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text-indent: 0em; } - body {font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify; } - table {font-size: .9em; padding: 1.5em .5em 1em; page-break-inside: avoid; - clear: both; } - div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; } - div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; } - .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; - page-break-before: always; } - .fixed {font-family: 'Old English Text MT', serif; font-weight:bold; } - .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; } -</style> - </head> - <body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The professor's experiment, Vol. 2 (of 3), by Margaret Wolfe Hungerford</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The professor's experiment, Vol. 2 (of 3)</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>A novel</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Margaret Wolfe Hungerford</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 7, 2022 [eBook #69495]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROFESSOR'S EXPERIMENT, VOL. 2 (OF 3) ***</div> - -<div class='tnotes covernote'> - -<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p> - -<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='xxlarge'>THE PROFESSOR’S EXPERIMENT</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='xxlarge'>MRS. HUNGERFORD’S NOVELS</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c002'>‘<em>Mrs. Hungerford has well deserved the title of being one of the most -fascinating novelists of the day. The stories written by her are the airiest, -lightest, and brightest imaginable, full of wit, spirit, and gaiety; but they contain, -nevertheless, touches of the most exquisite pathos. There is something -good in all of them.</em>’—<span class='sc'>Academy.</span></p> - -<p class='c003'><strong>A MAIDEN ALL FORLORN</strong>, and other Stories. Post -8vo., illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There is no guile in the novels of the authoress of “Molly Bawn,” nor any -consistency or analysis of character; but they exhibit a faculty truly remarkable -for reproducing the rapid small-talk, the shallow but harmless “chaff” of certain -strata of modern fashionable society.’—<cite>Spectator.</cite></p> - -<p class='c003'><strong>IN DURANCE VILE</strong>, and other Stories. Post 8vo., -illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mrs. Hungerford’s Irish girls have always been pleasant to meet upon the -dusty pathways of fiction. They are flippant, no doubt, and often sentimental, -and they certainly flirt, and their stories are told often in rather ornamental -phrase and with a profusion of the first person singular. But they are charming -all the same.’—<cite>Academy.</cite></p> - -<p class='c003'><strong>A MENTAL STRUGGLE.</strong> Post 8vo., illustrated boards, -2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She can invent an interesting story, she can tell it well, and she trusts to -honest, natural, human emotions and interests of life for her materials.’—<cite>Spectator.</cite></p> - -<p class='c003'><strong>A MODERN CIRCE.</strong> Post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s.; -cloth limp, 2s. 6d.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mrs. Hungerford is a distinctly amusing author.... In all her books there -is a “healthy absenteeism” of ethical purpose, and we have derived more genuine -pleasure from them than probably the most earnest student has ever obtained -from a chapter of “Robert Elsmere.”’—<cite>Saturday Review.</cite></p> - -<p class='c003'><strong>MARVEL.</strong> Post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The author has long since created an imaginary world, peopled with more or -less natural figures; but her many admirers acknowledge the easy grace and inexhaustible -<i><span lang="fr">verve</span></i> that characterize her scenes of Hibernian life, and never tire of -the type of national heroine she has made her own.’—<cite>Morning Post.</cite></p> - -<p class='c003'><strong>LADY VERNER’S FLIGHT.</strong> Crown 8vo., cloth extra, -3s. 6d.; post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There are in “Lady Verner’s Flight” several of the bright young people who -are wont to make Mrs. Hungerford’s books such very pleasant reading.... In -all the novels by the author of “Molly Bawn” there is a breezy freshness of treatment -which makes them most agreeable.’—<cite>Spectator.</cite></p> - -<p class='c003'><strong>THE RED-HOUSE MYSTERY.</strong> Crown 8vo., cloth -extra, 3s. 6d.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mrs. Hungerford is never seen to the best advantage when not dealing with -the brighter sides of life, or seeming to enjoy as much as her readers the ready -sallies and laughing jests of her youthful personages. In her present novel, however, -the heroine, if not all smiles and mirth, is quite as taking as her many predecessors, -while the spirit of uncontrolled mischief is typified in the American -heiress.’—<cite>Morning Post.</cite></p> - -<p class='c003'><strong>THE THREE GRACES.</strong> 2 vols., crown 8vo., 10s. net.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is impossible to deny that Mrs. Hungerford is capable of writing a charming -love-story, and that she proves her capacity to do so in “The Three Graces.”’—<cite>Academy.</cite></p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='sc'>London</span>: CHATTO & WINDUS, <span class='sc'>Piccadilly</span>.</p> - -<div class='titlepage'> - -<div> - <h1 class='c005'><span class='large'>THE</span><br> PROFESSOR’S EXPERIMENT<br> <span class='large'><span class='fixed'>A Novel</span></span></h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c006'> - <div>BY</div> - <div class='c007'><span class='xlarge'>MRS. HUNGERFORD</span></div> - <div class='c007'><span class='small'>AUTHOR OF</span></div> - <div><span class='small'>‘MOLLY BAWN,’ ‘THE RED-HOUSE MYSTERY,’ ‘THE THREE GRACES,’ ‘LADY VERNER’S FLIGHT,’ ETC.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_title.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>IN THREE VOLUMES</div> - <div class='c007'>VOL. II.</div> - <div class='c006'><span class='fixed'>London</span></div> - <div><span class='large'>CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY</span></div> - <div>1895</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='large'>THE</span></div> - <div class='c007'><span class='xxlarge'><span class='sc'>Professor’s Experiment</span></span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> -</div> -<p class='c009'>‘Confidence imparts a wondrous inspiration to its -possessor. It bears him on in security, either to meet -no danger or to find matter of glorious trial.’</p> - -<p class='c010'>The girl seems powerfully affected by the -determination she has come to, so much so -as to be almost on the point of fainting. -Wyndham, catching her by the arm, presses -her back into the garden-chair.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not a word,’ says he. ‘Why should you -tell me?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I must, I will!’ She sits up, and with -marvellous strength of will recovers herself. -‘There is very little to tell,’ says she faintly. -‘I have lived all my life in one house. As a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>little child I came to it. Before that I -remember nothing. If’—she looks at him—‘I -tell you names and places, you will keep -them sacred? You will not betray me?’ -Her glance is now at once wistful and -frightened.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I shall certainly not do that,’ says he -gravely. ‘But why speak if you need not?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t know.’ She pauses, clasping her -hands tightly together, and then at last, ‘I -want to tell you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, tell me,’ says Wyndham gently.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The name of the people I lived with was -Moore,’ says she, speaking at once and -rapidly, as if eager to get rid of what she -has volunteered to tell. ‘They called me -Moore, too—Ella Moore—though I know, I -am sure, I did not belong to them.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ella?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, Ella; I think’—hesitatingly—‘that -is my real Christian name, because far, far -back someone’—pressing her hand to her head, -as though trying to remember—‘used to call -me Elly, someone who was not Mrs. Moore. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span>It was not her voice. And Moore—that is -not my name, I know.’ Her tone has grown -quite firm. ‘Mrs. Moore always called herself -my aunt; but I don’t think she was -anything to me. She was kind sometimes, -however, and I was sorry when she died. -She had a husband, and I lived with them -ever since I can remember anything.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Perhaps you were Mr. Moore’s niece.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, not that!’ She grows very pale, and -makes a quick gesture of repulsion with her -hands. ‘Not that. No, thank God!’ She -pauses, and he can see that she has begun to -tremble as if at some dreadful thought. -‘She, Mrs. Moore, died two months ago, and -after that he—she was hardly in her grave—and -he—Oh, it is horrible!’—burying -her face in her hands. ‘But he—he told me -he wanted to marry me.’ She struggles with -herself for a moment, and then bursts into -wild tears. One can see that the tears are -composed of past cruel memories, of outraged -pride as well as grief.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, monstrous!’ says Wyndham hurriedly. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>He begins to pace rapidly up and down the -walk, coming back to her when he finds her -more composed.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is true, though,’ cries she miserably. -‘Oh, how I hate to think of it!’—emphatically. -‘When I said no, that I’d rather die -than marry him—and I would—he was -furious. A fortnight afterwards he spoke -to me again, saying he had ordered the -banns to be called; and when I again said -I would never consent, he locked me in a -room, and said he would starve me to death -unless I gave in. I’—clenching her small -white teeth—‘told him I would gladly starve -in preference to that. And for three nights -and two days I did starve. He brought me -nothing; but I did not see him, and that kept -me alive. On the third day he came again, -and again I defied him, and then—then—’ -She cowers away from Wyndham, and the -hot flush of shame dyes her cheek. ‘Then—he -beat me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The — scoundrel!’ says Wyndham between -his teeth.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>‘He beat me,’ says the girl, dry sobs -breaking from her lips, ‘until my back and -arms were blue and swollen; and then he -asked me again if I would give in and marry -him, and I—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here she pauses, and stands back as if -confronting someone. She is looking past -Wyndham and far into space. It is plain -that that past horrible, degrading scene has -come back to her afresh. The gross indignity, -the abominable affront, is again a present -thing. Again the blows rain upon her -slender arms and shoulders; again the brute -is demanding her submission; and again, in -spite of hunger, and pain, and fear, she is -defying him. Her head is well upheld, her -hands clenched, her large eyes ablaze. It is -thus she must have looked as she defied the -cowardly scoundrel, and the effect is magnificent.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I said “No” again.’ The fire born of -that last conflict dies away, and she falls -back weakly into the seat behind her. ‘That -night I ran away. I suppose in his rage he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>forgot to lock the door after him, and so -I found the matter easy. It was a wet night -and very cold. I was tired, half dead with -hunger and with bitter pain. That was the -night—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She comes to a dead stop here, and turns -her face away from him. A shame keener -than any she has known before, even in this -recital made to him, is filling her now. But -still she determines to go on.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That was the night your servant found -me!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Poor child!’ says Wyndham. His sympathy—so -unexpected—coming on her terrible -agitation, breaks her down. She bursts into -a storm of sobs.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I would to God,’ says she, ‘that I had -died before he found me! Yes—yes, I would, -though I know it was His will, and His -alone, that kept me alive, half dead from -cold and hunger as I was. I can’t bear to -think of that night, and what you must -have thought of me! It was dreadful—dreadful! -You shrank from me because I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>courted death so openly. Yes—yes, you did’—combating -a gesture on his part—‘but you -did not know how near I was to it at that -moment. I was famished, bruised, homeless—I -was almost senseless. I knew only that -I could not return to that man’s house, and -that there was no other house to go to. -That was all I knew, through the unconsciousness -that was fast overtaking me. To -die seemed the best thing—and to die in -that warm room. I was frozen. Oh, blame -me, despise me, if you like, but anyone -would have been glad to die, if they felt -as homeless and as starving as I did that -night!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Who is blaming you?’ says Wyndham -roughly. ‘Good heavens! is there a man on -earth who could blame you, after hearing so -sad a story? Because you have met one -brute in your life, must you consider all other -men brutes?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>His manner is so vehement that Ella, -thinking he is annoyed with her, shrinks -from him.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>‘Don’t be angry with me,’ says she imploringly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Angry with you!’ says he impatiently. -‘There is only one to be angry with, and -that is that devil. Where does he live?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She gives him the road, and the number of -the house where she had lived with the -Moores—a road of small houses, chiefly -occupied by artisans and clerks; a road not -very far from the Zoological Gardens.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But what are you going to do?’ asks she -nervously. ‘You will not tell him I am -here?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Of course not. But it is quite necessary -that a fellow like that should feel there is a -law in the land.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But if you say anything about me,’ says -she in a tone now thoroughly frightened, ‘he -will search me out, no matter in what corner -of the earth I may be.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t think so, once I have spoken to -him,’ says the barrister grimly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You mean’—she looks at him timidly—‘you -think that if—’ She breaks off -<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>again. ‘He told me that his wife, who he -said was my aunt, had made him guardian -over me, and that he would be my master for -ever.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Even supposing all that were true, and -Mrs. Moore were your aunt—which I doubt—and -had left her husband guardian over -you, still, there are limits to the powers of -guardians.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Then if you see him, you think’—with -trembling anxiety—‘you can tell him that -he has no hold over me?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, I think so.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And I shall be free?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Quite free.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ella leans forward. Her hands are upon -her knees and are tightly clenched. She is -thinking. Suddenly a soft glow overspreads -her face. She lifts her eyes to his, and he -can see that a wonderful brilliance—the light -of hope—has come into them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is too good to be true,’ says she -slowly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no, I hope not. But I wish I had a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>few more particulars, Miss Moore. I am -afraid’—seeing a shade upon her face—‘I -shall be obliged to call you that until I have -discovered your real name. And to do that -you must help me. Have you no memory -that goes farther back than the Moores? -You spoke of someone who used to call you -Elly—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It was a woman,’ says she quickly. ‘Often—often -in my dreams I see her again. She -used to kiss me—I remember that.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is such a sad little saying—once, long -ago, so long ago that she can scarcely remember -it, some woman used to kiss her! -But, evidently, since that tender kisses had -not fallen to the poor child’s lot.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But she died. I saw her lying dead. I -thought she was asleep. She was very -beautiful—I remember that, too. I don’t -want to see anyone dead again. Death,’ -says she with a shudder, ‘is horrible!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>This, coming from one who had braved -its terrors voluntarily so very lately, causes -Wyndham to look at her in some surprise.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>‘Yes!’ says he. ‘And yet that night -when the Professor gave you something that -might have led to death, were you frightened -then?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think I have explained that,’ says she, -with a slight touch of dignity.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘True.’ He continues the slow pacing to -and fro upon the garden-path that he has -taken up occasionally during this interview. -‘There is nothing more, then, that you can -tell me? The lady of whom you speak, who -used to kiss you, was perhaps your mother?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think so—I believe it,’ says the girl. -She turns to him a face flushed and gratified. -‘Mr. Wyndham, it was kind of you to call -her that—a lady! To me, too, she seems a -lady, and, besides that, an angel.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>A lady! Wyndham’s kindly instincts go -out to this poor waif and stray with an -extreme sense of pity. A lady! Very likely, -but perhaps no wife. The mother, if a lady, -has certainly left the gentle manners of good -birth to this poor child, but nothing else. A -vindictive anger against the vices of this life -<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>in which he lives, and a still greater anger -against the <i><span lang="fr">bétises</span></i> of society that would not -admit this girl into their ranks, however -faultless she may be, because of a blot upon -her birth, stirs his soul. That she is one of -the great unknown seems very clear to him, -but does not prevent his determination to -hunt out that scoundrel Moore and break his -hold over the girl. In the meantime, it -would be well for her to mix with her kind.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘About a companion,’ says he. ‘You told -me you were anxious to continue your studies. -I think I know a lady—elderly, refined, -and gentle—who would be able to help you. -You could go out with her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I shall not go out of this house,’ says the -girl. She has begun to tremble again. -‘Mr. Wyndham, do not ask me to do that. -Even’—slowly, but steadily—‘if you did ask -me, I should refuse. I will not go where -I can be found. This lady you speak of, if -she will come and live with me, and teach -me—I should like that; but—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You will require very little teaching, I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>think,’ says Wyndham, who has been struck -by the excellence of both her manners and -her speech, considering her account of her -former life.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I know nothing,’ says she calmly; ‘but, -as I told you, I had read a good deal, and -for the past three years I used to go as -nursery governess to a Mrs. Blaquiere, who -lived in Westmoreland Road. I used to -lunch with her and the children, and she was -very kind to me; and she taught me a good -deal in other ways—society ways.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You were an apt pupil,’ says he gravely, -a little doubtfully, perhaps.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I liked the way she talked, and it seemed -to come very easy to me after awhile,’ says -the girl indifferently, not noticing his keen -glance at her. ‘But this governess—this -companion?’ asks she. ‘Will she want to go -out—to be amused? If so, I could not have -her. I shall never go out of this place -until—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Until?’ asks he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You tell me that man has no longer any -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>power over me. I’—she looks at him, and -again terror whitens her face—‘I am sure -you are wrong, and that he has the power to -drag me away from this, if he finds me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I should advise you not to dwell on that -until I have found him,’ says Wyndham, a -little stiffly. The successful barrister is a -little thrown back upon himself by being told -that he will undoubtedly find himself in the -wrong. ‘But this Mrs. Blaquiere, who was -so kind to you—why do you not apply to -her for protection?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She and her husband and the children all -went to Australia in the early part of last -spring, and so I lost sight of them.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Lost your situation, too?’—regarding her -carefully.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes; and I had no time to look for -another. Mrs. Moore grew ill then, and I -had to attend her day and night until she -died. The rest I have told you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I see,’ says Wyndham. ‘Tell me again -this man Moore’s address.’ He writes it now -in his pocket-book, though it was written -<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>well into his brain before; but he wished to -see if she would falter about it the second -time.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He bids her good-bye presently, refusing -her timid offer of tea.</p> - -<p class='c004'>At the gate he finds Mrs. Denis, presumably -tying up a creeper, but most undoubtedly -on the look-out for him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Good-evening, yer honour.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Good-evening’—shortly. Wyndham is -deep in thought, and by no means in a good -temper. He would have brushed by her; -but, armed with a garden rake, a spade, and -a huge clipper, Mrs. Denis is not lightly to -be dealt with.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Askin’ yer pardon, sir, ’tis just a word -I want wid ye. Miss Ella, the crathure—ye’re -going to let her stay here, aren’t -ye?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes,’ says Wyndham gruffly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The saints be praised!’ says Mrs. Denis -piously. ‘Fegs! ’tis a good heart ye have, -sir, in spite of it all.’ What the ‘all’ is she -leaves beautifully indefinite. ‘An’, sure, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>’twas meself tould Denis—that ould raprobate -of a fool o’ mine—that ye’d niver turn her -out. “For where would she go,” says I, “if -he did—a born lady like her?” An’ there’s -plenty o’ room for her here, sir.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I dare say,’ says Wyndham, feeling -furious. ‘But for all that, I can’t have -all the young women in Ireland staying in -my house just because there is room for -them.