutes?”
The voice was like a douche of cold water. I shivered under it, but felt wonderfully braced.
“Oh, thank you, but we ordered a fly.”
“That’s all right. I’ll see to that. No one shall know anything about it. You will leave earlier than you expected—that’s all. I’m sorry”—his lean face twitched—“the time has seemed so long!”
“It’s not”—I said feebly—“it’s not that!” But he led the way back to the drawing-room, taking no notice. Five minutes later “Mrs Fane’s carriage” was announced, and we bade a protesting hostess good-night.
Charmion and I sat silent, hand in hand, all the way home. She felt cold as ice, but she clung to me; her fingers closed over mine. Just as we reached our own door she whispered a few words.
“I’ll come to your room, dear. Wait up for me.”
The time had come when I was to hear Charmion’s story from her own lips!
Chapter Thirteen.More Bitter than Death.Charmion came to my room in her white dressing-gown, with her long hair hanging plaited down her back. Remembering the icy hands I had held in mine, I had lit the gas fire, and she cowered gratefully over its warmth.“Kind of you, dear! Warmth is comforting. Well, Evelyn, so the time has come. I have waited, screwing up my courage; but the hour has been decided for us.”“Not unless you choose,” I cried hastily. “I would far rather never hear—”She checked me with a wan smile.“Idochoose. When it is over, it will be a relief. I want you to know. You will understand better, and I shall not pain you so much, dear, kind Evelyn, by my harsh ways. So all this time you have believed that I was a happy widow?”The expression jarred. She saw the shrinking in my eyes, and smiled again, in the same wan, hopeless fashion.“Oh, Imeanit. Death comes like a sword, but in the end it is merciful, for it brings peace. The one who is left suffers many pangs, but in time—in time, learns to be thankful for all that the beloved is spared. It is the living troubles which sear the heart. I have envied the widows who could look up and say, ‘It is well with him. We shall meet again.’ With me it has been all bitterness, all rebellion.”I sat silent, not daring to interrupt, and after a moment’s pause she began again, speaking in a still, level tone, with hardly any variety of expression.“I am an orphan like you, Evelyn. Both my parents died before I was fourteen, and I was sent over to America to live with a grandmother aunt. I was an heiress, unfortunately—you know my views about riches!—and by my father’s will I came into my money at eighteen. My aunt was a wise woman, and even to her intimate friends she never gave a hint of my fortune. She was a wealthy woman herself, and had no daughter, only one son, so it seemed natural that she should give me a good time, dress me prettily, and take me about. She had a horror of fortune-hunters, and wanted me to be loved for myself, and be as happily married as she had been before me. When I came out she brought me over to London for a season, and I was presented; but that was my one and only visit to England in fifteen years. I was glad to go back to New York, for my real friends were there. We had grown up together, and had the associations of years. In England I had only acquaintances. Well! So it went on, the happiest of lives, till I was twenty-four. Several men wanted to marry me, but I never met anyone whom it was possible to think of as a husband until—”“Your husband?”“Yes. We were away for the summer—a whole party of us—camping in the most delicious spot. I wish you could join an American camping party some time, Evelyn. It’s just the happiest, freest, most ideal of lives! He came down as the guest of some other people. The daughter was one of my own friends. I thought at first that she cared for him herself, but he never paid her any attention—not the slightest; rather avoided her indeed, even before—”“He cared for you. Did it begin—soon—Charmion?”“I cared for him the first moment we met. I was sitting at a long tea-table set out in the open, and my friend brought him up to a seat right opposite to mine. She said, ‘Charmion, this is Phil—Phil, this is Charmion!’ It was one of the rules of the camp that we called each other by our Christian names. The life was so informal that ‘Mr’ and ‘Miss’ seemed out of place. I looked up and met his eyes, and—it was different from anything I had felt before.“He came for a week, but he stayed on and on until it was nearly a month. I can’t talk about it, Evelyn. Such times can never last. Even at the best it is impossible that they can last. Perfect happiness is not for this world. It was all beautiful. The place where we camped was like another Garden of Eden; the weather was exquisite, such days, such mornings! Oh, Evelyn, such nights! The sky a dome of deepest blue, with the stars shining as you never saw them in this damp, misty atmosphere. And he and I—”Her voice broke. Her hand went up to her face to hide the quivering of her lips. It was a petrifying thing to see Charmion break down. I turned away my eyes, unable to bear it. There was silence in the room for several moments, then she began again.