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘God forbid, yer honour! All thim young -women would play the very divil wid the -Cottage, an’’—thoughtfully—‘aitch other -too. Wan at a time, sir, is a good plan, an’ -I’m glad it’s Miss Ella has had the first -of it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>This remarkable speech is met by Wyndham -with a stony glare that goes lightly over the -head of Mrs. Denis. That worthy woman is -too much elated with the news she has -dragged out of him to care for glares of any -sort. Childless, though always longing for a -child—and especially for a daughter—Mrs. -Denis’s heart had gone out at once to the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>pretty waif that had been cast into her life in -so strange a fashion. And now she hastens -back to the house to get ‘her Miss Ella a cup -o’ tay, the crathure!’ and wheedle out of her -all the news about the ‘masther.’</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> -</div> -<p class='c009'>‘Tell me how to bear so blandly the assuming ways -of wild young people!</p> - -<p class='c002'>‘Truly they would be unbearable if I had not also -been unbearable myself as well.’—<span class='sc'>Goethe.</span></p> - -<p class='c010'>When Mr. Crosby had told the Barrys that -he would come down next day for a game -of tennis, they had not altogether believed -in his coming, so that when they see him -from afar off, through the many holes in the -hedge, walking towards them down the -village street, surprise is their greatest sentiment.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan,’ says Dominick solemnly, pausing -racket in hand, ‘it must be you. I always -told you your face was your fortune, and a -very small one at that. You’ll have to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>marry him, and then we’ll all go and live -with you for ever. That’ll be a treat for -you, and will doubtless make up for the fact -that he is emulating the Great Methuselah. -If I can say a good word for you, I—Oh, -how d’ye do, Mr. Crosby? Brought -your racket, too, I see. Carew, now we’ll -make up a set: Mr. Crosby and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Miss Susan, if I may,’ says Crosby, looking -into Susan’s charming face whilst holding -her hand in greeting. There are any -amount of greetings to be got through when -you go to see the Barrys. They are all -always <i><span lang="fr">en évidence</span></i>, and all full of life and -friendliness. Even little Bonnie hurries up -on his stick, and gives him a loving greeting. -The child’s face is so sweet and so happily -friendly that Crosby stoops and kisses him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certainly you may,’ says Susan genially; -‘but I’m not so good a player as Betty. -She can play like anything. But to-day -she has got a bad cold in her head. Well’—laughing—‘come -on; we can try, and, -after all, we can only be beaten.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>They are, as it happens, and very badly, -too, Mr. Crosby, though no doubt good at -big game, being rather a tyro at tennis.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I apologize,’ says he, when the game is -at an end, and they have all seated themselves -upon the ground to rest and gather -breath; ‘I’m afraid Su—Miss Susan—you -will hardly care to play with me again.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I told you you could call me Susan,’ says -she calmly. ‘Somehow, I dislike the Miss -before it. Betty told you Miss Barry -sounded like Aunt Jemima, but I think -Miss Susan sounds like Jane.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Poor old Jane! And she’s got such an -awful nose!’ says Betty. ‘I think I’d rather -be like Aunt Jemima than her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan hasn’t got an awful nose,’ says -Bonnie, stroking Susan’s dainty little Grecian -appendage fondly. ‘It’s a nice one.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan is a beauty,’ says Betty; ‘we all -know that. Even James went down before -her. Poor James! I wonder what he is -doing now.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Stewing in the Soudan,’ says Carew.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>‘He was always in one sort of stew or -another,’ says Dominick, ‘so it will come -kindly to him. And after Susan’s heartless -behaviour—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Dom!’ says Susan, in an awful tone. -But Mr. Fitzgerald is beyond the reach of -tones.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, it’s all very well your taking it like -that now,’ says he; ‘but when poor old -James was here it was a different thing.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It was not,’ says Susan indignantly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Are you going to deny that he was your -abject slave—that he sat in your pocket -from morning till night—well, very nearly -night? That he followed you from place to -place like a baa-lamb? That you did not -encourage him in the basest fashion?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I never encouraged him. Encourage -him! That boy!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Don’t call him names, Susan, behind his -back,’ says Betty, whose mischievous nature -is now all afire, and who is as keen about -the baiting of Susan as either Carew or -Dom. ‘Besides, what a boy he is! He -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>must be twenty-two, at all events.’ This -seems quite old to Betty.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What did you do with the keepsake he -gave you when he was going away?’ asks -Carew. He is lying flat upon the warm -grass, his chin upon his palms, and looks up -at Susan with judicial eyes. ‘What was it? -I forget now. A lock of his lovely hair?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No,’ says Betty; ‘a little silver brooch—an -anchor.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That means hope,’ says Dominick solemnly. -‘Susan, he is coming back next year. What -are you going to say to him?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Just exactly what everybody else is -going to say to him,’ says Susan, who is now -crimson. ‘And I didn’t want that horrid -brooch at all.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Still, you took it,’ says Betty. ‘I call -that rather mean, to take it, and then say -you didn’t want it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, what was I to do?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Refuse it, mildly but firmly,’ says Mr. -Fitzgerald. ‘The acceptance of it was, in -my opinion, as good as the acceptance of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>James. When he does come back, Susan, -I don’t see how you are to get out of being -Mrs. James. That brooch is a regular -binder. How does it seem to you, Mr. -Crosby?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You see, I haven’t heard all the evidence -yet,’ says Crosby, who is looking at Susan’s -flushed, half-angry, wholly-delightful face. -James, whoever he is, seems to have been -a good deal in her society at one time.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There’s no evidence,’ says she wrathfully, -‘and I wish you boys wouldn’t be so stupid! -As for the brooch, I hate it; I never -wear it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, if ever anyone gives me a present -I shall wear it every day and all day long,’ -says Betty. ‘What’s the good of having a -lover if people don’t know about it?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Is that so?’ says Mr. Fitzgerald, regarding -her with all the air of one to whom now -the road seems clear. ‘Then the moment I -become a millionaire—and there seems quite -an immediate prospect of it just now—I -shall buy you the Koh-i-Noor, and you shall -<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>wear it on your beauteous brow, and proclaim -me as your unworthy lover to all the world.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I will when I get it,’ says Betty, with -tremendous sarcasm.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The reason you won’t wear it,’ says -Carew, alluding to Susan’s despised brooch, -‘is plain to even the poor innocents around -you. Girls, in spite of all Betty has said, -seldom wear their keepsakes. They get -cotton wool and wrap them up in it, and -peep at them rapturously on Christmas Day -or Easter Sunday, or on the beloved one’s -birthday, or some other sacred occasion. -What’s James’s birthday, Susan?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t know,’ says Susan; ‘and I don’t -know, either, why you tease me so much -about him. He is quite as little to me as -I am to him.’ Her voice is trembling now. -They have gone a little too far perhaps, or -is the memory of James ‘stewing in the -Soudan’ too much for her? Whichever it -is, Mr. Crosby is growing anxious for her; -but all the youngsters are now in full cry, -and the proverbial cruelty of brothers and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>sisters is well known to many a long-suffering -girl and boy.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, Susan,’ says Betty, ‘where does one -go to when one tells naughty-naughties? -Dom; do you remember the evening just -before James went abroad, when he went -into floods of tears because she wouldn’t give -him a rosebud she had in her dress? It -took Dom, and me, and Carew, and a pint of -water to restore him.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>At this they all laugh, even Susan, though -very faintly and very shamefacedly. Her -pretty eyes are shy and angry.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘He wanted a specimen to take out with -him to astonish the natives,’ says Carew. -‘You were the real specimen he wanted to -take out with him, Susan, but as that was -impracticable just then (it will probably be -arranged next time), he decided on taking -the rosebud instead.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘He wanted nothing,’ says Susan, whose -face is now bent over Bonnie’s as if to hide -it. ‘He didn’t care a bit about me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Indeed he did, Susan.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>A fresh element has fallen into the situation. -Everyone looks round. The voice is -the voice of Jacky—Jacky, who, up to this, -has been as usual buried in a book. This -time the burial has been deeper than ever, -as the day before yesterday someone had lent -him Mr. Stevenson’s enthralling ‘Treasure -Island,’ from which no one can ever extract -themselves until the very last page is turned. -Jacky, since he first began it, has been -practically useless, but just now a few -fragments of the conversation going on -around him have filtered to his brain.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Now, in his own peculiarly disagreeable -way he adores Susan, and something has led -him to believe that those around her are -now depreciating her powers of attraction, -and that she is giving in to them for want -of support. Well, he will support her. Poor -old Jacky! he comes nobly forward to her -rescue, and as usual puts his foot in it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘He liked you better than anyone,’ says -he, in his slow, ponderous fashion, glaring -angrily at Betty, with whom he carries on -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>an undying feud. ‘Why, don’t you remember -how he used to hunt you all over -the garden to kiss you!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Tableau!</p> - -<p class='c004'>Betty leads the way after about a -moment’s awful pause, and then they all go -off into shrieks of laughter. Jacky, alone, -sullen, silent, not understanding, stands as -if petrified. Susan has pushed Bonnie from -her, and has risen to her feet. Her face is -crimson now; her eyes are full of tears. -Involuntarily Crosby rises too.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘He used not,’ says poor Susan. Alas! -this assertion is not quite true. ‘And even -if he did, you’—to the horrified Jacky—‘should -not have told it. You, Jacky’—trembling -with shame—‘I wouldn’t have -believed it of you! It was hateful of you! -You’—with a withering glance around—‘are -all hateful, and—and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She chokes, breaks down, and runs with -swift-flying feet into the small shrubbery -beyond, where lies a little summer-house in -which she can hide herself.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> -</div> -<p class='c009'>‘Tears are often to be found where there is little -sorrow.’</p> - -<p class='c010'>An embarrassed silence falls upon the group -she leaves behind her. It had not occurred -to them that she would care so much. They -had often chaffed her before. It must—it -must have been Mr. Crosby’s being there -that had put her out like that. To tell the -truth, they are all penitent—Betty perhaps -more than the others. But even her remorse -sinks into insignificance before Jacky’s. His -takes the nature of a wrathful attack upon -the others, and ends in a storm of tears.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You’ve been teasing her, you know you -have—and she’s mad with me now. And I -didn’t mean anything. And she’s crying, I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>know she is. And you’re all beasts—beasts!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is at this point that his own tears break -forth, and, like Susan, he flees from them—but, -unlike Susan, howling.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I didn’t know; I didn’t think she’d care,’ -says Betty, in a frightened tone. ‘We often -teased her before;’ and she might have said -more, but an attack of sneezing lays her low.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But before a stranger!’ says Carew -anxiously. ‘I am afraid, Mr. Crosby, it is -because you were here.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It isn’t a bit like Susan to care like that,’ -says Dom. ‘I say’—contritely—‘I’m awfully -sorry. I wonder where she is, Betty.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘In the summer-house. She always goes -there when she’s vexed or worried.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Why don’t you go to her, then?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I can’t. I’ve a cold. I’ll wait awhile,’ -says Betty, holding back.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think, as it has been my fault,’ says -Crosby quietly, ‘that I had better be the -one to apologize. Where is this summer-house -of which you speak?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>‘Right round there,’ says Betty eagerly, -pointing to the corner of the house.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Just behind the rose-trees,’ says Dom, -giving him a friendly push forward.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You can’t miss her,’ says Carew, who is -dying to give him an encouraging clap on -the shoulder. They are all evidently very -anxious to get the task of ‘making it up’ -with Susan on to any other shoulders than -their own.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, I think I’ll take a little hostage -with me, or shall we say a peace-offering?’ -says Crosby, catching up Bonnie, and starting -with him for Susan’s hiding-place. ‘Any way, -I’ve got a pioneer,’ says he. ‘He’ll show me -the way.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The way is short and very sweet. Along -a gravelled pathway, between trees of glowing -roses, to where in the distance is a tiny -house, made evidently by young, untutored -hands, out of young and very unseasoned -timber.</p> - -<p class='c004'>A slender figure is inside it—a figure -flung miserably into one of the corners, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>crying perhaps, after all, more angrily than -painfully.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Now, what on earth are you doing that -for?’ says Crosby. He seats himself on the -rustic bench beside her, and places Bonnie on -her knee. It seems to him that that will -be the best way to bring down her hands -from her eyes. And he is not altogether -wrong. It is impossible to let her little -beloved one fall off her knees, so quickly, -if reluctantly, she brings down her right -hand so as to clasp him securely.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What are you crying about?’ goes on -Crosby, very proud of the success of his -first manœuvre. ‘Because somebody wanted -to kiss you? You will have a good deal of -crying at that rate, Susan, before you come -to the end of your life.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He is laughing a little now, and as Bonnie -has climbed up on her knees, and is pulling -away the other hand from her face, Susan -feels she may as well make the best of a -bad situation.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It wasn’t so much that,’ says she. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>‘Though’—anxiously—‘Jacky exaggerated -most dreadfully. As to my objecting to -their teasing me about James McIlveagh—you -have not seen him, or you would understand -me better. It is not only that he is -uninteresting, but that he is awful! His -nose is like an elephant’s trunk, and his -eyes are as small as the head of a pin. And -his clothes—his trousers—I don’t know where -he got his trousers, but Dom used to say his -mother made them in her spare moments. -Not that one would care about a person’s -trousers, of course,’ says Susan, with intense -earnestness, ‘if he was nice himself; but -James wasn’t nice, and I was never more -glad in my life than when he went away.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘He’s coming back, however.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, I know, and I’m sorry for it, if they -are going to tease me all day long about him, -as they are doing now. I think’—with a -hasty glance at him, born of the fact that -she knows her eyes are disfigured by crying—‘you -might have tried to stop them.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, you see, I hardly knew what to do -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>at first,’ says Crosby, quite entering into the -argument. ‘And when I did, it was a little -too late. Of course it seemed to me a very -possible thing that you might have given -your heart to this young man with the nose -and the unfortunate trousers who is stewing -in the Soudan.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You might have known by my manner -that I hated them to tease me about him,’ -says Susan, very little appeased by his -apology.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’ll know better next time,’ says Crosby -humbly. ‘But when I heard he had been -following you about like a baa-lamb, and -that you had taken that anchor from him, -and that he used to—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He is checked by a flash from Susan’s eyes. -There is a pause. Then suddenly she presses -her face into Bonnie’s flaxen hair, and bursts -into smothered laughter.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, I don’t care! He did once, all -round the gooseberry bushes; and I threw a -spade at him, and it hit him on the head, -and I thought I had killed him. I’—with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>another glance at Crosby, now from between -Bonnie’s curls—‘was dreadfully frightened -then. But now I almost wish I had. Any -way, he never tried to—he never, I mean’—confusedly—‘hunted -me again.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I begin to feel sincerely sorry for James,’ -says Crosby. ‘He seems to me to have led -but a sorry life before he started for the -Soudan. When he comes home next year, -what will you do? He may be quite’—he -looks at her and smiles—‘a mighty hunter -by that time.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan laughs.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Like you,’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby looks at her. It is a ready answer, -and with another might convey a certain -meaning, but with Susan never.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, I’m afraid of gooseberry bushes,’ says -he. ‘They have thorns in them. James, -you see, surpasses me in valour. Talking -of valour reminds me of those you have left -behind you, and who have sent me here as -their plenipotentiary, to extract from you a -promise of peace. They are all very sorry -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>they annoyed you so much about the redoubtable -James; and they desired me to -say so. I was afraid to come by myself, so -I brought Bonnie with me. Bonnie, tell her -to come back with me now, and say: “Peace -is restored with honour.” Say it for her, -Bonnie.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘“Peace is restored with honour,”’ repeats -Bonnie sweetly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There, that settles it,’ says Crosby. ‘He -knows his lesson. So do you; come back -and forgive us all.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, I can’t,’ says Susan. ‘They would -know I had been crying. Look at my eyes; -they are quite red.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘They are not, indeed,’ says Mr. Crosby, -after an exhaustive examination. ‘They are -quite blue.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh yes, that, of course’—impatiently. -‘But, well—really, how are they?’ She -leans towards him, and gazes at him out of -the blue eyes with an extraordinary calm. -‘Would they know I had been crying?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘They would not,’ says Crosby. ‘It is I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>alone who am in that secret. And, by the -way, Susan’—stopping her as they both -rise—‘that is the second secret we have between -us; we are becoming quite fashionable—we -are growing into a society, you -and I.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I wish you would forget that first secret,’ -says Susan, blushing a little. ‘And, anyhow, -I hope you won’t tell the others that you -found me—you know—crying.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, that makes me remember our first -secret,’ says Crosby. ‘You know that on -that never-to-be-forgotten memorable occasion -you said you trusted me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Did I?’ Susan is blushing furiously now. -‘How can I recollect all the silly things I -said then? I have forgotten them all—and -I’m sure you have, too.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not one of them,’ says Crosby. ‘They -are now classed with my most priceless -memories. “Go and steal no more,” you -said—and I haven’t up to this.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan laughs in spite of herself.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, at all events I can trust you, then, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>not to betray me to them.’ She points to -the late temple of her tears.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You can trust me for that or anything -else in the wide world,’ says Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He takes up Bonnie again, and they go -slowly back to the others.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘So bright a tear in Beauty’s eye,</div> - <div class='line'>Love half regrets to kiss it dry.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>As Susan appears, the guilty ones upon the -tennis-ground move simultaneously towards -her, Betty with a shy little rush, and holding -out to her her racket.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Come and have another game, Susan, and -you, too, Mr. Crosby.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, do,’ says Carew. ‘Tea will be here -in a moment.’ He evidently holds this out -as an inducement to Crosby to remain. Mr. -Fitzgerald nobly backs him up.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Also Aunt Jemima!’ he says enthusiastically.</p> - -<p class='c004'>This joke, if it is meant for one, is a dead -failure. No one even smiles. Susan, who is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>feeling a little shy, and is horribly conscious -that, in spite of Crosby’s assurances, her eyes -are of a very tell-tale colour, is fighting with -her brain for some light, airy, amusing remark -that may prove to all present that she had -only run away from them in mere search of -physical exercise, when suddenly the rather -forced smile dies upon her lips, and her eyes -become fixed on some object over there on -her right.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What is it, Susan—a ghost?’ asks Dom, -who is equal to most occasions.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No,’ says Susan, in a low voice. ‘But—this -is the third time. And look over there, -at that sycamore-tree in the Cottage garden. -Do you see anything?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘See what? “Is there visions about?” -asks Dom. ‘Really, Susan, you ought to -consider our nerves. Is it the “Bogie Man,” -or—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is a girl,’ says Susan. ‘There, there -again! Her face is between those two big -branches. Mr. Crosby’—eagerly—‘don’t -you see her?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>‘I do,’ cries Carew suddenly. ‘Oh, what -a lovely face!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>It may be remembered that the Rectory -and the Cottage are only divided by a narrow -road and two high walls. At the farthest -end of the Cottage grounds some tall trees -are standing—a beech, two elms, and a -sycamore. All these uprear themselves well -above the walls, and cast their shadows in -summer, and their leaves in winter, down on -the road beneath. They can be distinctly -seen from the Rectory tennis-court, and, -indeed, add a good deal of charm to it, the -road being so narrow, and the walls so much -of a height, that strangers often think the -trees on the Cottage lawn are actually belonging -to the Rectory.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, I see too,’ says Crosby, leaning -forward.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, yes!’ cries Betty. ‘But is it a -girl?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>And now a little silence falls upon them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Over there, peeping out between the leaves -of the soft sycamore-tree, is a face. There is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>nothing to tell if it be a boy’s or a girl’s face, -as nothing can be seen but the shapely head; -and its soft abundant tresses of chestnut -hair are so closely drawn back into a knot -behind that they are hidden by the crowding -branches. The eyes are gleaming, the lips -slightly parted. So might a Hamadryad -look, peering through swaying leaves.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It’s the prisoner,’ says Jacky, in an awestruck -tone.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The apparition, you mean,’ corrects Mr. -Fitzgerald severely. ‘Prisoners, as a rule, -have bodies, spooks have none. Jacky, you -lucky creature, you have seen a ghost.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ asks Betty in an -anxious tone.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A most pertinent question?’ says Fitzgerald, -who is taking the situation with anything -but the seriousness that is so evidently -demanded of it. ‘But, as I have before -remarked, there is no body to go by, and -naturally no clothes. It is therefore unanswerable.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby has said nothing. He is, indeed, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>deeply occupied with the face. So this is -Wyndham’s tenant. A very lovely one.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Again a slight doubt arises in his mind -about his friend. And yet Wyndham had -seemed thoroughly honest in his explanation.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I know it’s a girl,’ says Susan, with -decision. ‘Jacky has seen her; and what -a pretty one! Oh, there, she’s gone!’ And, -indeed, the Hamadryad, as if becoming -suddenly conscious of the fact that they -are looking at her, draws back her head -and disappears. ‘I’m afraid she saw us,’ says -Susan contritely. ‘She must have thought -us very rude. I’ll ask father to let me call -on her, I think. She must be very lonely -there. And even if she is only Mrs. -Moriarty’s niece, still, she must have been -educated to make her look like that.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Perhaps,’ says Crosby, speaking with -apparent carelessness, and looking direct -at Susan, ‘she might not like to be called -upon. I have been given to understand -that she is not a niece of Mrs. Moriarty’s, -and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>‘No, but what, then?’ asks Carew.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A tenant of Mr. Wyndham’s. He is a -friend of mine, you know; and he told me -lately he had grown very tired of the -Cottage, and was willing to take a tenant -for it. This lady is, I presume, the tenant.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The more reason why we should call upon -her,’ says Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But isn’t she very young,’ says Betty, ‘to -be a tenant all by herself?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>This startling suggestion creates a slight -pause.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘To be young is not to be beyond misfortune,’ -says Crosby at last, in a grave -and very general tone. ‘No doubt this -young lady has lost her father and mother, -and is obliged to—er—do without them.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>This is distinctly lame.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Poor thing!’ says Susan sympathetically.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We might ask her over here sometimes,’ -says Carew.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But if she has lost her parents lately,’ -puts in Crosby hastily, ‘she might, perhaps—one -should not even with the best intentions -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>force one’s self upon people in such deep -grief as hers.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She wasn’t in mourning, any way,’ says -Betty, who can always tell you to a pin -what anyone is wearing; ‘she had a little -blue bow near her neck.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby recovers from this blow with difficulty.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘At all events,’ says he, ‘I have heard -through Wyndham that she desires privacy -at present. No doubt when she feels equal -to receiving visitors she will let us all know.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No doubt,’ says Dominick, who has been -studying Mr. Crosby closely, and with covert -amusement.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’ll ask Mr. Wyndham about her,’ says -Susan. ‘I think she would be happier if she -could tell about her sorrow. One should be -roused from one’s griefs, father says. And -even if out of mourning—I didn’t see any blue -bow, Betty—still, I am sure she must be sad -at heart.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, consult your father about it,’ says -Crosby, as a last resource. In spite of his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>affection for Wyndham, he has doubts about -his tenant.</p> - -<p class='c004'>At this point Jane appears, bringing a -tray, on which are cups and saucers, teapot -and cream ewer, some bread-and-butter and -sponge-cake. Susan had spent the morning -making the sponge-cake on the chance of -Mr. Crosby’s coming. They had decided in -conclave that it would be better to have tea -out here on the pleasant grass (though there -is no table on which to put the tray) rather -than in the small and rather stuffy drawing-room. -They had had a distinct fight over it -with Miss Barry; but Dominick, who can -succeed in anything but his exams, overcame -her, and carried the day.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Put the tray down here,’ says Betty, with -quite an air, seeing that Susan has given way -a little beneath the want of the table—‘down -here on the grass near me. I’ll pour out the -tea’—this with a withering glance at Susan, -who is slightly flushed, and apparently -ashamed of herself. ‘We haven’t any rustic -table yet, Mr. Crosby,’ says Betty, with immense -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>aplomb, ‘but were going to have one -shortly’—this with all the admirable assurance -of a fashionable dame who has just -been ordering a garden tea-table from one of -the best London houses. She nods and smiles -at him. ‘Dom is going to make it. Susan’—with -a freezing glance at that damsel—‘do -you think you could manage to cut the -sponge-cake?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Cut it!’ says Jacky, who is sharp to see -that the idolized Susan is being sat upon, and -who still feels that he owes her reparation of -some sort. ‘Why couldn’t she cut it? She -made it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan bursts out laughing. It is too much, -and they all follow suit.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What! you made it?’ cries Crosby, taking -up a knife and beginning a vigorous attack -upon it. ‘Why didn’t you make it bigger -when you were about it? The fact that it is -your handiwork has, judging by myself, made -us all frightfully hungry. Thank Heaven, -there is still bread-and-butter, or I don’t -know what would become of us.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>They are all laughing still—indeed, their -merriment has quite reached a height—when -Susan, looking over her shoulder, nearly -drops her cup and saucer, and sits up as if -listening.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Someone is coming,’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Aunt Jemima,’ indignantly declares Betty, -who is sitting up too.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Tramp, tramp, tramp comes a foot along -the gravel path that skirts the side of the -house away from them. Tramp, tramp; -evidently two of the heaviest feet in Christendom -are approaching.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You’re right,’ whispers Dom; ‘’tis “the fa’ -o’ her fairy feet.” Aunt Jemima, to a moral.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>And Aunt Jemima it is, sweeping round -the house with her head well up, and the -desire to impress, that they all know so -fatally well, full upon her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Don’t stir, Mr. Crosby; I really beg you -won’t. This is a rather <i><span lang="es">al-fresco</span></i> entertainment, -but I know you will excuse these wild -children.’ Here the wild children gave way -silently, convulsively.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>‘It is the most charming entertainment I -have been at for years,’ says Crosby pleasantly. -‘Where will you sit? Here?’ He is quite -assiduous in his attentions, especially about -the rug on which she is to sit—not his rug, -at all events; Susan has half of that.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Thank you,’ says Miss Barry, ‘but I need -not trouble you; I do not intend to stay. I -merely came out to see if these remarkably -ill-mannered young people were taking care of -you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She speaks with a stiff and laboured smile -upon her lips, but an evident determination -to be amiable at all risks.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Won’t you have a cup of tea, Aunt -Jemima?’ asks Susan timidly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, thank you, my love. Pray don’t -trouble about me. I’—with a crushing -glance at poor Susan—‘have no desire whatever -to interfere with your amusement. I -hope’—turning to Crosby—‘later on I may -be able to see more of you, but to-day I am -specially busy. I have many worries, Mr. -Crosby, that are not exactly on the surface.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>‘Like us all,’ says Crosby, nodding his -head gravely. ‘Life is full of thorns.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah!’ says Miss Barry. She feels that she -has now ‘impressed’ him indeed, and is -satisfied.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We travel a thorny road,’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby sadly acquiesces.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘True,’ says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Adieu,’ says she. She makes him an old-fashioned -obeisance, and once again rounds -the corner and disappears.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t think it was very nice of you to -make fun of her,’ says Susan reproachfully to -Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Fun of her! What do you take me for?’ -says he. ‘Make fun of your aunt because I -said life was full of thorns? Well’—with -argument looming in his eye—‘isn’t it?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Thorns?’ She pauses, as if wondering. -‘Oh no,’ says she. It seems a pity to disturb -so sweet a faith; and Crosby, with a -renunciatory wave of his hand, gives up the -impending argument.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Awful lucky she went away so soon!’ says -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>Carew, as the last bit of Aunt Jemima’s tail -disappears round the corner. ‘She’d have -led us a life had she stayed. She’s been -on the prance all day on account of those -Brians.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, isn’t it awful?’ says Betty.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Who are the Brians?’ asks Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Farmers up on the hill over there’—pointing -far away to the south. ‘Very well-to-do -people, you know, with their sons going into -the Church, and their daughters at a first-class -school in Birmingham. Aunt Jemima, -thinking to help them on their road to civilization, -sent them a bath—one of the round -flat ones, you know—as a present last month, -hearing that they were expecting the girls -home for their holidays, and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here Betty breaks off, and goes into what -she calls ‘kinks’ of laughter.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well?’ says Crosby, naturally desirous of -knowing where the laugh comes in.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, that’s it!’ says Dom. ‘Really, Betty, -I think you might hold on long enough to -finish your own story. It appears Aunt -<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>Jemima went up to the farm yesterday, and -found that they had taken the bath as an -ornament, and had nailed it up against the -sitting-room wall with four long tenpenny -nails, and—’ Here, in spite of his lecture -to Betty, Mr. Fitzgerald himself gives way, -and, falling back upon the grass, shouts with -laughter.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘They took it,’ gasps Carew, ‘as some -curio from some barbarous country—a sort of -shield, you know; a savage weapon! They -had never seen a bath before. Oh my!’ -He, too, has gone into an ecstasy of mirth. -‘I expect they thought it was straight from -South Africa.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Poor Aunt Jemima!’ says Betty, when -she can speak. ‘It must have been a blow -to her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Talking of blows,’ says Carew, turning to -her sharply, and somewhat indignantly, ‘I -never knew anyone blow their nose like you, -Betty; you’ve been at it now since early -dawn.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, I can’t help it,’ says Betty, very -<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>rightly aggrieved, ‘if I have got a cold in my -head.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’ve a cold, too,’ says Jacky dismally—Jacky -is always dismal—‘but it isn’t as bad -as Betty’s. My head is aching, but Betty’s -nose is only running.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>A frightful silence follows upon this terrific -speech. Mr. Fitzgerald, who can always be -depended upon at a crisis, breaks it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not far, I trust,’ says he, with exaggerated -anxiety. ‘We could hardly spare it. Betty’s -nose is the one presentable member of that -sort in the family.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Betty, between the pauses of this speech, -can be heard threatening Jacky. ‘No, no; -never! I won’t give it now. You’re a little -wretch! Even if I promised to give it I -don’t care. I’ll take it back. You shan’t -have it now.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>But all this is so distinctly not meant to be -heard that no one takes any notice of it, and -any serious consequences are prevented by -the fact that Dominick, rising, throws himself -between the puzzled Jacky and the irate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>Betty. In the meantime, Crosby draws himself -along the rug until he is even closer -to Susan, who now again is looking serious.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What is troubling you, righteous soul?’ -asks he lightly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How do you know I am troubled? I am -not, really.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yet you are thinking, and very gravely, -too.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, that is another thing. I was thinking,’ -says Susan gently, ‘of the girl in there’—nodding -towards the Cottage. ‘It must be -a very sad thing to have no one belonging to -you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Sad indeed! But you must not let your -sympathy for her run too far afield. If not -a father or mother, she must have—other -ties.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Brothers, you mean, or sisters?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, just so—brothers or sisters. They’ll -turn up presently, no doubt.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He looks at her as if waiting for an inspiration, -and then it comes to him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What a sympathetic mind you have!’ says -<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>he. ‘And yet you don’t give me a share of -it. You have known me quite a long time -now, and I have no father or mother, yet -you have not wept with me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I didn’t know,’ says Susan. ‘And, besides, -there was no long time, surely. Father told -us you had no father or mother, but—have -you’—with hesitation—‘no people belonging -to you, Mr. Crosby?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘One sister,’ says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘One sister! And why doesn’t she live -with you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, you must ask her that. Perhaps she -wouldn’t care about it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I should think she would love to live with -you,’ says Susan. She utters this bold sentiment -calmly, kindly, without so much as a -blink of her long lashes.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby looks at her. Is she real, this -pretty child? His inclination to laugh dies -within him; and so dies, too, the inclination -to utter the usual society speech, that with -most society girls would have been considered -the thing on an occasion like this. Both are -<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>done to death by Susan’s eyes, so calm, so -sweet, so earnest, and so entirely without -a second meaning of any sort.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, you see, she doesn’t,’ says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But why?’ asks Susan. She is feeling -a little angry with the unknown sister. To -live with Carew, if he were well off enough -to have her, would, Susan thinks, be a most -delightful arrangement.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It seems she prefers to live with another -fellow,’ says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan stares at him. He nods back at -her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Fact,’ says he. ‘Horrid taste on her -part, isn’t it?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, I see,’ says Susan slowly. ‘She’s -married.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Very much,’ says Crosby. ‘At all events, -her husband is. She doesn’t give him much -rope. However, you’ll see her soon, as she is -coming to stay with me. She always makes -a point of coming to me for my birthday, -whenever I chance to be in Ireland or England -for it. I suppose I must be going now. I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>say, you two fellows’—turning to Carew and -Dom—‘why are you so lazy? Why don’t -you come up and help me to shoot the rabbits? -They are getting beyond the keepers’ control.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Dom and Carew glance at each other.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Can we?’ says Carew. They seem a little -tongue-tied.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘As often as ever you like. Look here, be -up at six to-morrow morning, and we’ll catch -them feeding. And if you will stay and -breakfast with me, it will be a kindness to a -solitary man.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, thank you!’ says Dominick rapturously. -Carew, however, looks a little crestfallen, -whereupon Dom begins to whisper in his ear. -The words ‘every second shot’ reach Mr. -Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘If either of you wants a gun, I can find -you one,’ says he carelessly, after which joy -unruffled reigns. ‘I make only one stipulation,’ -he adds: ‘that you won’t shoot me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, hang it, we are not such duffers as -that!’ says Carew.</p> - -<p class='c004'>They all laugh at this, and all, as usual, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>accompany him to the gate to give him a -kind send-off.</p> - -<p class='c004'>As he disappears up the road past the -little side-gate of the Cottage, Dom makes -a rush back to the house. ‘I must go and -polish up the old gun,’ says he. Betty -follows him, with Tom and Jacky.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How kind he is!’ says Susan, turning to -Carew. Her tone is warm and grateful. -There is no doubt that Carew’s answer would -have been equally warm, but it never comes.</p> - -<p class='c004'>A little sound—the creaking of a rusty -hinge—at this moment attracts his attention, -and Susan’s also. They glance quickly -towards the little green gate of the Cottage.</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is slowly opening!</p> - -<p class='c004'>And now a face peeps out—very cautiously, -very nervously.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Dear, if you knew what tears they shed</div> - <div class='line in2'>Who live apart from home and friend,</div> - <div class='line'>To pass my house, by pity led,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Your steps would tend.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>It is the face that had peeped out of the -branches of the sycamore-tree a little while -ago. A charming face! The eyes glance -down the little lane, and then, suddenly seeing -Susan, rest with a frightened expression -on her. As this is the first time in all -Susan’s experience that anyone has ever -betrayed the smallest fear of her, she -naturally gives herself up to the contemplation -of her new-born slave. Her eyes and -those of the mysterious stranger meet.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, how pretty!’ thinks Susan to herself, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>but she says nothing, being lost in wonder -and admiration; and the girl, peeping out -of the doorway, as if disheartened, draws -back again, and will in another minute disappear -altogether, but for Carew.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He makes a sharp gesture.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Wait!’ cries he, in a low tone, though -hardly conscious that he is speaking at all. -And again the pretty frightened head comes -into sight between the leaves of the luxuriant -ivy that frames the gate.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan!’ says Carew, in a voice of low -and hurried entreaty; and Susan, responding -to it, speeds quickly up the road and -into the little gateway.