“Nothing was said in words. I didn’t want him to speak. I was perfectly happy, perfectly sure, and I dreaded the publicity of an engagement. Every one talking, questioning, teasing. It would have seemed profanation. Besides—if Marjorie had really cared as I suspected, it would have been painful for her. I wouldn’tlethim speak until we got back to New York, and then, the very night I arrived, Aunt Mary was taken dangerously ill. She lingered a few weeks, but there was never any hope. Then she died and I was left alone, for her son, my cousin, lived in India.“All that time he—my husband—had been coming to see me every day. The doctor insisted that I should go out to be braced by the fresh air, so he took me long drives, long walks, and then sat by me indoors, comforting me, helping, advising. He was everything to me, Evelyn! Aunt Mary was dying, and she had been like a mother, but when he was with me I was satisfied; I was content. When she died, he urged an immediate marriage, and I was quite ready. She had left no money to me, but I told him I had some of my own. He kissed me, and”—again her hand went up to hide that quivering lip—“he said that did not concern him. He could keep his wife. What money I had I must keep for myself, to pay for ‘little extravagancies’.“I was thankful that he did not know, thankful that he did not care. I looked forward to telling him after we were married, and seeing his face of surprise. We had planned to live in an apartment until we had time to choose a house for ourselves. I laughed to think how much bigger and finer it would be than the little house of his dreams. He was not at all rich—did I tell you that? He had had a pretty hard struggle all his life, and had only quite a moderate income. I went to my lawyer and settled a fourth of my income on him for life. I knew if we lived in a bigger way there would be calls upon him which he would not otherwise have had. Calls for subscriptions, for charities, a dozen other claims. I hated to think that he should have to come to me for money, or that cheques should be drawn in my name. He asked me what I was going to give him as a wedding present, and I laughed, and said, ‘Nothing interesting. Only a little note!’ The settlement was to be my gift.”Silence again. I felt for her hand and held it tight? Tragedy was coming; I knew it. I waited, tense with suspense.“We were married very quietly. Only two or three people in the church. He called for me. It was unconventional, but I was nervous and weak, and he knew he could give me strength. We went up the aisle together, hand in hand. The man who was to give me away followed behind. Many people in America are married in their own homes, but I preferred a church. I’ve been sorry since. It has seemed a profanation. To stand before the altar in God’s house and take those solemn vows, while all the time—all the time—”She shuddered, and paused to regain self-possession.“Well, Evelyn—well! I had two weeks’ happiness, two weeks in my fool’s paradise, and then—the end came! He had gone over to New York for a day. Some important business had arisen and he was obliged to go. He said good-bye.” She paused again, struggling for composure. “Itwasgood-bye—good-bye for ever. He did not know that, but he parted from me as—a husband might from the wife of his heart. It was impossible to doubt. I was as sure of him, Evelyn—as sure as that the sun is in the sky!“After he had gone a letter was handed to me. I did not know the writing, but inside—I could not understand it—was a letter in his own writing. Nothing else, just this one sheet, with one long passage underscored. I did not stop to think; the words leapt at me, my own name first of all; and after I had begun to read there was no stopping short. It was the second sheet of a letter, so I could not tell to whom it had been written; but evidently it was to a man to whom money was owing, and who had been pressing for a settlement. It was full of apologies for having failed to pay before; and then—then came the passage that had been underlined. Perhaps, he said, in a few months’ time things would look up.There was a girl. In a roundabout way, through an English acquaintance, he had heard that she had a pile of money, though the fact had been kept dark in America. There was no doubt about it, since his informant was a member of the legal firm who had wound up her father’s estate. By a stroke of good luck the girl was staying at a summer camp with some of his own friends. He had engineered an invitation, and was there at the moment of writing.“Think of it, Evelyn—at that very moment I was, perhaps, sitting innocently by his side. We used to scribble our letters together, sitting out in the woods, and break off every few minutes to laugh and chatter. Probably, after it was finished, we walked together to the nearest post, and as we went he looked at me—he looked. Oh!”—she winced in irrepressible misery—“is itpossible—is itpossiblethat any man could act so well? Can you wonder that I am hard and cold—that I have so little sympathy for outside troubles? I was once as loving and impetuous as you are yourself, but that shock turned me to stone. It killed my faith in human nature!”She was silent, struggling for composure, and I laid my hand on her knee, and sat silent, not daring to speak. What was there to say? I realised now how infinitely more bitter than death was the loss which Charmion had to bear.