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, come in—come in!’ breathes the -stranger in a whisper, putting out her hands -and catching Susan’s in a soft grasp. ‘I -have seen you so often; I’—flushing and -smiling timidly—‘have watched you from -the sycamore many a day. And it’s very -lonely here. You will come in for a moment, -won’t you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan smiles back at her, and passes -<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>through the small green gate. Ella, pleased -and palpitating, glances back, to see Carew -looking after them like a young culprit at -the door of a forbidden paradise.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Won’t you come too?’ cries she, beneath -her breath, in that soft, curiously frightened -sort of a way that seems to belong to her. -‘Hurry! hurry!’ She looks anxious, and it -is only, indeed, when Carew has come inside -the gate, and she has with her own fingers -fastened and secured it, that the brightness -returns to her face.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It’s very good of you,’ says she, smiling -rather shyly at Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no!’ cries Susan, with a charming -courtesy that belongs to her; ‘it is very -good of you to let us come and see you. -You know’—softly—‘we had heard—understood—that -you did not wish to be intruded -on. That is’—stammering faintly—‘that -you didn’t wish to see people, and so—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is all quite true,’ says the girl distinctly. -‘I don’t want to see people—not -everyone, you know. But sometimes when -<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>I hear your voices over there’—pointing -towards the Rectory garden—‘laughing and -talking, I have felt a little lonely.’ She is -looking at Susan, and Susan can see that -her eyes now are a little misty. ‘To-day’—wistfully—‘you -were laughing a great -deal.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, yes; I wish we hadn’t been,’ says -Susan, who is beginning to feel distinctly -contrite, until she remembers that, after all, -some tears were mingled with her mirth. -‘But now that we have met, you will come -and join us sometimes, won’t you?—and, -indeed, to-day? I wish you had come to-day. -We should all have been glad to see -you—shouldn’t we, Carew?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am sure you know that,’ says Carew -to Ella. A warm colour is dyeing his handsome -young face, and there is the tenderest, -most reverential expression in his voice. -Carew is of that age when ‘the light that -lies in a lady’s eyes’ can mean heaven to -him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I shall never leave this place,’ says Ella -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>quickly. ‘All I want is to stay here, in this -lovely garden, by myself.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yet you said you felt lonely,’ says Susan -anxiously.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes—I know.’ She looks down, as if -puzzled, uncertain how to go on. ‘Still, I -would rather be lonely than go out into the -world again.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Poor thing!’ thinks Susan. ‘I was right; -no doubt she has just lost everyone that was -dear to her.’ She glances at Ella, as if in -search of crape, but Ella’s navy-blue skirt -and pretty pale-blue linen blouse seem miles -away from woe; and, yes, Betty had seen -that blue bow near her neck.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I know this garden so well,’ says Susan, -with a view to changing the sad subject. -‘We used to come here often before you -came. Mr. Wyndham sometimes stayed -here for weeks at a time, but now, of course, -that is all changed. Oh, I see you have -planted out some asters in the round bed. -They will be lovely later on. I suppose’—thoughtfully—‘you -like gardening?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>‘I love it!’ says Ella, with enthusiasm. -‘Only I don’t know anything about it. -Mrs. Denis gives me hints.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I love it, too,’ says Susan, ‘but for all -that’—as if a little ashamed of herself—‘I -like to see people sometimes. I couldn’t -live on gardening alone, and you’ll find you -can’t, either. In fact’—gaily—‘you have -found it out already. That’s why you called -us in. Oh, you’ll have to come over to our -place. Do you like tennis?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I have never played it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Golf, then?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No.’ Her tone is very sad, and Carew -turns sharply upon poor Susan, who had -only meant to do her best.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There are other things in the world -besides golf and tennis,’ says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, of course—of course,’ says Susan -hastily. ‘It is only people who live in the -country who ever really care about things -like that, and no doubt you—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t believe I know anything at all,’ -says Ella, very gently.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>‘Well, you know us now, at all events,’ -says Carew very happily, with the light and -ready manner that belongs to all large -families. His tone is a little shy, perhaps—the -tone of the boy to the lovely girl, when -first love’s young dream dawns upon him; -but Susan and Ella take the joke very kindly, -and the laughter that follows on it clears -the atmosphere.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You are Mr. Wyndham’s tenant, aren’t -you?’ says Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, now’—in a glad and eager voice—‘though -at first I wasn’t.’ She pauses here, -drawing back, as it were. Has she said too -much? Susan, however, has evidently seen -nothing in the small admission.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I like Mr. Wyndham,’ says she. ‘We -all do, indeed. What we are afraid of now -is that, as you have the Cottage, we shan’t -see so much of him. But perhaps’—gaily—‘you -will put him up sometimes, and -then we can renew our acquaintance with -him.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here Carew turns an awful crimson, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>casts a glance, meant to annihilate, upon the -innocent Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t know; I’m not sure,’ says Ella -dejectedly. Evidently she has seen as little -in Susan’s suggestion as Susan herself. ‘He -has only been here once since I came, and -Mrs. Denis seems to think he won’t come -very often. I wish he would come, and I’m -glad you like him, because I like him too.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Carew here begins to wonder if he ever -had liked Wyndham, and on the whole -thinks not.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ella has taken a step towards Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What is your name?’ asks she timidly, -but very sweetly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan Barry.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That sounds like the beginning of the -Catechism,’ says Carew, who is, as we know, -a clergyman’s son, and therefore up to little -points like this.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I knew it,’ says Ella, still very shyly, to -Susan—‘I knew it in a way. Mrs. Denis -told me. But I wanted to be quite sure. -You are Miss Barry?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>‘Oh no; only Susan,’ says the pretty -proprietor of that name. ‘My aunt is Miss -Barry. But I hope you will call me Susan. -It is’—mournfully—‘a dreadfully ugly name, -isn’t it?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, no; indeed, I like it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I hope you will like mine,’ says Carew, -breaking into the conversation. ‘It is -Carew. Susan and the others call it Crew, -but that’s an abbreviation of me to which -I object. But your name,’ says he. ‘We -should like to know that.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Has he thrown a bomb into the assembly? -Something, at all events, has stricken the -stranger dumb. She shrinks backwards, -playing with a branch of the Wigelia rosea -near her, as if to hide her embarrassment. -What is her name? She tells herself that -she does not know, that she disbelieves in -the name forced upon her by those dreadful -people she had lived with after—After -what? Even that is vague to her. Was -it after her mother’s death? Hints and -innuendoes from the Moores had given her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>to believe that Moore, at all events, was not -her real name. But beyond that she knows -nothing.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘My name is Ella,’ says she, in a miserable -tone. ‘Call me that if—you will.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Such a pretty name!’ says Susan. ‘Why -did you think we shouldn’t like it? So -much nicer than Susan. Isn’t mine horrid? -But what is your other name?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here they all start. A loud ring at the -big gate over there has taken them from -their own immediate concerns—to another. -Ella turns deadly white, and shows a distinct -desire to get behind Susan. Mrs. Denis is -to be seen in the distance, flying towards the -entrance-gate.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Presently it is opened by her, and Wyndham -walks in.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘“Mark ye,” he sings, “in modest maiden guise</div> - <div class='line in2'>The red rose peeping from her leafy nest;</div> - <div class='line'>Half opening, now half closed, the jewel lies:</div> - <div class='line in2'>More bright her beauty seems, the more represt.”’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Wyndham pauses in the gateway, and then -comes forward. His astonishment at seeing -the two Barrys here is unbounded, so unbounded, -indeed, that Ella, who has been -the first to see him, and who therefore -naturally has been the first to notice it, is -quite frightened. She goes quickly to him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It was my fault. I asked them to come -in. Do you mind?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I mind? I quite understood that it was -you who would mind,’ says he. There is -no time for any more. Susan has come -forward.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>‘How d’ye do, Mr. Wyndham?’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham gives her his hand mechanically, -murmuring the usual meaningless, -but courteous, words of greeting that are -expected of one, no matter what worries -lie on the heart, troubling and mystifying it. -And Wyndham, in spite of his reputation of -being one of the smartest barristers in Dublin, -has, to tell the truth, been considerably -mystified of late.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The day after he left Ella, he had gone to -that part of Dublin described by her as the -place where the man Moore lived. A squalid -place, though still with an air of broken -respectability about it, and with quite an extraordinary -number of ill-dressed urchins -playing about the hall doorsteps. They -were of that class, that though their garments -were almost in rags they had still -shoes and stockings, of sorts, on their feet, -and an attempt at a frayed collar round their -necks. It gave Wyndham a sense of disgust -to think that the girl who was now living in -his dainty cottage had once lived in such an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>atmosphere as this; and when he had gone -down the hideous road twenty yards or so, -the certainty that had begun at the first -yard—that she could never have lived there—had -deepened. But this idea gave him -little comfort. If she had ever lived here, it -was only, to say the least of it, deplorable. -If she had not lived here, she had lied to him, -and was an impostor. And if the latter -supposition was true, he had rented his -cottage to an impostor, and a clever one, too. -She had taken him in, beyond all doubt. -And he was looked upon as rather a bright -and shining light amongst his <i><span lang="fr">confrères</span></i> at the -Bar and at the University Club, and in the -various other resorts for rising young men in -Dublin.</p> - -<p class='c004'>When he knocked at the door of the house -mentioned by her, he told himself that of -course he had come on a fool’s errand; yet, -when the woman who answered the door—a -highly respectable person, and frightfully -dirty, in a respectable way—told him ‘that -no Moores lived here,’ he felt as though -<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>someone had struck him. He must have -looked extremely taken back, because the -respectably-dirty lady roused herself sufficiently -from the dignity that seemed to cling -to her as closely as her grime, and condescended -to say she had only been there a -short time, ‘an’ p’raps Mrs. Morgan, nex’ -door, could give him the information he was -lookin’ for.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham had taken the hint—he scarcely -knew why—and had gone ‘nex’ door,’ to -receive, as he honestly believed, the same -answer. But no! Mrs. Morgan, in a tight-fitting -gown, draggled at the tail, and with -her sparse front locks in curl-papers (she said -‘curling-tongs an’ methylated spirit played -the very juice wid your hair’), gave him a -very handsome amount of news about the -missing Moore.</p> - -<p class='c004'>She was a very genial person, in spite of -the curl-papers—or perhaps because of them—and -she invited Wyndham into her ‘best -front’ in the most cordial way—even though -she knew he was not going to take it.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>Yes; of course she had known Mr. Moore. -He used to live next door, but some months -ago his wife died, and he had seemed a little -unsettled like since.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There was a girl?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh yes—Ella Moore.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Their daughter?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Law, no, sir! Her niece, poor Mrs. Moore -would call her at times, but I don’t think she -was even that. I don’t know the truth of it -rightly; but that girl was “quite the lady,” -sir, round here. An’ she found some people -who took her up an’ had her as governess for -their children—big people out in some o’ the -squares. Mrs. Moore had her with her when -she took the house nex’ door. Ella was a -little creature then, an’ used to be cryin’ -always for someone—her mother, I used to -say. But Mrs. Moore was very dark, entirely, -an’ never let out. Is it about Ella you’re -comin’, sir? I’d be glad to hear good of her. -But I suppose you know she fled out of -Moore’s house one night, an’ was never seen -again? Some said as how Moore wanted to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>murder her, or did murder her; but he -wasn’t a man for that, I say. Any way, up -he sticks, and disappears after a bit. The -police looked into it for a while, but nothin’ -came of it. They do say’—mysteriously—‘that -Moore wanted to marry her, and that -she’d have nothin’ to do with him. But, law, -some people would say anythin’! An’, of -course, he was old enough to be her father. -You wouldn’t be likely to know anythin’ of -her, sir?’—in the wheedling tone of the confirmed -gossip.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No,’ says Wyndham calmly. ‘What I -want is the man Moore. You can tell me -nothing, then?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, sir.... Get out!’—to two or three -little children who have appeared on the -threshold, anxious, no doubt, for their dinner, -and wondering what is keeping their mammy. -‘But if you did hear of Miss Ella—we all -used to call her “Miss Ella,” though she was, -as it might be, one of ourselves—I’d be glad -to get a word from you. She was very good -to my little Katie, an’ she would come in of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>an evenin’ an’ give her a lesson, just as if -I could pay for it. There was very few like -her, sir, an’ that I tell you,’ says Mrs. Morgan, -whose eyes, in spite of her wonderful dirtiness, -are handsome now because of the honest, -kindly tears that shine in them. ‘An’ it’s -me own opinion,’ goes on the grimy woman, -‘that she never belonged to them Moores at -all—that she was stolen like by Mr. Moore.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Or by his wife?’ suggests Wyndham.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no, poor soul!’ says Mrs. Morgan. -‘She’—with delicate phraseology—‘hadn’t a -kick in her. But we often said—my husband -and I—that perhaps Mrs. Moore had been a -servant in some great family, an’ had taken a—a -child, that—beggin’ yer pardon, sir—mightn’t -be altogether wanted.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>This view of Mrs. Morgan’s takes root in -Wyndham’s mind. An illegitimate child! -An unacknowledged scion of some good -family! Poor, poor child! poor Ella!</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You may be right,’ he said. The interview -was at an end. Seeing two of Mrs. -Morgan’s children peeping in again, hungry -<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>and disconsolate, he beckons them to him, -and after awhile they slowly, and with open -distrust, creep towards him. Was that the -Katie—that little dark-eyed, handsome child—that -she used to teach? Wyndham caught -her and drew her towards him, and pressed -half-a-sovereign into her hand, and then -caught the little boy hanging on her scanty -skirts, and pressed another little yellow piece -into his soft but unwashed palm, after which -he bid the grateful Mrs. Morgan adieu, and -walked out of their lives for ever.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But what she had told him went with him. -Who is this girl Ella Moore—this girl who -is now his tenant? He had insisted on her -being his tenant, on her paying him rent. -That was as much to satisfy her as to satisfy -some scruples of his own. She was really, of -course, no more to him than any other tenant -might be—and yet—</p> - -<p class='c004'>For one thing, who is she? One does not, -as a rule, rent one’s houses to people, not only -unknown and without a reference, but actually -without a name.</p> - -<hr class='c012'> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>‘I quite understood it was you who would -mind.’ There was rancour in the voice that -had spoken those few words, and the rancour -had gone to Ella’s heart. Was he angry -with her?—displeased? Should she not -have asked the Barrys to come in? She -loses her colour and shrinks back a little, and -Carew, glancing from her to Wyndham, -whilst the latter is murmuring his greetings -to Susan, tells himself that Wyndham is -a brute, with a big, big B, and that in some -way this mysterious girl—this lovely girl—has -her life made miserable by him. This -is, as we know, manifestly unfair, as it is -really Wyndham whose life is being made -distinctly uncomfortable by this ‘lovely, -mysterious girl.’ But Carew is too young to -see a second side to any question that has his -sympathy.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think we must go now,’ says Susan, -holding out her hand to her new acquaintance. -‘It is very late—too late’—smiling—‘for -a formal visit.’ Wyndham winces. Is -his informal? ‘But we shall pay that soon, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>now that we know we may come. And, of -course, you and your—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She pauses, the thought coming to her that -she really does not know if Mr. Wyndham is -actually this pretty girl’s landlord. And, -besides, ‘your landlord’—how badly it -sounds! ‘You and your landlord!’ Oh, -impossible! She had been very near making -a great mistake.</p> - -<p class='c004'>So she hesitates, and Wyndham misinterprets -her pause. He feels furious. What -was the word she was going to use? ‘Lover,’ -no doubt, in the innocence of her young and -abominably stupid heart. He feels brutal -even towards the unconscious Susan just -now. Yes, that is what all the small world -round here will think. His colour rises, and -he feels all at once guilty, as though the very -worst facts could be laid to his charge, whilst -all the time he is innocent. Innocent! Oh, -confound it! the situation is absolutely -maddening ... and if it comes to the old -man’s ears! Lord Shangarry is not one to -be easily entreated, or to be convinced, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>either.... An obstinate old man, who, if -he once caught an idea into his old brain, -would find it very hard to let it go again.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And, of course, you and Mr. Wyndham,’ -says Susan now, hastily, not understanding -Wyndham’s frown, ‘have many matters to -discuss.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The speech is wound up very satisfactorily, -after all.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certainly not. I beg you won’t go on -my account,’ says Wyndham stiffly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not for that,’ says Susan gaily, ‘but -because father will be wondering where we -are.’ Wyndham, who has already heard a -little of the gossip that is beginning to -circulate around the Cottage, almost groans -aloud here. Father would be wondering -indeed if he only knew. ‘By-the-by, Mr. -Wyndham, now that’—she looks at Ella -and holds out her hand to her—‘she tells us -she would like to see us here sometimes, we -can come, can’t we?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She smiles delightfully at Wyndham, and -the wretched man smiles back at her in a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>way that should have moved her to tears had -she seen him, but, providentially, after a -mere passing glance at him, she has given her -attention to Ella, who pleases her imagination -immensely.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certainly, if Miss Moore wishes it,’ says -he. ‘You know this place is no longer mine. -Miss Moore is my tenant now. She is, therefore, -at liberty to do what she likes with it. -You must not ask me what she can or cannot -do. I am that most disagreeable of all things, -a landlord—nothing more.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>His tone is even colder than he means it to -be. The Rector—what will he say when he -hears of this visit of Susan’s? The Rector, -who is so ultra-particular, and this girl without -a name—so almost certainly illegitimate! -Fancy the Rector’s face when he hears of -this thoughtless visit of Susan’s! Mr. Barry -is a good man, and charitable in his own line, -but to give his countenance to a friendship -between his daughter and a girl nameless—unknown!</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We are telling her,’ goes on Susan sweetly, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>‘that she must come and see us sometimes, -too—just across the road, you know. But -she says she will not. Can’t you persuade -her, Mr. Wyndham, though you are only her -landlord, as you say?’ Is there meaning in -her tone? Does she think? Wyndham -glances at her suspiciously, and then knows -he ought to be ashamed of himself. ‘Still, -landlords have weight, and you know father -would be so pleased if she would come to us -sometimes.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I dare say,’ says Wyndham, who can -almost see Mr. Barry’s face when the idea -is suggested to him. The Rector, with his -aristocratic tendencies, that the very depths -of poverty have not been able to subdue, -would think it monstrous, Susan’s being here -at all with a girl so wrapped in mystery—a -girl so enveloped in the base gossip that -already is arising about her in the neighbourhood, -because of her strange tenancy of -the Cottage—a gossip that must inevitably -include him, Wyndham, too. How is her -coming here to be accounted for? Who will -<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>hold him guiltless of the knowledge of her -coming?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘If you are going,’ says he, turning -suddenly to Susan, ‘I shall go with you; I -wish to speak to your father.’ He has made -up his mind on the moment to lay the whole -affair open to the Rector. It seems the only -thing to be done, if his tenant has decided -on knowing the Barrys. ‘You tell me Miss -Moore is anxious—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Your name is Moore, then?’ says Susan -gently, going a step towards her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is not!’ says the girl almost passionately.</p> - -<p class='c004'>There is a silence; Wyndham, feeling the -water closing over him more and more still, -with the girl’s troubled eyes upon him, comes -to the rescue.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is, at all events, the only name by -which she is known at present,’ says he to -Susan. ‘I am looking into her affairs, and -hope in time to be able to unravel them. -That is the good of being a barrister, you -see. And now—if you are ready?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>Susan bids good-bye again to Ella, who is -looking a little subdued and uncertain now; -Carew does the same, holding her hand -lingeringly, as if wishing to say something -sympathetic to her, but finding words fail -him. Wyndham, following him and Susan, -would have passed through the gate into the -road outside, but that Ella, with a quick, -softly-spoken word, full of emotion, stops him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I have done something wrong,’ says she, -in a breathless whisper. ‘Wait—do wait—one -moment, and tell me, tell me—’ Tears -are standing thick within her eyes.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There is much to tell you,’ says he impatiently. -‘But no time in which to tell it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘About—’ Her face pales, and she -looks eagerly at him, laying even a restraining -hand upon his arm in her growing -fear.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes—about that fellow.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mr. Moore?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, you will stay—you will tell me!’ -cries she, in low but panting tones. ‘Oh, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>don’t leave me in suspense. Even if you -can’t stay now, you can come back again, if -only for five minutes! Oh, do! You will? -He—’ She looks as if she were going to -faint.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There is no need for fear of that sort,’ -says he quickly. ‘He knows nothing of -you, or where you are. Yes, if I can’—reluctantly—‘I -will come back.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He follows the others now, and as he -reaches Susan and Carew, they all three -distinctly hear the click of the lock of the -garden-gate behind them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan looks at Wyndham in a startled -way.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I—I think someone must have been very -unkind to her,’ says she; ‘don’t you? To -lock herself up like that, and never to want -to see anybody. Mr. Wyndham, why don’t -you try to find out her enemies?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am trying,’ says Wyndham, looking -into the calm, earnest, intelligent eyes raised -to his.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Father would help you,’ says Susan. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>‘Was it because of that you wanted to see -him to-day?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes,’ says Wyndham.</p> - -<p class='c004'>There is no time for more.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Mr. Barry is coming up the road. He -had evidently seen them all come out of -the green gate of the Cottage. His face is -grave and stern.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Mystery magnifies danger, as a fog the sun.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>His greeting to Wyndham is of the coldest. -He does not speak to him, but turns at once -to Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Your aunt wants you,’ says he severely. -And the girl, a little chilled, a little apprehensive, -disappears within the Rectory gate, -carrying Carew, a most unwilling captive, -with her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>When she is gone, the Rector faces -Wyndham.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How is this, Wyndham?’ asks he quietly, -yet with unmistakable indignation.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How is what?’ asks the young man a -little haughtily.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>‘Was it you who took Susan into that -cottage?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No; but even if it had been, I see no -cause for the tone you have assumed towards -me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That is what I suppose you call “carrying -it off,”’ says the Rector, his pale face betraying -a fine disgust.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mr. Barry!’ says Wyndham, as if the -other had struck him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He has flushed a dark red, and now turns -as if to walk straight away up the road and -out of the Rector’s ken for ever. But suddenly -he halts and looks back, and Mr. Barry, -who has seen many phases of life and is quick -to discern the truth, however deep in the -well it lies, beckons to him to return. If this -young man cannot clear himself, he may still -plead circumstances.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘If you could explain, Wyndham.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That’s what offends me,’ says Wyndham, -with some passion. He has refused to return -an inch, so the Rector has had to go to him. -It wouldn’t do to shout his conversation, considering -<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>all the young people who live on one -side of the road behind the right-hand wall, -and the one ‘young person’ (the Rector has -the gravest suspicions) who lives on the -other side of it. What if they should all -chance to hear?</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham is still talking.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Why should I have to explain? You -have known me many years, Mr. Barry. Of -what’—looking him fair in the face—‘do you -accuse me?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That hardly requires an answer,’ says Mr. -Barry calmly. And all at once Wyndham -knows that the trouble he had dreamed of is -already on him. There is gossip rife in the -neighbourhood about him and this mysterious -tenant of his cottage. People are talking—soon -it will come to the old man’s ears, and -to his aunt’s, and to Josephine’s. The last -idea is the least troublesome. ‘You must -surely have heard some rumours yourself. I -am willing, I am most anxious,’ says the -Rector, with growing earnestness, ‘to hear -the truth of a story that seems, as it now -<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>stands, to be disastrous to two people. You, -Wyndham, are one of them. No, not a -word. Hear me first. I want to say just -this: that if I was a little harsh to you a -moment ago, it was because of Susan. One’s -daughter has the first claim. And she—that -child—to be—You tell me you did not -take her to see—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I told you that,’ says Wyndham, ‘and I -told you, too’—very straightly—‘that if I -had done so I should see no reason why I -should be ashamed of it. However, I had -nothing to do with your daughter’s visit to -Miss Moore. It appears Miss Moore asked -her to come into my—her—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The Rector stops him with an impatient -gesture.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Whose is it, yours or hers?’ asks he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mine, yet hers in a sense, too,’ begins and -ends the fluent lawyer, whose fluency has -now, at his need, deserted him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I do not understand your evasions.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘If you will let me—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I want no explanations,’ says the Rector -<span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>coldly. ‘I want only one answer to one -plain question: Who is this Miss Moore?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He looks straight at Wyndham. The -extenuating circumstances he had believed -in grow smaller and smaller.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham hesitates. Who is she, indeed? -Who is this tenant of his?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You hesitate, I see,’ says Mr. Barry. -‘You have the grace to do even so much. -But at all events you cannot deny that you -permitted the presence of my young daughter -in that place beyond.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A truce to subterfuges, sir!’ cries the -Rector. ‘A plain answer I will and must -get. Who is this girl who lives in your -house and refuses to see or know anyone in -her neighbourhood?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t know,’ says Wyndham sullenly, -angered beyond control.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I do,’ says the Rector, ‘and may God -forgive you for your sin! She is—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Be silent!’ cries Wyndham, interrupting -him so imperiously that the older man stops -<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>short. ‘She is my tenant—my tenant, I -repeat, and’—haughtily—‘no more.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Silence follows upon this. The Rector, -lost in thought, stands with clasped hands -behind his back and his eyes upon the -ground. His silence incenses Wyndham.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You can believe me or not, as you like,’ -says he, turning on his heel.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He moves away.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Stay, stay,’ cries Mr. Barry suddenly. -‘We must get to the end of this. If I have -wronged you, Wyndham, I regret it with all -my heart; but there has been some talk -here, and Susan—she is very young, a mere -child. I could not stand that. You tell me -there is nothing to be condemned in all this -business—that she, this girl in there, is only -your tenant. But landlords do not visit -their tenants except on compulsion, so far as -I know; and you—what has brought you -here to-day?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Just that,’ says Wyndham, who is still at -white heat—‘compulsion. If you would -condescend’—angrily—‘to listen to my explanation, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>I might, perhaps, make you understand.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I shall be only too glad to listen,’ says -Mr. Barry, with dignity.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But here—how can I explain here?’ says -Wyndham, glancing round at the open road -and the walls. ‘Walls have ears.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>But Mr. Barry does not budge, and Wyndham -gives way to rather sardonic laughter.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I suppose,’ says he, ‘you would not let -me under your roof until this is perfectly -clear?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The Rector still remains immovable.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The roof of heaven is above us always,’ -returns he. Whereupon Wyndham, who has -sympathy with determination, laughs again, -but more naturally this time, and forthwith -tells him the whole story of his acquaintance -with Ella from that first strange night until -to-day.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Bless me!’ says the Rector, when the -recital is at an end. He strokes his clean-shaven -chin thoughtfully. ‘What an extraordinary -tale!’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>‘Not too extraordinary to be believed, I -hope?’—stiffly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, no. I believe you, Wyndham—I -believe you thoroughly,’ says the Rector -gently. ‘I am indeed sorry for my late -distrust of you; but you will admit that -there was cause. That poor girl! You have -utterly failed, then, to discover those people -with whom she had been living before that—that -dreadful night?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘So far, yes. But the fact that they once -did live there goes far to establish the truth -of her—’ He stammers a little, but Mr. -Barry takes him up:</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Her story? It entirely, in my opinion, -establishes the truth of her story.’ Wyndham’s -stammer has added to the truth of his -declaration so far as the Rector is concerned.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You have a more liberal mind than mine,’ -says Wyndham. ‘I have told you so much -that I may as well make you my father -confessor <i><span lang="it">in toto</span></i>.’ The smile that accompanies -this is rather strained. ‘As a fact, -there was a time when I did not believe in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>her story myself; and now, when I have to—well, -it makes me feel rather poor, you -know.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You have no occasion to feel anything,’ -says the Rector, ‘except that you have been -a kind friend to her. Do you think you will -be able to trace that fellow Moore?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I hope so. I have engaged a detective—one -of the smartest fellows in Dublin—and I -depend upon him to run down that scoundrel -in a month or so.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘In the meantime I shall make it my business -to explain to everybody how matters -really are,’ says the Rector. ‘To tell the -people we know round here that—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I beg you won’t,’ says Wyndham hurriedly. -‘Have I not told you how she desires privacy -above all things, how she dreads her discovery -by that man? I know it all sounds -mysterious, Mr. Barry—that it is asking a -great deal of your credulity to expect you to -believe it all—but I still hope you will believe -me, and at all events I know her secret is -safe in your hands. I myself have thought -<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>of suggesting to her to face matters bravely, -and if Moore should prove troublesome, why, -to fight it out with him. I cannot believe he -has any actual claim on her; but she has -such an almost obstinate determination not -to risk the chance of meeting him that I fear -she will not be moved by what I say. This -shutting of herself up in that cottage seems -a mania with her—such a mania that I -cannot but think her story true, and that she -suffered considerably at that fellow’s hands.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It looks like it,’ says the Rector.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Perhaps you will be able to combat her -fears,’ says Wyndham rather awkwardly. -‘I should be very glad if you could, as this -mystery surrounding her is—er—decidedly -uncomfortable for me. You have seen that.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I wonder you ever consented to the -arrangement.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I never meant to, but she seemed so -utterly friendless, and she seemed to cling -so to this place (a harbour of refuge it was to -her, evidently), that I found it would be -almost brutal to refuse.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>‘It was a charitable deed,’ says the -Rector.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not done in a spirit of charity, however. -I assure you I regret it more and more every -day of my life,’ says Wyndham, with a short -laugh. ‘However, in for a penny, in for a -pound, you know, and I had promised the -Professor to look after her. I have now -engaged a companion for her. I think you -may remember Miss Manning. She was a -governess of the Blakes’ some years ago. -You used to know them.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Manning? Oh, of course, of course,’ says -the Rector—‘a most worthy creature. I -never knew what became of her after Mary -Blake went to India.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Got another situation, and a most -miserable one. Left it, and was found in -direst poverty by the person I got to hunt -her up. Her delight at my proposal to her -to live with Miss Moore was unbounded. It -will, at all events, be a blessing to get her -out of that stuffy room I found her in. She -looked so out of place in it. You know what -<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>a nice-looking woman she was, and so well -got up always. But yesterday ... I -advanced her a little of her salary at once—to—to -get anything she might want, you -know; and I expect that next week she will -come to the Cottage.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The Rector has heard this rather halting -recital straight through without comment. -Now he lifts his eyes.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You are a good fellow, Wyndham,’ says -he slowly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘For heaven’s sake, Mr. Barry, not that,’ -says Wyndham impatiently. ‘I expect I’m -about the most grudging devil on earth. -And if you think I enjoy helping this girl, -or Miss Manning, or anyone else, you make -a mistake. What I really want is to be left -alone, to run my life on my own rails without -the worry of being crossed or stopped by -passengers, or goods, or extras.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, we can none of us hope for that,’ -says the Rector. ‘The most selfish of us -have to live, not only for ourselves, but for -others. You spoke of having seen Miss -<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>Manning yesterday. Have you—told the -young lady in there of her coming?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not yet. I had no time, indeed. When -I found your daughter there, I felt I ought -to take her away as soon as possible, simply -because you did not know how matters were, -and I had a hint—as to gossip. I must go -back now, however, and tell her before my -train leaves.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You have little time,’ says the Rector, -glancing at his watch. ‘Go. Make haste.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There is one thing more,’ says Wyndham -quickly, ‘and I think you should hear it. -She—I don’t know anything for certain—but -I feel almost sure that the poor girl is -illegitimate. And, of course, you—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You would not like an acquaintance -between her and your daughters?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You mistake me there,’ says the Rector; -‘a misfortune is not a fault. And the fact -that this poor girl has been the victim of -others’ vices should not be allowed to militate -against her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>‘Hardly a fact,’ says Wyndham quickly. -‘I speak only from very uncertain data, and -yet—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I know. It seems, unhappily, only too -likely, however. There, go; you have little -time.’</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow,</div> - <div class='line'>I have enough on even, and on morrow.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Ella is inside, waiting for him, when he -returns. She has heard his step, and has -opened the little gate to let him in.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, you have come! How long you -have been! I thought you would never -come!’ cries she, in her agitation. Then, -frightened at her own impatience: ‘I—I -thought perhaps you had gone away—and -forgotten.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There were certain things that had to -be said to Mr. Barry,’ says Wyndham. He -slams the gate carelessly behind him, but -Ella, passing rapidly by him, turns the key -in the lock.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>‘It is very stupid of me, I know,’ says she, -reddening at his glance of surprise. ‘But -the other day I thought’—paling—‘that I -saw him.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Moore?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Where could you see him, as you never -leave this?’ He is still feeling a little sore -about her determination to hold herself aloof -from everyone.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’—reddening—‘was up in that tree over -there’—pointing to the sycamore.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Up there! What on earth for?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I wanted’—here poor Ella hangs her -head—‘to see into the Rectory garden. -They—they were all laughing there, and I -could hear them, and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She stops short in her somewhat dismal -confession.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I see,’ says Wyndham quickly, all his -coldness suddenly dying away. Poor child! -this little picture of her climbing with difficulty -into that great tree to catch even a -glimpse of the gaiety of others goes to his -heart. ‘Was it there that—’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>‘Yes; it was there I thought I saw him. -I may—I must’—anxiously—‘have been -mistaken—don’t you think I must have been -mistaken?—but I did see a man just like -him turning up the corner of the road that -leads to the village street.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am sure you were mistaken,’ says -Wyndham. ‘As a fact, I know he has -disappeared altogether. If he wanted to -spy upon you here, if he thought you were -in the country anywhere, what would be -more likely than that he should live in his -old house, and make expeditions round about -Dublin with a view to coming upon you -sooner or later? But I have heard from -the woman who lived next door to him -that—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mrs. Morgan?’ says Ella eagerly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes; Mrs. Morgan.’ He pauses, and is -quite conscious of a glow of satisfaction at -her words. They are, indeed, ‘confirmation -strong’ of the truth of her story all through. -She had known this Mrs. Morgan and been -known by her. ‘And,’ cries Ella eagerly, -‘she said—’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>‘That he had left his house immediately -after your disappearance. That looks as if -your going had frightened him, as if he -thought he might be made answerable to -the law for your safety, as if he feared you -had—that is—’ He stammers here a -little.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I know,’ says the girl, interrupting him -gently. ‘As if he feared—I had put an end -to my life. And’—painfully—‘as you know—I -was willing to risk the chance of losing -it, at all events.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, there was no risk,’ says Wyndham -hastily. ‘But what I want to say is that -I believe Moore fancied himself liable to -prosecution if he could not say what had -become of you. He had treated you -abominably, and no doubt the neighbours -were talking, and—’ He himself is talking -quite at random now. He has not yet -got over his late ‘slip.’ ‘Any way, his not -being seen since points to the fact that he -has gone abroad.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, no,’ says the girl, shaking her head -<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>with conviction. She is very pale now. -‘To me it seems that he has left home to -look for me. I know—I know’—affrightedly—‘that -he is looking for me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Just because you saw a fancied resemblance -to him in a man going down the -road?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not that altogether, though that did -give me a shock, and I still fancy—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Come, that is being absolutely morbid,’ -says Wyndham, with a touch of impatience. -‘The man is gone, believe me. And even if -not, what claim has he on you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That I don’t know, but he said he had -a “hold on me” until I was twenty-one, and -I am only eighteen’—with a sigh that is -evidently full of a desire to wish away three -good years of her young life.