“Well,”—she roused herself to go on with her story—“you can imagine the rest. ‘The heiress was,’ he wrote, ‘quite a possible girl,’ and seemed ‘agreeably disposed’. There was evidently no previous entanglement, and the circumstances were propitious. It was his intention to go in and win. If it came off he would be in a position to pay up old scores and to start life afresh. It would be worth giving up his liberty, to end the everlasting worry of the last ten years. The letter ended with more promises and his signature. No loophole of doubt was left, you see. There could be no mistaking that signature. I had been married exactly two weeks, and had believed myself the happiest woman in the world. I now discovered that I had been tracked down by an adventurer, who had married me only because, unfortunately, it was impossible to get hold of my fortune without putting up with me at the same time.”“What did he say, how did he look, when you told him about your money and the settlement? Of course, youhadtold him by that time.”“Not much. Very little indeed. I thought at the time that he was overwhelmed, and a little sorry that the wealth was on my side. Looking back, I do him the justice to believe that he was ashamed! Even such a deliberate schemer might well feel a pang under the circumstances. I remember that he put his elbows on the table, and hid his face in his hands. He never alluded to the subject again, neither did I. There seemed plenty of time. I loved him all the more because he was not wildly elated. All my life I had been trained to dread fortune-hunters, to value sincerity above every other virtue.”“But during those two weeksafteryou were married, he still seemed to—care? You believed in him still?”“Absolutely! Utterly! I must be easily duped, Evelyn, for with all my heart I believed that that man loved me as deeply as I loved him. Every word—every look! Oh, he was a finished actor! It all seemed so real—so real—”“Charmion, after you had read that letter and understood all that it meant, what did you do?”“I went to my room, packed a bag with a few changes of clothing, collected all the money I had with me, quite a large sum in notes, and caught the afternoon train for New York. I had no idea where I was going. My one longing was to escape before he came back, but things were decided for me. The shock made me faint, and in the heat of the train I felt worse every hour. When we stopped at a half-way station I stepped out on to the platform in the same dull, dazed way, hardly realising what I was doing, and carried my bag out into the street. Half a mile away I saw a notice of rooms to let in the window of a small house, and I knocked and went in.“I stayed in that house for over six months, Evelyn. The woman was a saint—the kindliest, gentlest creature I have ever met. I told her that I was ill and in trouble, and wanted to rest, and she put me to bed and nursed me like a child. I was a long time in getting well. The very strings of my being seemed to have snapped. I lay torpid week after week, and the good soul took care of me and asked no questions. She was one of those rare spirits who pray to God to guide them day by day, and mean literally what they ask. God had sent me to her in my need—that was her firm belief—and what she did for me she did for Him. I had left no message behind—only that terrible letter sealed up, to be given to my husband on his return. I heard afterwards that he had searched for me far and wide, had even crossed over to England, thinking I must be here. When I was well enough I sent for my aunt’s lawyer and took him into my confidence. He let me know when my husband returned to America, and as soon as possible after that I came to England myself, under another name. I was no longer his wife in heart. Why should I keep a name which was given to me under false pretences? Five years have passed since then. It seems like a century, and—here I am!”“And all this time you have heard nothing? Nothing has happened?”“Yes. I have heard. He seems to have—felt it a good deal! It is always painful to be discovered, and for a man’s wife to leave him before the honeymoon is over is hurtful to his pride. He makes periodic efforts to find me, but my lawyers are loyal, and will give no clue.”“And the settlement? The money you made over to him? Does he draw that still?”She flushed and frowned.“No. It appears not. He tells the lawyers that he will never touch it. I suppose if he changed his manner of living it would be remarked, and people might guess something of the truth. His object is, of course, to throw all the blame on me.”The bitterness of her voice hurt me so that I ventured a timid protest.“Charmion, I am not taking his part. I think he was contemptible beyond words; but—isn’tit possible that he has regretted, that he has not taken the money because he wasashamed?”