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ says Wyndham -promptly. ‘And in the meantime, now -that in my opinion he is well out of the way, -why don’t you try to enjoy your life—to see -people, to—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am enjoying life. Oh’—with a sudden, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>quick, happy smile—‘if you only knew how -much!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yet you confess to loneliness—to a desire -to see those around you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes.’ She colours and taps her foot on -the ground, then laughs. ‘And now I have -seen them,’ says she, with a swift upward -glance at him that lasts only for a moment.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The Barrys, yes; but there are others, -and now you know the Barrys you can easily -know everyone else down here; you can -make friends for yourself, and go out, and -pay visits, and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no!’ cries she quickly, with a sudden -terror, indeed; ‘no, no’—putting up her -hands—‘I can’t—I won’t—I’ll never go out. -Mr. Wyndham, don’t—don’t ask me to do -that.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is in Wyndham’s mind to say to her -that it would be of considerable benefit to -his social look-out if she would only consent -to know people, and make herself known, -and break through this deplorable attitude -of secrecy that she has taken up; but a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>glance at her young frightened face deters -him. He shrugs his shoulders over his own -ill-luck, and bears it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I—you are angry with me again,’ says -Ella nervously; ‘but I can’t go out of this -place. I can’t, indeed, unless you could -send me somewhere across the sea where -he could never find me. But to leave this!’ -Her lips quiver, and she turns aside.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Nonsense! Who wants you to leave -this?’ says Wyndham roughly. ‘But I -think you ought to have some common-sense -about you. You have no one to give you -advice of any sort, and you are about the -most headstrong girl I ever met.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I have taken your advice,’ says she, -‘always—always.’ Her face is still turned -away, and her voice sounds stifled.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Always when it suited you; but not -now, when it might be of some use. Of -course, I can see quite plainly that that old -idiot Mrs. Moriarty is backing you up in all -your nonsensical fears, but there will soon -be an end to that. I have engaged a lady -<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>to come and live with you, and give you -lessons, and knock some sense into your -head, I hope.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A lady to live with me? You have -found her, then? You meant it?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Naturally I meant it, and I only hope -she will be able to show you the folly of -your ways—a matter in which I have most -signally failed.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham has worked himself into quite -a righteous fever of wrath against her. -Good heavens! what a row there is bound -to be shortly with his aunt about this -obstinate recluse! He has gone a little too -far. The girl turns upon him, gently indeed, -but with a certain dignity in her air.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘As I have told you, I can always leave -this,’ says she; ‘but it will be for a place -where I can live alone, and where I shall -never have to leave my home, even though -it be a garret. I—I have thought of a -convent’—her voice faltering—‘but I am a -Protestant, and—’ She sighs heavily. -‘Mr. Wyndham,’ cries she suddenly, ‘why -<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>do you want me to go out—to know people? -Why?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham, who could have given one very -excellent reason for his wish, remains determinedly -silent.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You see,’ cries she triumphantly, ‘you -have no reason at all, and I am ever so much -happier by myself! I don’t say but that, if -I were somebody else, I should not like to go -into that garden there’—pointing towards -the Rectory—‘but as it is, it would frighten -me to step outside the gate.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And how long is this state of things to go -on?’ asks Wyndham—‘until you are ninety?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, he can’t live till then,’ says she; -‘and, besides, long before that I shall be old -and ugly, and he won’t care. You know’—growing -crimson—‘what I told you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes.’ Wyndham frowns. ‘You told me -enough to know he was a most infernal -scoundrel.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I suppose he is that,’ says she thoughtfully. -‘Though I don’t think really he would -ever murder anybody. You see, he didn’t -<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>even murder me. He only wanted to marry -me! That was what made me so angry. If -he had made me marry him’—turning to -Wyndham with a quick, sharp movement—‘you -think that would mean that I should -have to live with him always?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She pauses as if eager for an answer, and -when he does not speak, she says imperatively:</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham nods his head.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It wouldn’t, however,’ says she with -angry emphasis. ‘I’d have run away after -I was married, just the same. Only I -thought it better to do it before.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>There is so much force, so much girlish -venom, in her tone, that Wyndham feels -inclined to laugh; but the little air mutin -she has taken sits so curiously, and with -such an unexpected charm, upon her, that -somehow his laughter dies within him. -Something about her now, too, as she stands -there flushed and defiant, strikes him as -familiar. Who is she like?</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>‘For a young lady so very valiant, I -wonder you are so afraid to face the world,’ -says he gravely.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, I am not afraid of the world, but of -him!’ says she. ‘And’—she draws closer -to him, and now all her bravery has died -away from her, and she looks as greatly in -want of courage as a mouse—‘I’m afraid -of this new lady, too! Is she—kind—nice? -will she—be angry with me sometimes?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Very likely,’ says Wyndham. He softens -this disagreeable answer, however, by a smile. -‘No—you must not be afraid of her. She is -an old friend of mine, and very charming. -And she is quite prepared to love you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah! Then you have said—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The very prettiest things of you, of -course’—sardonically—‘so keep up your -courage.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She will come?’—nervously.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘On Thursday.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘When you and she have reached the point -<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>of open war, I dare say she will drop me a -line, to come to her rescue.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It will be to mine,’ says she, smiling, but -very faintly. Tears are in her eyes. ‘You—you -will come with her, won’t you? Don’t -let me have to see her alone at first. You -know her, and I don’t. And you—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Very well, I’ll bring her,’ says Wyndham, -with an inward groan. What the deuce is -going to be the end of it all?</p> - -<p class='c004'>He does not leave by the little green gate -this time, but going down at a swinging pace -(that has a good deal of temper in it) to the -principal entrance, meets there with Mrs. -Moriarty, who has been on the look-out for -him for the past half-hour.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘An’ did ye hear what happened to Denis, -yer honour?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘To Denis?’—abstractedly. Then, recovering -himself, and with a good deal of his late -temper still upon him: ‘Of course I’ve been -wondering all day where he was. Not a soul -to attend to me. He was drunk, as usual, I -suppose.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>‘Fegs, you’ve guessed it,’ says Mrs. Moriarty, -clapping her hands with unbounded -admiration. ‘Dhrunk he was—the ould -reprobate!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, I hope he’ll turn up this evening, -at all events,’ says Wyndham. ‘It is extremely -uncomfortable, going on like this. -If he can’t attend to me, I’ll have to get -another man. I have borne a good deal -already, and I hope you will let him fully -understand that if he isn’t at my rooms at -seven I shall dismiss him.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘An’ who’d blame ye?’ says Mrs. Moriarty. -‘Faith, I’ve often thought of dismissing him -meself. But’—slowly—‘he can’t be at yer -rooms at seven, yer honour.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And why not?’—angrily.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘He’s bruk his arm, sir.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Broke his arm?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Just that, sir, bad scran to him! An’ -the docther says he never saw a worse compound -fraction in his life. ’Twas all through -Timsey Mooney. Timsey and him’s at war -for a long time, an’ yestherday Timsey said -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>he’d break his head, an’ with that Denis said -he’d have the life ov him; and ’twas the -divil’s own row they had afther that, only’—with -a regretful air—‘it was Denis’s arm -that got bruk, an’ not Timsey’s head.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘So Denis got his arm broken?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, sir. An’ that Timsey Mooney as -sound as iver! Not a scratch on him. I’ve -alwas tould ye that there’s nayther luck nor -grace wid Denis. But what am I wastin’ -words on him at all for? ’Tis about the -young lady I’m curious. She’s to stay, -sir?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes—yes. I told you that before. And -I have arranged with a friend of mine, a -very accomplished lady, to come down here -and live with her as a companion.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A companion is it?’ Mrs. Moriarty -strokes her beard. ‘She’s been very continted -wid me,’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I dare say. But this lady, Miss Manning, -is to be a governess to her, to teach her—to -see to her manners, and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘To tache her her manners is it? She’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>got the purtiest manners I ever yet see,’ -says Mrs. Moriarty, with a smothered indignation. -‘Tache her, indeed!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is plain that Mrs. Moriarty is already -consumed with the pangs of jealousy.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She is coming, at all events,’ says Wyndham -shortly. ‘And I request you will treat -her with every respect, as one of my oldest -friends.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She’s ould, thin?’—anxiously.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She is not young.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Mrs. Moriarty shakes her head with the -air of one who would say: ‘We all know -what that means.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Is she kind-hearted, sir? Miss Ella is -terrible timid-like.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certainly she is kind. But, of course, -she will expect “Miss Ella,” as you call her, -to follow her lead in most ways. I’—with -meaning—‘shall take care she is not interfered -with in any way. I hope you quite -understand all this.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I understhand, yer honour. She’s ould -an’ cross, an’ Miss Ella is to follow her about -<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>everywhere. But’—with a last lingering -remnant of hope—‘she won’t be comin’ for -a while, sir, will she?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She is coming on Thursday.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, murther!’ says Mrs. Moriarty <i><span lang="it">sotto -voce</span></i>, as he shuts the gate behind him.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> -</div> -<p class='c009'>‘Ther is ful many a man that crieth, “Werre, -werre,” that wat ful litel what werre amounteth. -Werre at his begynnyng hath so greet an entre and -so large, that everywight may entre when him liketh -and lightly find werre; but certes what ende schal -falle thereof, it is not lightly to knowe!’</p> - -<p class='c010'>‘Nothing will do for these beastly hens, it -seems, but the garden,’ says Betty indignantly. -‘Susan, stand there, you—no, -there!’—gasping.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, they’ve scratched up all the mignonette,’ -cries Susan, rushing to the point -indicated—an escallonia bush in which three -culprit hens are lurking. ‘Were there ever -such wretches? And plenty of food in the -yard, too! It isn’t as if they were -starved. Cush! cush! Bother them! They -<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>won’t come out. Have you got a stick, -Betty?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Here’s one. I declare I’m out of breath -from hunting them. And the cock is the -worst of all. I hope I’ll live to see the broth -he is made into; not that I’d touch it—it -would be too full of all malice and bitterness. -Hi! hi!’ with a frantic dab at the hens with -her stick beneath the too friendly escallonia—‘there -is one of them, Susan; run—run to -the gate! She’s going that way. Ah! you’ve -got that, any way.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That,’ I regret to say, is a stone directed -with unerring aim by Betty, and received by -the hen on her shoulder with a shock that -makes her bound, not only into the air, but -‘over the garden wall’ and into the yard -beyond, with a haste that perhaps she calls -undue. And now Susan has routed out the -other two, and, with a cackling that would -rouse the dead, they rush after their companion -towards that spot in the wall that is -easiest for the purposes of ingress and egress -from the yard to the garden. Susan races -<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>after them, ‘shoo-ing’ with all her might, -generously supported by Betty and her -shower of small stones. So ardent, so bloodthirsty, -is the chase, it is matter for wonder -that the hens, having once gone through -such an encounter, could ever brave it again. -But hens are amongst the bravest things -living—Amazons in their own line. It is -indeed popularly supposed in our neighbourhood -that the souls of those defunct termagants -have entered into them, and, at all -events, there does not rest a doubt now in -the minds of Susan and Betty that in half an -hour’s time those hens will have returned to -the charge, as fresh as ever.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We must get a wire netting put up along -there,’ says Betty angrily. ‘What’s the -good of our planting seeds and roots and -things for the amusement of those abominable -hens? And why should they think there -are more grubs under a picotee than under a -common daisy?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I wish there was a netting put up,’ says -Susan, who is distinctly flushed. ‘But who’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>going to do it? Father won’t. Wiring costs -something, and there would be a good bit of -it to be put up there’—pointing to the long -wall.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Maybe Dom would, when he gets his next -half-year’s allowance.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t think you ought to ask him,’ says -Susan. ‘He is not our brother, you know.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘He’s nearly as good,’ says Betty.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Still, he isn’t, and I, for one, wouldn’t ask -him.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I would. The only thing is that perhaps -father wouldn’t like it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I know he wouldn’t.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What’s to be done, then? Are we to -spend our time hunting these blessed hens -until the day we die? If so’—tragically—‘I -hope that day will come full soon. Oh, I -declare, there’s the cock! Run, Susan, run! -Oh, the villain! the ringleader! Catch him, -Susan! Oh, there, he’s gone under the -laurels! Oh, the artful thing!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No he isn’t,’ cries Susan; ‘he’s over there, -near you. I see his leg. This side—this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>side, Betty. Ah, now you have him! Hold -him—hold him tight.’ Betty has caught -hold of the king of the yard, and is dragging -him ruthlessly from his hiding-place. There -are yells from the cock, and muttered execrations -from Betty. But finally the cock has -the best of it. With a whir and a whoop -he makes a last grand sprint, and once again -knows the splendours of freedom.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Away he goes down the garden-path, and -away go the girls after him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Squawk, squawk, squawk!’ cries the cock; -and ‘Oh, if I catch you!’ cries Betty, under -her breath. Her breath is, indeed, running -very short. Susan’s has given way entirely.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, he is going to the tennis-ground!’ -shrieks Betty distractedly; and, indeed, the -cock, with a view of circumventing the enemy, -is making for that broad course.</p> - -<p class='c004'>At the rustic gateway, however, that leads -to it from the garden, a third enemy appears -upon the scene—an enemy that takes off his -hat, and makes such a magnificent attack -with it that the cock, disheartened, gives way -<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>in turn, retreats, <i><span lang="fr">chassés</span></i> a little, and finally, -with a wild skirl, swoops over the garden -wall after his wives, and is gone.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It was a famous victory!’ cries Mr. Crosby, -when the defeat of the cock is beyond doubt.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He is looking at Susan. Such a lovely, -flushed, and laughter-filled Susan! A Susan -with soft locks flying into her beauteous -eyes. A Susan with soft parted lips, and -breath coming in little merry gasps.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You were just in time,’ cries she, running -up to him, with happy <i><span lang="fr">camaraderie</span></i> in her -smile. ‘But for you, we should have been -hunting him all over the place. What lucky -fortune brought you at this moment?’—smiling -blandly into his eyes and giving him -her hand. ‘Just happening to be passing -by?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, I was coming to see you all,’ says -Crosby. He has nearly stopped at the -‘you,’ but she looks so young, so without a -thought behind her, that he feels it would be -useless. She would not understand, and even -if she did it would only annoy her. A girl -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>of the world—that would be different. She -would laugh at this suggestion of a flirtation; -but Susan—</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, come and see us all,’ says Betty -gaily. ‘We’re all round the corner, I fancy.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>And, indeed, most of them are, the children -in the far distance chasing butterflies with a -net just constructed by Dom, whilst he and -Carew are listening with apparently engrossed -interest to their aunt, who, with -curls shaking and an air of general excitement -about her, is holding forth.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Is that you at last, Susan?’ says she, -shaking her curls more vigorously than ever. -‘Where have you been?—How d’ye do, Mr. -Crosby?—I must say, Susan, you are never -to be found when wanted.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The hens got into the garden,’ begins -Susan, colouring a little beneath this rebuke -uttered before Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, hens! What are hens,’ cries Miss -Barry tragically, ‘when human beings are -dying?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Dying?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>‘Yes. I’ve just been to see poor dear Miss -Blake, and I really believe she is at death’s -door.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, I am sorry!’ says Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She’s been at that uncomfortable portal -for the past year,’ says Betty, with distinct -scorn. ‘In my opinion, it would take a lot -of pushing to make her pass it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Elizabeth, this frivolity is absolutely disgraceful,’ -says Miss Barry, directing a withering -glance at Betty, who, it must be said, -bears up beneath it with the utmost fortitude. -‘Dr. Mulcahy was with her. I’ve always -thought him a distinctly vulgar person, and -really, after what he said of poor Miss Blake -to-day, I feel justified in my opinion.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What did he say, auntie?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I hardly like to repeat it. An insult to -a poor dying creature seems impossible, -doesn’t it, Mr. Crosby? But I heard him -myself. After all, why should not I speak? -One ought to expose monsters. My dear’—to -Susan—‘Lady Millbank had called to ask -how Miss Blake was—at least, I suppose -<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>it was for that purpose—but she mumbles so, -on account of those false teeth of hers, no -doubt, that I scarcely heard what she was -saying. But I did hear what Dr. Mulcahy -said to her a moment afterwards. He was -speaking of poor dear Kate Blake, and I -distinctly heard him say she was “low”!’ -Miss Barry pauses dramatically, but, beyond -a smothered sound from Dom, nothing is -heard.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Aren’t you shocked, Susan, or must I -believe that the young people of this generation -are devoid of feeling. A Mulcahy to -call a Blake “low”! It struck me as so -abominable a piece of impertinence that I -went away on the instant. I don’t know, of -course, how Lady Millbank took it, but I -hope she put down that insolent man without -hesitation. Fancy a Blake being called -“low”! Why, poor dear Kate! she is as -well born as ourselves.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But, auntie—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Nonsense, my dear! Don’t talk to me. -You children would find an excuse for anyone.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>‘It was only that I think he meant that -she was not so very well—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Born? Not so well born as the rest of -us? You must be mad, Susan! A creature -like Dr. Mulcahy to talk of birth at all -is absurd. Why, his father was a draper in -Dublin. But that he should cavil at Kate -Blake’s birth is outrageous. Why, the -Blakes—’ She stops, as if overcome by -wrath, and Dom takes up the parable.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I thought you knew, Susan,’ says he -reproachfully, but in a cautious tone, heard -only by the youngsters of the party, ‘that it -was poor Miss Blake’s forefather who planted -that tree of good and evil over which Adam -came such a cropper.