“Possible, of course; but I should say extremely improbable. However, I am no longer concerned in his motives. He gave up his liberty for a certain price, and the price is his. The money accumulates at the bank. Some day, no doubt, he will find it convenient to draw it.”I felt a movement of revolt, and cried quickly:—“There is one person I despise even more than the man himself, and that is the creature who kept that letter, and sent it to you too late to prevent the marriage! If it were to be done at all, why could it not have been done before?”Her lips curved.“Yes. It was very cruel. That was another disillusion, Evelyn. I have always been convinced that Marjorie was the sender. Probably the letter had been written to her brother, or to some near relation, and in some way had come into her possession. She behaved very strangely about our engagement. But I had been her friend—how she could find it in her heart! If there had been any possibility of doubt I would have gone straight to her, and demanded the truth, but—what was the use? The letter wasthere. I should only have brought more suffering upon myself. She wanted him for herself, and could not forgive me for taking him away; but if she had come to me at the beginning, when she saw how things might go, I should have gone away myself and left the coast clear. Even if it hurt myself, I should have been loyal to another woman who hadcared first! Even now I have done my best for her. I offered, through my lawyers, to make no objection if he chose to free himself legally. Itcouldbe done in America, you know. I explained that it would make no difference to the settlement. That was made, and should remain unchanged!”I looked at her sharply, for the sneer in her voice hurt me more than the pain.“Charmion! Forgive me, dearest. You have been cruelly treated, but—don’t be vexed—aren’t you in the wrong, too, in feeling so bitter after all these years?”To my surprise she assented instantly.“Oh, yes; very wrong. More wrong than they, perhaps, for I have had so long to think; and what they did was done on an impulse. Don’t think I excuse myself, Evelyn. I don’t! I see quite well how hard and bitter I am, but—”“You can’t forgive?”She hesitated, her grey eyes gazing into space.“What exactlyisforgiveness? If by lifting a little finger I could make him suffer as he has made me, nothing would induce me to do it. If by lifting a little finger I could bring him happiness and success, I think—no, I amsurethat I would not hesitate. But to purge my heart of bitterness, that is beyond me! It’s always there, deep down, a hard, hard wall, hiding the light, shutting me out from man—and from God!”The last words came in a whisper. I knew the effort with which they were spoken, and sat silent, clinging to her hand. What could I say? I, with my easy, sunshiny life; how dared I dictate to her great grief. And yet I knew—I knew only in one way could peace come back.The remembrance of the Vicar’s first sermon came back to my heart like a breath of fresh air.“Forgetting the things that are behind!” I said softly. “Couldn’t you try that, Charmion? Forgetting, and—pressing forward! If forgiving seems beyond you for the moment, couldn’t you take the first step?”For the first time since she entered the room her face lightened into something like her own natural smile.“Ah, Evelyn, that’s like you! Thank you, dear, for the reminder. That was the text on our first Sunday here. There is one thing I would like you to know.Youhave helped me more than anything else. You attracted me because you possess to excess the very qualities which I have lost—trust, faith, overflowing kindliness and love. It has been a tonic to be with you. There have been times—working in the garden by your side, seeing all the live green things springing out of darkness—when I’ve been happy again, better than happy—at peace! But now—this upheaval—it has renewed it all. Evelyn, do you think she suspected? Do you think she will talk?”“I am sure she won’t. Absolutely sure. She had not a flickering doubt. The name is different, you see, and she is too much absorbed in herself and her own affairs to waste any thought upon us. In a few days they sail for India.”“Yes.” She drew a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I’m thankful. It would have been so hard to be uprooted again. But you can understand, Evelyn, that for a time—” She rose, stretched herself to her full height, and threw out her arms restlessly. “The roving fit is on me. I must be off into the wilds and fight it out by myself.”I had known it was coming—subconsciously had known it for weeks, but it was hard all the same. We had been so happy, and in six short months my roots seemed to have gone down surprisingly deep. I hated the idea of leaving “Pastimes,” but I reminded myself that it was only for a time—only for a time.“Of course” Charmion assured me heartily. “It is August now. We will make a rendezvous for Christmas. Perhaps I may turn up before that, like a bad penny, but you may depend on me for Christmas. You—you will go to your flat, Evelyn?”I nodded silently. The Pixie scheme had for the moment lost its charm, but I would not give in.“Silly one!” murmured Charmion fondly. “You dear goose! Well, good luck to you. May you make other people as happy as you have made me.”