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>After this it is a relief to everybody when -Miss Barry, with a singularly brief farewell -to Crosby, betakes herself to the house. It -is quite as well she has gone so soon, as Carew -and Dominick were in the last stages of convulsive -laughter, and could not certainly -have held out much longer.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I say, isn’t Aunt Jemima a regular corker?’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>says Dom presently, addressing everybody in -general.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She didn’t understand,’ says Susan, who -feels a little sorry that her aunt should -appear in so poor a light before a man like -Crosby, who is, of course, accustomed to a -fashionable world and its ways.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think she has a very kind heart,’ says -he promptly, seeing her distress and smothering -the laughter that is consuming him. ‘Of -course, she had no idea that the doctor was -alluding to Miss Blake’s state of health.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You knew,’ says Susan, with a touch of -indignation, turning to Carew. ‘Why didn’t -you make it clear to her?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Why, indeed?’ retorts he. ‘You tried to -do it, and how did you come off? Catch me -explaining her mistakes to Aunt Jemima. -More kicks than ha’pence for my pains.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Bonnie has come over to Susan, and, casting -his crutches aside, has slipped into her -arms, his head upon her knee—a head that -she strokes softly, softly, until at last the -little lad falls fast asleep.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>‘He had such a bad night,’ says Susan, as -Crosby now comes up and seats himself -beside her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I expect that means that you had a bad -night too.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no’—reddening—‘I—I’m all right. -But he—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It seems absurd,’ says Crosby suddenly, -‘that a child like that should be a prey to -rheumatism? Are you sure the doctors have -told you all the truth?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think so.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But are they reliable authorities?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’m afraid so,’ says Susan, sighing. ‘But’—gently—‘don’t -let me trouble you with -our sorrows; tell me of yourself. Your sister -is coming, you say.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘For my birthday. Yes, next month.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Your birthday?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I told you, didn’t I? It will be in a few -days now.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A few days!’ Susan’s voice is low, as -usual, but primed with a curiosity that she -has much difficulty in suppressing.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>‘The third of August. It always makes -me feel like Ah Sin, Bret Harte’s Chinee—soft, -you know. Katherine is coming for the -great occasion. That’s my sister’s name, -Katherine. You will like her, I think.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Is she like you?’ asks Susan.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>‘Ask not her name:</div> - <div class='line'>The light winds whisper it on every hand.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>‘Not a bit,’ says he, shaking his head. -‘Just the reverse. She is young and -skittish, whilst I am old and dull.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not dull,’ says Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Lazy, then. That comes of age, too, you -know.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You weren’t too lazy to hunt the hens -just now,’ says Susan, as if combating some -disagreeable remembrances; ‘and you weren’t -too lazy to mount a ladder a month or -so ago.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, Susan, that’s unkind! You shouldn’t -hold up my past misdeeds to me. If you do, -I’ll hold up your indiscretions to you—your -<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>lengthened conversation with a thief, for -example. You know you did think me a -thief then.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan makes a gesture.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh yes, you did; there is no getting out -of that. You even made me promise never -to steal again. And I haven’t, not so much -as the proverbial pin. That’s good of me, -isn’t it? Shows signs of grace, eh? Really, -Susan, I think you might say something. -Give me one word of encouragement. But -perhaps you don’t believe in my reformation. -I know ever since that day when I was -stealing the cherries you have had the lowest -opinion of me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,’ says -Susan, her charming brows drawing together; -‘it is very stupid of you, and you know you -don’t mean a word of it. Stealing! How -could you steal your own cherries? What -nonsense it all is! If you have nothing -better to say than that, you’—with a -sudden and most unusual discourtesy—‘had -better go away.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>‘Never; wild horses wouldn’t draw me -from this,’ says Crosby. ‘I’ll say something -“better” at once. I’m sure you have -the highest opinion of me. Will that do, -and may I stay now?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan gives him a glance from under her -long lashes that is still a little resentful—a -very little—but she says nothing.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Must I go, then?’ says Crosby. ‘I -wouldn’t have believed it of you, Susan, to -send a poor lonely creature adrift like this.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You are not so very lonely,’ says she. -She gives him another lovely, half-angry -glance.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am indeed. There is not a soul to -speak to me when I go back to my silent -home, and hours must elapse before I can -with any decency go to bed. Susan, be -merciful. Let me stay here and talk to you -of—’ He stops.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Of what?’ says Susan, still eminently -distrustful. ‘What are you going to talk -about? That last thing—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’ll never mention cherries again.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>‘You must keep to that. And now’—lifting -her face and smiling at him in a little -fugitive way—‘go on about your sister. You -haven’t told me anything about her except -her name. Katherine, is it not?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Katherine Forster.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mrs. Forster?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, Lady Forster. She married one of -the Forsters of Berkshire. The eldest one, -George Forster, is a very good chap; you’ll -like him too.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan had grown thoughtful. Dim recollections -of the Forsters as being extraordinarily -wealthy people have come home -to her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think I told you that Katherine is -coming here to celebrate my birthday?’ says -Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes; but your birthday—when is it?’ -asks Susan, anxious to know when these -alarming visitors are to arrive.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The third of August. Didn’t I tell you? -Katherine likes to think she is coming here -to do me honour on that day; that’s how -<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>she puts it in words. To turn my house -upside down, however, is what she really -means. But I submit. The old house will -stand it. She isn’t half bad, really, and -certainly not more than half mad. I think -I told you you would like her?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes,’ says Susan, who has begun to quake -at the brother’s description of his sister. -‘And she will be here—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘In about ten days’ time. George—that’s -her husband—is a first-class shot, and this -place has been pretty well preserved, in spite -of its absentee landlord. I hope he will enjoy -himself. Katherine is bringing a lot of her -friends with her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Hers?’ Susan’s tone is a little faint. If -only this big society dame’s friends—what -is going to happen? Mr. Crosby is so kind -that he will be sure to make his sister ask -her up to the Hall. And how could she -(Susan) hold her own with these clever -people of the world, people who—</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby breaks into her silent fears.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Hers principally; but some of them are -<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>mine, too, in a way. I really am so little at -home that I haven’t time to cultivate lifelong -friendships; but Lady Muriel Kennedy I -have known all my life, and liked. I hope’—suddenly—‘when -Katherine comes, you -will spare her a little of your time.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You are very kind. If you would care to -have me,’ falters Susan disjointedly. Her -eyes are on the ground. To spare Lady -Forster a little of her time! As if Lady -Forster would even care to know her! How -could she (Susan) make herself at home with -people like that—people who had lived in -fashionable circles all their days—frivolous -people like Lady Forster, and lovely people -like Lady Muriel Kennedy? Had he called -Lady Muriel lovely?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That is begging the question,’ says he, -laughing. ‘Who wouldn’t care to have you? -How silent you are, Susan! Not a word -out of you. I’ll begin to think you are in -love presently. People in love are always -silent, dwelling on the beloved absent, no -doubt.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>‘I am not in love,’ says Susan, with -singular distinctness.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not even with “James”? I forget his -other name. He would be a beloved absent, -wouldn’t he?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Absent or present, he would not be beloved -by me,’ says Susan calmly. She pauses. -Her head is slightly turned from Crosby, so -that only the perfect profile can be seen. -The fingers of her right hand are lying -tenderly on Bonnie’s sleeping head. The -fingers of the left are plucking idly at the -grass by her side.</p> - -<p class='c004'>All at once she turns her glance straight -on Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Were you ever in love?’ asks she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan,’ says Crosby seriously, ‘I don’t -think you ought to spring things upon one -like that. My heart may be weak, for all -you know; and, really, I begin to think of -late that it is.’ He pauses. Susan remaining -sternly unsympathetic, however, over -this leading speech, he goes on. ‘What was -your question?’ asks he.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>This sounds like basest subterfuge, and -Susan casts a glance of scorn at him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I asked you if you had ever been in love. -Please don’t answer if you don’t want to. -After all, I am sure I should not have asked -you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You can ask me anything you like,’ says -Crosby with resignation. ‘Yours is to command, -mine to obey. Yes’—comfortably, if -surreptitiously, disposing himself on the tail -of Susan’s gown—‘I acknowledge it. I have -had my little disappointment. It was a -frightful affair. I don’t believe anyone was -ever so much in love as I was—then. I was -just twenty-one, and she was just—something -or other. It’s bad to remember a -lady’s age. Any way, I know I loved her—I -loved her,’ says Crosby, rising now to tragedy, -‘like anything. I can’t even at this hour -speak of it without tears.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, nonsense! you’re laughing,’ says -Susan, with fine disgust.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am not, indeed. It is hysterics. If -only you had gone through half what I have, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>I might expect a little sympathy from you. -However, to continue. She was lovely, -Susan, and she was tall—taller than you. -She had coal-black eyes, and a nose that I -have always considered Roman. I adored -her. I used to walk about o’ nights looking -at the moon (when there was one), and telling -myself it was the image of her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The image of her! I must say I think -you were hardly complimentary,’ says Susan, -who seems to be on the look-out for slips. -‘There is nothing in the moon but a man, -and a hideous one too—just like the clown at -the circus.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘True’—reflectively. ‘Then it couldn’t -have been the moon I compared her to. -Perhaps’—thoughtfully—‘it was a star. -Ah!’—joyfully—‘that’s it—my own particular -star. See?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No,’ says Susan contemptuously; and -then: ‘I don’t believe you ever compared -her to anything.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I did—I did indeed, even quite lately,’ -says Crosby. But this ambiguous speech -<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>receiving no recognition, he goes on: ‘If, -as your contemptuous silence evidently -means, Susan, you think me incapable of -love, you are greatly in the wrong. I assure -you I did compare her to that star. There -was one special one; but somehow I can’t -find it lately. It must have been removed, I -think. And besides the star, I remember -quite well being under a hallucination that -led me to believe that the wettest day under -heaven was full of sunshine when she was -present; and that when she wasn’t present, -no matter how brilliant the sky might be, -that the sun never shone. Come, now, -Susan; be just. That was real love, wasn’t -it?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I really don’t know,’ says Susan. There -is a slight pause; then: ‘Go on.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Go on?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Did she die?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Die? Not much,’ says Crosby cheerfully. -‘Though of course’—relapsing into very suspicious -gloom—‘she was dead to me. She’—with -deep melancholy—‘thought I couldn’t -<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>furnish a house up to her form, so she threw -me over.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What an odious girl!’ says Susan. For -the first time a spark of sorrow for him -lights her eyes. She flushes softly with -most genuine indignation. Crosby looks -at her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She was a very pretty girl,’ says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘For all that’—quickly—‘you must hate -her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘On the contrary, I think I love her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Still?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan’s face grows disdainful.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Even more than ever I did.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You are very constant.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That’s the first compliment you ever paid -me. But to end my tale—I saw her in town -last March.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes?’ Susan has lifted her flower-like -face, and is gazing at him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You met her? And she—she—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Was a widow.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A widow; and so you and she.... It is -quite a romance!’ says Susan, in her soft -<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>voice, speaking hurriedly, almost stammering, -indeed, in what is perhaps her joyful -excitement over this beautiful ending to a -sad love-story. ‘And she was as beautiful -as ever?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, hardly,’ said Crosby slowly, as if -recalling a late picture to mind. ‘She is -now, I am sorry to say, all angles. She was -once plump. Her nose struck me as anything -but Roman now; and her eyes were -blacker than ever—I wonder who blacks -them?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yet when you saw her, you must have -thought of the past. You must have—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You are quite right: I thought strongly -of the past. I thought of nothing else. I -said to myself: “At this moment this woman -might have been your wife, but for—” I -forget the rest—I believe I fainted. When -I recovered I knew I loved her as I had never -loved her before. She had refused me!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I suppose that’s what people call cynicism?’ -says Susan, regarding him with open -distrust.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>‘I don’t know what any other fellow would -call it,’ says Crosby mildly. ‘I only know -that I call it a blessed relief. I felt quite -kindly towards her, and went forthwith and -bought her tickets for something or other, -and sent them to her with a line, saying I -was going to Africa for ten years. But -there’s no more animosity. I look upon her -now as a woman who has done me a really -good turn.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t think,’ says Susan, with sweet -seriousness, ‘that you ought to speak of her -like that. I dare say she was really very -fond of you, but if you were both very poor -how could you be married?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Is that the view you take of it?’ says -Crosby. ‘What a mercenary one! And -from a child like you! Susan, I’m ashamed -of you!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no, you know what I mean,’ says -Susan, blushing divinely whilst making her -defence. ‘There might be unkind people -behind her, you know, forbidding her to -marry you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>Crosby stops, and his thoughts run swiftly -to the mysterious ‘James.’ Were there unkind -people behind her when that gallant -youth declared his passion?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Might there? And if there were, should -she listen, do you think?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah, some would,’ says Susan, speaking -out of the great wealth of worldly lore that -can be gathered from eighteen years of life. -‘But others’—thoughtfully—‘wouldn’t.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘To which section do you belong?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, me! I don’t know,’ says Susan, growing -suddenly very shy. ‘I shouldn’t do anything—I—I -should wait.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Would you?’ says Crosby. There is -something in the girl’s soft young face, now -lowered and turned from him, so full of gentle -strength that he wonders at it. Yes, she -would wait for her lad—‘Though father, an’ -mither, an’ a’ should go mad.’ Is she waiting -for James?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’m afraid, after all, I must destroy your -illusion,’ says he presently. ‘I don’t think -she could have been in love with me. Not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>overpoweringly, I mean. She had a little -money of her own, and I had a little of -mine, so that we should not have been altogether -paupers. But she was dreadfully -addicted to diamonds, and man milliners, and -bibelots of all kinds. I have other reasons, -too, Susan, for thinking she did not really -love me. She never gave me a keepsake! -Now you—you have had a keepsake.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mr. Crosby!’ Susan’s face is crimson. -‘I wish—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I know. I beg your pardon. Of course -I should not have mentioned it. But you -and I are old friends now, Susan; and somehow -it is permissible for me to confide to you -the hollow fact that no one ever gave me a -silver brooch with—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan lifts Bonnie’s head gently, and shows -a dignified, but most determined, desire to rise.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Don’t,’ says Crosby quickly. ‘You’ll -wake him.’ He points to Bonnie’s lovely -little head, and Susan pauses in her flight. -‘Besides, I shan’t say another word—not -one. I swear it. What I really wanted -was your compassion. I have never had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>a keepsake given me in all my life, save -one.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Surely one is enough,’ says Susan slowly. -Curiosity, after a moment, overcomes her -dignity, and she says unwillingly: ‘Is it a -nice one?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I desire no nicer,’ says he. He pulls his -watch from his pocket, and on the chain close -to it—on a tiny silver ring of its own—hangs -a silver sixpence.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That! Only a sixpence!’ Susan’s voice -is rather uncertain. What sixpence is that? -She—she didn’t— ‘Of course,’ says she, ‘I -know a broken sixpence is a very usual thing -between lovers. But this— It is not -broken, and—and not old, either. I must -say when she gave you a keepsake she—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She hardly gave it,’ says Crosby. ‘She -only laid it on the last rung of a ladder that -led up to some—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>That sentence is never finished. Bonnie’s -head is now lying on Susan’s rug. But Susan -herself is already far over there, her head -very high indeed, and her rage and her indignation -even higher.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in6'>‘My love is like the sky—</div> - <div class='line in6'>As distant and as high.</div> - <div class='line'>Perchance she’s fair and kind and bright,</div> - <div class='line'>Perchance she’s stormy, tearful quite—</div> - <div class='line in6'>Alas! I scarce know why.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>‘Is this Susan?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby, standing at the little gate leading -into the Rectory garden, feels a spasm of -doubt. He has come down this morning to -make it up with her, as the children say, -after that slight quarrel of yester eve—a -quarrel that was all on her side. Her remorseless -refusal to bid him good-bye had -left him a little desolate.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Is that really the sedate Susan, that -slender nymph flying over there in the -distance—racing, rather—with Tommy, as a -willing prey, running before her?</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>Crosby has, through time, grown accustomed -to think of Susan as a demure maiden, -slightly Puritan in type, though no doubt -with a latent wilfulness lying beneath the -calm exterior. But now that the latent wilfulness -has broken loose, he finds himself unprepared -for it. Susan running there in the -sunshine, with her hair, apparently just out of -the tub and hardly yet dry, floating behind -her, is another creature altogether. And -such hair, too! Such glorious waves on -waves glinting golden in the sun’s bright -rays, with Susan’s face peeping out of it now -and then. How wild, how mad, how soft, the -bright hair looks, and how sweet are the -ringing cries that come from Susan’s parted -lips!</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The bear has you, Tommy. He’s coming. -He’—making a dab at the excited Tommy—‘will -have you soon. In another moment -he’ll be on you, tearing you—’ Quite a -sprint here on the part of Tommy, and increased -speed accordingly on Susan’s part. -‘And his claws are sharp—sharp!’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>Tommy, in his flight, turns terrified eyes -on Susan over his shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, Susan, don’t, don’t!’ shrieks he, filled -with joy and terror. The terror constitutes -three-fourths of the joy. And now he flies -again for his life, the deadly bear, the ruthless -pursuer, dashing after him with relentless -energy.