Charmion came to my room in her white dressing-gown, with her long hair hanging plaited down her back. Remembering the icy hands I had held in mine, I had lit the gas fire, and she cowered gratefully over its warmth.
“Kind of you, dear! Warmth is comforting. Well, Evelyn, so the time has come. I have waited, screwing up my courage; but the hour has been decided for us.”
“Not unless you choose,” I cried hastily. “I would far rather never hear—”
She checked me with a wan smile.
“Idochoose. When it is over, it will be a relief. I want you to know. You will understand better, and I shall not pain you so much, dear, kind Evelyn, by my harsh ways. So all this time you have believed that I was a happy widow?”
The expression jarred. She saw the shrinking in my eyes, and smiled again, in the same wan, hopeless fashion.
“Oh, Imeanit. Death comes like a sword, but in the end it is merciful, for it brings peace. The one who is left suffers many pangs, but in time—in time, learns to be thankful for all that the beloved is spared. It is the living troubles which sear the heart. I have envied the widows who could look up and say, ‘It is well with him. We shall meet again.’ With me it has been all bitterness, all rebellion.”
I sat silent, not daring to interrupt, and after a moment’s pause she began again, speaking in a still, level tone, with hardly any variety of expression.
“I am an orphan like you, Evelyn. Both my parents died before I was fourteen, and I was sent over to America to live with a grandmother aunt. I was an heiress, unfortunately—you know my views about riches!—and by my father’s will I came into my money at eighteen. My aunt was a wise woman, and even to her intimate friends she never gave a hint of my fortune. She was a wealthy woman herself, and had no daughter, only one son, so it seemed natural that she should give me a good time, dress me prettily, and take me about. She had a horror of fortune-hunters, and wanted me to be loved for myself, and be as happily married as she had been before me. When I came out she brought me over to London for a season, and I was presented; but that was my one and only visit to England in fifteen years. I was glad to go back to New York, for my real friends were there. We had grown up together, and had the associations of years. In England I had only acquaintances. Well! So it went on, the happiest of lives, till I was twenty-four. Several men wanted to marry me, but I never met anyone whom it was possible to think of as a husband until—”
“Your husband?”
“Yes. We were away for the summer—a whole party of us—camping in the most delicious spot. I wish you could join an American camping party some time, Evelyn. It’s just the happiest, freest, most ideal of lives! He came down as the guest of some other people. The daughter was one of my own friends. I thought at first that she cared for him herself, but he never paid her any attention—not the slightest; rather avoided her indeed, even before—”
“He cared for you. Did it begin—soon—Charmion?”
“I cared for him the first moment we met. I was sitting at a long tea-table set out in the open, and my friend brought him up to a seat right opposite to mine. She said, ‘Charmion, this is Phil—Phil, this is Charmion!’ It was one of the rules of the camp that we called each other by our Christian names. The life was so informal that ‘Mr’ and ‘Miss’ seemed out of place. I looked up and met his eyes, and—it was different from anything I had felt before.
“He came for a week, but he stayed on and on until it was nearly a month. I can’t talk about it, Evelyn. Such times can never last. Even at the best it is impossible that they can last. Perfect happiness is not for this world. It was all beautiful. The place where we camped was like another Garden of Eden; the weather was exquisite, such days, such mornings! Oh, Evelyn, such nights! The sky a dome of deepest blue, with the stars shining as you never saw them in this damp, misty atmosphere. And he and I—”
Her voice broke. Her hand went up to her face to hide the quivering of her lips. It was a petrifying thing to see Charmion break down. I turned away my eyes, unable to bear it. There was silence in the room for several moments, then she began again.
“Nothing was said in words. I didn’t want him to speak. I was perfectly happy, perfectly sure, and I dreaded the publicity of an engagement. Every one talking, questioning, teasing. It would have seemed profanation. Besides—if Marjorie had really cared as I suspected, it would have been painful for her. I wouldn’tlethim speak until we got back to New York, and then, the very night I arrived, Aunt Mary was taken dangerously ill. She lingered a few weeks, but there was never any hope. Then she died and I was left alone, for her son, my cousin, lived in India.
“All that time he—my husband—had been coming to see me every day. The doctor insisted that I should go out to be braced by the fresh air, so he took me long drives, long walks, and then sat by me indoors, comforting me, helping, advising. He was everything to me, Evelyn! Aunt Mary was dying, and she had been like a mother, but when he was with me I was satisfied; I was content. When she died, he urged an immediate marriage, and I was quite ready. She had left no money to me, but I told him I had some of my own. He kissed me, and”—again her hand went up to hide that quivering lip—“he said that did not concern him. He could keep his wife. What money I had I must keep for myself, to pay for ‘little extravagancies’.
“I was thankful that he did not know, thankful that he did not care. I looked forward to telling him after we were married, and seeing his face of surprise. We had planned to live in an apartment until we had time to choose a house for ourselves. I laughed to think how much bigger and finer it would be than the little house of his dreams. He was not at all rich—did I tell you that? He had had a pretty hard struggle all his life, and had only quite a moderate income. I went to my lawyer and settled a fourth of my income on him for life. I knew if we lived in a bigger way there would be calls upon him which he would not otherwise have had. Calls for subscriptions, for charities, a dozen other claims. I hated to think that he should have to come to me for money, or that cheques should be drawn in my name. He asked me what I was going to give him as a wedding present, and I laughed, and said, ‘Nothing interesting. Only a little note!’ The settlement was to be my gift.”
Silence again. I felt for her hand and held it tight? Tragedy was coming; I knew it. I waited, tense with suspense.
“We were married very quietly. Only two or three people in the church. He called for me. It was unconventional, but I was nervous and weak, and he knew he could give me strength. We went up the aisle together, hand in hand. The man who was to give me away followed behind. Many people in America are married in their own homes, but I preferred a church. I’ve been sorry since. It has seemed a profanation. To stand before the altar in God’s house and take those solemn vows, while all the time—all the time—”
She shuddered, and paused to regain self-possession.
“Well, Evelyn—well! I had two weeks’ happiness, two weeks in my fool’s paradise, and then—the end came! He had gone over to New York for a day. Some important business had arisen and he was obliged to go. He said good-bye.” She paused again, struggling for composure. “Itwasgood-bye—good-bye for ever. He did not know that, but he parted from me as—a husband might from the wife of his heart. It was impossible to doubt. I was as sure of him, Evelyn—as sure as that the sun is in the sky!
“After he had gone a letter was handed to me. I did not know the writing, but inside—I could not understand it—was a letter in his own writing. Nothing else, just this one sheet, with one long passage underscored. I did not stop to think; the words leapt at me, my own name first of all; and after I had begun to read there was no stopping short. It was the second sheet of a letter, so I could not tell to whom it had been written; but evidently it was to a man to whom money was owing, and who had been pressing for a settlement. It was full of apologies for having failed to pay before; and then—then came the passage that had been underlined. Perhaps, he said, in a few months’ time things would look up.There was a girl. In a roundabout way, through an English acquaintance, he had heard that she had a pile of money, though the fact had been kept dark in America. There was no doubt about it, since his informant was a member of the legal firm who had wound up her father’s estate. By a stroke of good luck the girl was staying at a summer camp with some of his own friends. He had engineered an invitation, and was there at the moment of writing.
“Think of it, Evelyn—at that very moment I was, perhaps, sitting innocently by his side. We used to scribble our letters together, sitting out in the woods, and break off every few minutes to laugh and chatter. Probably, after it was finished, we walked together to the nearest post, and as we went he looked at me—he looked. Oh!”—she winced in irrepressible misery—“is itpossible—is itpossiblethat any man could act so well? Can you wonder that I am hard and cold—that I have so little sympathy for outside troubles? I was once as loving and impetuous as you are yourself, but that shock turned me to stone. It killed my faith in human nature!”
She was silent, struggling for composure, and I laid my hand on her knee, and sat silent, not daring to speak. What was there to say? I realised now how infinitely more bitter than death was the loss which Charmion had to bear.
“Well,”—she roused herself to go on with her story—“you can imagine the rest. ‘The heiress was,’ he wrote, ‘quite a possible girl,’ and seemed ‘agreeably disposed’. There was evidently no previous entanglement, and the circumstances were propitious. It was his intention to go in and win. If it came off he would be in a position to pay up old scores and to start life afresh. It would be worth giving up his liberty, to end the everlasting worry of the last ten years. The letter ended with more promises and his signature. No loophole of doubt was left, you see. There could be no mistaking that signature. I had been married exactly two weeks, and had believed myself the happiest woman in the world. I now discovered that I had been tracked down by an adventurer, who had married me only because, unfortunately, it was impossible to get hold of my fortune without putting up with me at the same time.”
“What did he say, how did he look, when you told him about your money and the settlement? Of course, youhadtold him by that time.”
“Not much. Very little indeed. I thought at the time that he was overwhelmed, and a little sorry that the wealth was on my side. Looking back, I do him the justice to believe that he was ashamed! Even such a deliberate schemer might well feel a pang under the circumstances. I remember that he put his elbows on the table, and hid his face in his hands. He never alluded to the subject again, neither did I. There seemed plenty of time. I loved him all the more because he was not wildly elated. All my life I had been trained to dread fortune-hunters, to value sincerity above every other virtue.”
“But during those two weeksafteryou were married, he still seemed to—care? You believed in him still?”
“Absolutely! Utterly! I must be easily duped, Evelyn, for with all my heart I believed that that man loved me as deeply as I loved him. Every word—every look! Oh, he was a finished actor! It all seemed so real—so real—”
“Charmion, after you had read that letter and understood all that it meant, what did you do?”
“I went to my room, packed a bag with a few changes of clothing, collected all the money I had with me, quite a large sum in notes, and caught the afternoon train for New York. I had no idea where I was going. My one longing was to escape before he came back, but things were decided for me. The shock made me faint, and in the heat of the train I felt worse every hour. When we stopped at a half-way station I stepped out on to the platform in the same dull, dazed way, hardly realising what I was doing, and carried my bag out into the street. Half a mile away I saw a notice of rooms to let in the window of a small house, and I knocked and went in.
“I stayed in that house for over six months, Evelyn. The woman was a saint—the kindliest, gentlest creature I have ever met. I told her that I was ill and in trouble, and wanted to rest, and she put me to bed and nursed me like a child. I was a long time in getting well. The very strings of my being seemed to have snapped. I lay torpid week after week, and the good soul took care of me and asked no questions. She was one of those rare spirits who pray to God to guide them day by day, and mean literally what they ask. God had sent me to her in my need—that was her firm belief—and what she did for me she did for Him. I had left no message behind—only that terrible letter sealed up, to be given to my husband on his return. I heard afterwards that he had searched for me far and wide, had even crossed over to England, thinking I must be here. When I was well enough I sent for my aunt’s lawyer and took him into my confidence. He let me know when my husband returned to America, and as soon as possible after that I came to England myself, under another name. I was no longer his wife in heart. Why should I keep a name which was given to me under false pretences? Five years have passed since then. It seems like a century, and—here I am!”
“And all this time you have heard nothing? Nothing has happened?”
“Yes. I have heard. He seems to have—felt it a good deal! It is always painful to be discovered, and for a man’s wife to leave him before the honeymoon is over is hurtful to his pride. He makes periodic efforts to find me, but my lawyers are loyal, and will give no clue.”
“And the settlement? The money you made over to him? Does he draw that still?”
She flushed and frowned.
“No. It appears not. He tells the lawyers that he will never touch it. I suppose if he changed his manner of living it would be remarked, and people might guess something of the truth. His object is, of course, to throw all the blame on me.”
The bitterness of her voice hurt me so that I ventured a timid protest.
“Charmion, I am not taking his part. I think he was contemptible beyond words; but—isn’tit possible that he has regretted, that he has not taken the money because he wasashamed?”
“Possible, of course; but I should say extremely improbable. However, I am no longer concerned in his motives. He gave up his liberty for a certain price, and the price is his. The money accumulates at the bank. Some day, no doubt, he will find it convenient to draw it.”
I felt a movement of revolt, and cried quickly:—
“There is one person I despise even more than the man himself, and that is the creature who kept that letter, and sent it to you too late to prevent the marriage! If it were to be done at all, why could it not have been done before?”
Her lips curved.
“Yes. It was very cruel. That was another disillusion, Evelyn. I have always been convinced that Marjorie was the sender. Probably the letter had been written to her brother, or to some near relation, and in some way had come into her possession. She behaved very strangely about our engagement. But I had been her friend—how she could find it in her heart! If there had been any possibility of doubt I would have gone straight to her, and demanded the truth, but—what was the use? The letter wasthere. I should only have brought more suffering upon myself. She wanted him for herself, and could not forgive me for taking him away; but if she had come to me at the beginning, when she saw how things might go, I should have gone away myself and left the coast clear. Even if it hurt myself, I should have been loyal to another woman who hadcared first! Even now I have done my best for her. I offered, through my lawyers, to make no objection if he chose to free himself legally. Itcouldbe done in America, you know. I explained that it would make no difference to the settlement. That was made, and should remain unchanged!”
I looked at her sharply, for the sneer in her voice hurt me more than the pain.
“Charmion! Forgive me, dearest. You have been cruelly treated, but—don’t be vexed—aren’t you in the wrong, too, in feeling so bitter after all these years?”
To my surprise she assented instantly.
“Oh, yes; very wrong. More wrong than they, perhaps, for I have had so long to think; and what they did was done on an impulse. Don’t think I excuse myself, Evelyn. I don’t! I see quite well how hard and bitter I am, but—”
“You can’t forgive?”
She hesitated, her grey eyes gazing into space.
“What exactlyisforgiveness? If by lifting a little finger I could make him suffer as he has made me, nothing would induce me to do it. If by lifting a little finger I could bring him happiness and success, I think—no, I amsurethat I would not hesitate. But to purge my heart of bitterness, that is beyond me! It’s always there, deep down, a hard, hard wall, hiding the light, shutting me out from man—and from God!”
The last words came in a whisper. I knew the effort with which they were spoken, and sat silent, clinging to her hand. What could I say? I, with my easy, sunshiny life; how dared I dictate to her great grief. And yet I knew—I knew only in one way could peace come back.
The remembrance of the Vicar’s first sermon came back to my heart like a breath of fresh air.
“Forgetting the things that are behind!” I said softly. “Couldn’t you try that, Charmion? Forgetting, and—pressing forward! If forgiving seems beyond you for the moment, couldn’t you take the first step?”
For the first time since she entered the room her face lightened into something like her own natural smile.
“Ah, Evelyn, that’s like you! Thank you, dear, for the reminder. That was the text on our first Sunday here. There is one thing I would like you to know.Youhave helped me more than anything else. You attracted me because you possess to excess the very qualities which I have lost—trust, faith, overflowing kindliness and love. It has been a tonic to be with you. There have been times—working in the garden by your side, seeing all the live green things springing out of darkness—when I’ve been happy again, better than happy—at peace! But now—this upheaval—it has renewed it all. Evelyn, do you think she suspected? Do you think she will talk?”
“I am sure she won’t. Absolutely sure. She had not a flickering doubt. The name is different, you see, and she is too much absorbed in herself and her own affairs to waste any thought upon us. In a few days they sail for India.”
“Yes.” She drew a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I’m thankful. It would have been so hard to be uprooted again. But you can understand, Evelyn, that for a time—” She rose, stretched herself to her full height, and threw out her arms restlessly. “The roving fit is on me. I must be off into the wilds and fight it out by myself.”
I had known it was coming—subconsciously had known it for weeks, but it was hard all the same. We had been so happy, and in six short months my roots seemed to have gone down surprisingly deep. I hated the idea of leaving “Pastimes,” but I reminded myself that it was only for a time—only for a time.
“Of course” Charmion assured me heartily. “It is August now. We will make a rendezvous for Christmas. Perhaps I may turn up before that, like a bad penny, but you may depend on me for Christmas. You—you will go to your flat, Evelyn?”
I nodded silently. The Pixie scheme had for the moment lost its charm, but I would not give in.
“Silly one!” murmured Charmion fondly. “You dear goose! Well, good luck to you. May you make other people as happy as you have made me.”