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby, watching, tells himself, with a -somewhat grim smile, that it is Tommy -alone who would flee from such a delightful -enemy. Perhaps his thoughts are touched -with a tinge of disappointment at finding -Susan in this mad mood. Yesterday she had -seemed to him angered and disturbed when -she left him so abruptly; and he had gone -home with a growing sense of contrition -strong upon him. It had been strong enough -to bring him down this morning with half a -dozen apologies, to find that she has forgotten -all about this offence and—him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here lies the real sting. The Susan he -had imagined as being a little out of joint -with her world—just a very little daintily -<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>offended with him—is not the Susan who is -here now, and who is running round the -garden in merry pursuit of her little brother, -with her eyes gleaming like diamonds, and -evidently as gay as a lark.</p> - -<p class='c004'>She is close on Tommy now. She has put -out a hand to grasp him, but Tommy is full -of enterprise, doubles like a hare, and is now -rushing frantically towards the gate on -which Crosby is leaning.</p> - -<p class='c004'>This brings Susan, who is still in hot pursuit -of him, with her face towards Crosby. -Now more distinctly he can see her. What -a lovely, perfect child she is, with her -loose hair floating behind her, like that of -the immortal ‘Damosel,’ and the little soft -gasping laughs coming from her open lips! -<i><span lang="fr">Joie de vivre</span></i> is written in every line of -her face and every curve of her lissom body.</p> - -<p class='c004'>All at once, even as he watches her, this -joy dies out of her face. ‘She has seen me,’ -says Crosby to himself; and forthwith he -opens the gate and advances towards her. -Tommy, in his race, has reached him, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>now, breathless, flings himself into his arms, -turning to look, with affected fright, at the -coming of Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is a very slow coming, and has evidently -something to do with her hair—as can be -seen through the branches of a big escallonia -on Crosby’s left. He determines to give her -time to struggle with that beautiful hair. -‘Tommy, you ought to fall on the gravel and -embrace your preserver’s knees,’ says he. ‘I -have evidently saved you from an untimely -death, if all I heard was true. I think, however, -that you might have warned me that -bears were about.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He is quite conscious, whilst speaking, that -Susan is still making frantic, but ineffectual, -efforts to do up her hair; so he goes on.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Where’s your particular bear?’ asks he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Here,’ says Susan, as she steps in the -most unexpected fashion from behind the -tree. He can see that she is greatly disconcerted, -and that she would never have -come from behind it if remaining there -was any longer possible. But she had seen -<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>and heard him, as he had seen and heard -her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>She advances now, her expression cold and -unkindly, and her hands still struggling with -her hair, in her desire to reduce it to some -sort of reason.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Why trouble yourself about it?’ says -Crosby. ‘It is the prettiest thing I ever -saw as it is.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is not pretty to me,’ says Susan crushingly. -Her arms are still above her head, -and, as she speaks to him, she weaves into a -superb coil the loose strands of her soft hair. -In spite of this, however, the little locks -around her brows, loosened and softened by -the late washing, are straying wildly, flying -here and there of their own sweet will, and -making an aureole round Susan’s head, out of -which her eyes gleam at Crosby with anything -but friendship in them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How d’ye do?’ says he blandly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How d’ye do?’ says Susan in return. -She lets her hand rest in his for the barest -moment, then withdraws it.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>Crosby regards her reproachfully. ‘You -are angry with me still,’ says he. ‘And after -a whole night of reflection.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am not angry at all,’ says Susan. ‘Why -should you think so?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, you are,’ says Crosby. ‘I can see it -in your eyes. Your very hair is bristly. -And all because—’ He stops, as if afraid -to go on.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Because what?’ asks Susan, with a touch -of severity.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Because I once got sixpence out of you!’ -He is not able to resist it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Tommy,’ says Susan, ‘your collar is dirty, -and you must come back to the house with -me to get another.’ As she speaks she -catches Tommy, who has not yet got to the -years of civilization, and who hates clean -collars, and prepares to march him off.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Tommy,’ says Mr. Crosby, ‘wait a minute; -your sister won’t, but perhaps you will. -There is a photographer in town to-day; he -has come down from Dublin. And your aunt -says she would like to have some of you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>photographed.’ Here there is a distinct -slowing in Susan’s march past, though she -disdains to turn her head, or show further -mark of interest. ‘Don’t you want to be -photographed, Tommy? I do, badly.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What is it?’ asks Tommy, whose views -of amusement as a rule mean lollipops, and -those only, and who has no knowledge of -cameras or kodaks.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It’s painful, as a rule,’ says Crosby. ‘But -children seldom suffer. It’s only people of -my age who come out with their noses -twisted. Did you ever have your nose -twisted, Tommy? It hurts awfully, I can tell -you. But’—with a glance at Susan—‘other -things hurt worse. You ought to speak to -Susan, Tommy—to tell her that prolonged -cruelty sometimes ends in the death of the -victim.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>At this Susan faces round. ‘What I -think is,’ says she, ‘that you ought to give -me back that horrid sixpence.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It isn’t horrid.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You should give it back, at all events.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>‘Oh, Susan, anything but that—my life -even.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What’—with mounting indignation—‘can -you want it for, except to annoy me?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Is thy servant a slave? I want it as a -memento of the only occasion on record on -which I was called a “kind, kind man,” and -a “good” and an “honest” one besides. -You did call me all that, Susan. And yet, -now—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Heaven alone knows what would have -been the end of all this, but for the providential -appearance of Miss Barry and Betty -upon the scene.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘My dear Susan, have you heard? But, -of course, Mr. Crosby has told you. Good -gracious! what is the matter with your head, -child?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>And, indeed, Susan’s hair has again found -freedom, and is flowing down her back in -happy, shining waves.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I have just washed it,’ says Susan shamefacedly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘An admirable deed,’ says Miss Barry, who -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>is in too great a state of delight to lecture -with her usual fluency, and who, indeed, feels -inclined to be lenient. ‘But you should not -come into publicity, my dear child, until it is -dry and carefully dressed again. However’—beaming -upon Crosby, who begins to quite -like her—‘youth will be youth, you know. -And what do you think, Susan? There is a -man down from the best photographer’s in -Dublin—from Chancellor’s, I believe. And -I am thinking of having our pictures taken, -if only to send some copies to your uncle -in Australia—my brother, you know, my -dear. He will be so pleased to get them; -and, really, it is a grand opportunity. Of -course, you, Mr. Crosby, have had yours -taken in every quarter of the globe, but we -country mice seldom get the chance of seeing -ourselves as others see us.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I haven’t been photographed for quite ten -years,’ says Crosby, ‘and I feel now as if it -were my duty to sit again. Miss Barry, if -you are going to be photographed to-day, will -you take me under your wing?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>‘I shall be pleased indeed,’ says Miss Barry, -with much dignity.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Won’t it be fun!’ cries Betty, clapping -her hands.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And the hour?’ asks Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘About two. What do you think, Susan? -Two would be a good hour, eh?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, a good hour,’ says Susan, without -interest. Then, suddenly: ‘Is—are you -going to have Bonnie taken?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘My dear Susan’—Miss Barry flushes the -dull pink of the old when shamed—‘why -should we send all our pictures to your uncle -at once? It—it would probably confuse him. -Another time we may think of that,’ says -Miss Barry, who has counted up all her available -shillings this morning, to see if it would -be possible to send all the children, but had -found they fell decidedly short. She would -have died, however, rather than confess this -to a stranger. ‘Just mine and yours, and—but -I am afraid your father will never consent -to be taken—and Betty’s and Carew’s—just -the eldest ones. You can see, Mr. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>Crosby, that just the eldest ones will be -those most acceptable to their uncle.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, I see,’ says Crosby. He has seen it -all, indeed. As if in a dream, Miss Barry’s -purse has been laid open to him and the contents -made bare. The two shillings for herself, -and the two for Susan, and for Betty, -and for Carew—eight shillings in all—and -after that nothing. He has seen, too, the -pride of the poor lady, who would not acknowledge -the want of means wherewith to -provide photos of the younger children for -their uncle abroad, but put her objection to -their being taken on the grounds of their -youth. He has seen, too, Susan’s face as she -hears that Bonnie is not to be taken. Oh, -the quick, pained disappointment of it!</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘At two, then,’ says he, ‘we shall meet at -the photographer’s.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes; two sharp,’ says Miss Barry, who -seems quite excited. ‘Susan, I think I shall -wear my new lace cap.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think you ought to wear your hair just -as it is now,’ says Crosby to Susan in a low -<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>tone, as he bids her good-bye. It is impossible -for her to refuse him her hand with -her aunt looking on; and though Crosby is -aware of this, it is to his shame, I confess, -that he takes it and holds it in a warm clasp -before he lets it go.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘But I know best where wringeth me my shoe.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>‘Betty, was I looking frightful?’ asks -Susan, drawing her sister away as soon as -Crosby is out of sight. ‘Tell me quite the -truth. Don’t gloss things over just to please -me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I won’t,’ says Betty, giggling. ‘I’ll be as -honest as the sun. You looked’—pausing -wickedly—‘something between Meg Merrilees -and a wild Indian, with a bias toward -the latter. But that needn’t put you out. -He’s accustomed to wild Indians; and when -one has lived with people fifty years or so, -one gets to admire them. I shouldn’t wonder -if he admired you. You must have taken -him back to the good old days. Why didn’t -<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>you sing “Way down upon the Swannee -River” for him? That would have finished -the conquest.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You don’t seem to know what wild -Indians are,’ Susan remonstrates calmly. -‘They live in North America, and couldn’t -sing a nigger song to save their lives. You -don’t seem to know, either, that it was in -Africa that Mr. Crosby spent most of his -time, and that the blacks there aren’t -niggers at all.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, it’s all the same,’ says Betty airily. -‘A black’s a black for a’ that; and if they -don’t sing one thing, they sing another. And -any way, I could see by the gleam in Mr. -Crosby’s eye, as he looked at you and your -flowing locks, that he loves wildness in every -form.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan is silent for a time; then:</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Betty’—in a low tone—‘how old do you -think he is?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t think he has beaten Methuselah -yet, if you mean that.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No; but really, I mean how old, eh?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>‘Well’—carefully—‘allowing him the fifty -years he spent with his blacks, and the fact -that he told us that he started at twenty-three -on an adventurous career, he must be -now well into the seventies.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan’s laugh—so evidently expected here—sounds -to herself a little forced, though -why she could not have explained.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, not so old as that!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, perhaps not, by a year or so,’ says -Betty, as if determined on being absolutely -fair and accurate to a fraction.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Do you know,’ says Susan, a little reluctantly, -but as though she must say it, ‘I—of -course, I know he is ever so much older -than any of us, but, for all that, somehow, he -doesn’t seem to me to be—well, old, you -know.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Betty nods, and Susan, encouraged by -this treacherous sign, rashly takes a further -step.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It has even sometimes seemed to me,’ -says she nervously, ‘that he is quite young.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That reminds me of something I read this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>morning,’ says Betty, who is beginning to -enjoy herself. ‘It ran like this: “On the -whole, I consider him one of the youngest -men of my acquaintance.”’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Where did you read that?’ asks Susan, -with open suspicion.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘In a book’—smartly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, I suppose so. And what book, and -who said it?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A frisky duchess.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She was young, of course?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not very,’ Betty grins. ‘Eighty-two -or thereabouts.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, well, then, no doubt she was alluding -to a mere boy of her acquaintance.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not at all. To another frisky person of -the opposite sex—a young thing of one -hundred and five or so.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What do you mean, Betty? You don’t -suppose that Mr. Crosby is a hundred and -five or so?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t indeed. I put him in the seventies, -if you remember. That would make him -quite a babe to the duchess I speak of. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>She said her centenarian had the brightest, -the most engaging manners, and, of course, -that reminded me of Mr. Cros— Where -are you going now, Susan?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I want to put fresh cuffs on Bonnie’s -shirts,’ says Susan. Her tone is a little -reserved, and there is a deepening of dignity -in the delicate lightness of her steps, as she -turns away, that tells Betty she is in some -way offended.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Betty, stricken, but with a conscience clear, -runs after her and tucks her arm into hers.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Have I vexed you?’ asks she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Vexed me?’ Susan’s tone is rather -exaggerated. ‘No. How could you have -vexed me?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That’s true,’ says Betty comfortably, who -never gets deeper than the actual moment. -‘Then I’ll come with you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But why should I bring you in?’ asks -Susan, who has a new queer fancy to be -alone.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘To do your hair, for one thing,’ says the -tease of the family with delightful <i><span lang="fr">bonhomie</span></i>. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>‘Really, Susan, you can’t appear in public -like this twice; and you know we are going -to be photographed in— What is the -hour now? Good gracious! it’s growing -very late. We must run. Bonnie’s shirts -can’t be done to-day, but I’ll help you with -them to-morrow. Oh, there’s auntie—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan, you must make haste,’ cries Miss -Barry, hurrying round the corner. ‘There is -no time to be lost. And, my dear, your -hair! How fortunate you washed it to-day! -When neatly done up it will look beautiful. -Betty, I have been thinking of having you -taken with your hat on. Your best hat—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, auntie!’ says poor Betty.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No; well, perhaps not. What do you -think, Susan?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think she would look nicer without it,’ -says Susan, in answer to an agonized glance -from Betty. ‘And you, auntie? I think -we ought to put a fresh bow in your cap; -that side one is always falling down. You -have a little bit of ribbon, haven’t you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, I think so; in the top drawer,’ says -<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>Miss Barry. ‘Susan’—suddenly—‘how could -you ask such an uncomfortable question -before Mr. Crosby!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What question?’ asks Susan, turning very -red.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Why, as to whether I was going to have -Bonnie photographed. I was quite taken -aback,’ says Miss Barry, shaking her curls; -‘and, indeed, it was only the natural <i><span lang="fr">savoir -faire</span></i> that belongs to me’—to give Miss -Barry’s Parisian accent would pass the wit -of man—‘that enabled me to conquer the -situation. You might be quite sure, Susan, -that if I had the money Bonnie and Tommy -too should have been sent to their dear uncle.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I see, auntie. I am sorry,’ says Susan, -with honest, deep regret.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I suppose,’ says Miss Barry, with the air -of one addressing a forlorn hope, ‘that you -and Betty have nothing?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is plain that the poor lady had set her -heart originally on having a ‘full set’ to -send to the uncle abroad, but that reasons -financial have crushed her hopes.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>‘I have only sixpence,’ says Susan sadly. -‘You, Betty?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I spent the twopence I had yesterday,’ -says Betty, ‘on hairpins.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Hairpins!’ cries Miss Barry indignantly. -‘And your hair not up yet!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘They were for Susan,’ explains Betty -angrily, who had, indeed, bought them for -Susan, but who, nevertheless, had spent an -enjoyable hour with them, doing up her own -hair, and seeing how she would look next -year when ‘grown up.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, that’s the end of it,’ says Miss -Barry, with the courage of despair. ‘I certainly -won’t ask your father for a penny, as -I know he hasn’t one to spare this month; -and, indeed’—sighing—‘I only hope that -those reports about that bank in Scotland are -untrue. It is in that he has invested the -£500 he has laid aside for Carew—for his -crammer, you know, and his outfit, and all -the rest of it. I dare say the scare will come -to nothing; but, at all events, he is a little -pressed just now, so that for a mere luxury -<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>like this I think we had better not ask him -for anything.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Of course not,’ says Susan. ‘But, auntie’—slowly -and a little nervously—‘would you -mind very much if—if Bonnie had his picture -taken instead of me? I have always so -longed for one of his. He is so delicate, -and—’ She stops suddenly, a terrible -feeling in her throat forbidding another -word.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘My dear Susan! And you the eldest! -Why, it would be quite an insult to your -dear uncle. No, no,’ says Miss Barry; ‘we -must depend upon another time to get -Bonnie and Tom taken.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan turns away. Will there ever be -‘another time’ for Bonnie? So frail in the -warm summer-time, how will it be with him -when the snows and the frosts set in?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘At all events, I think I will take him -down with me to see the rest of us taken,’ -she says presently in a depressed voice. ‘It -will amuse and interest him. You know how -clever he is.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>‘Yes, by all means, and I’ll take Tommy,’ -says Betty, ‘though goodness knows if after -that we shall any of us come out alive.’</p> - -<hr class='c012'> - -<p class='c004'>Susan has started very early (it is only ten -minutes after one), so as to give Bonnie -plenty of time to get down to the village -without fatigue. Miss Ricketty will give -him a seat in her place; a penny out of the -last sixpence will buy him a cake or some -sweets; and then, with a little rest, he can -easily go on to the room rented to the photographer -by Mr. Salter, the hardware Methodist.</p> - -<p class='c004'>She has now reached Miss Ricketty’s, -and has been welcomed by that excellent -if slightly eccentric spinster with open arms. -Bonnie is literally in her arms—and now is -ensconced in the cosiest corner of this cosy -little shop, behind the tiny gateway. Indeed, -Miss Ricketty is preparing in a surreptitious -manner to bring down a jar of unspeakably -beautiful bull’s-eyes for Bonnie’s delectation, -when Susan intervenes.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>‘No—no indeed, dear Miss Ricketty. -He has a penny of his own to-day. And he -loves buying. Don’t you, Bonnie? Another -day, perhaps. And I think a cake would -be better for him, don’t you? You would -rather have a Queen cake, Bonnie darling, -wouldn’t you?’—appealingly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes,’ says Bonnie, out of the sweetness of -his nature, seeing she desires it, though his -soft eyes are dwelling on the lollipops. But -that he can’t have both is a foregone conclusion, -as Susan tells herself with a sigh. -The remaining fivepence will have to do -many things until next week, when father -will give her her tiny weekly allowance -again. Besides, a cake is ever so much -better for him than bull’s-eyes. Thus Susan -consoles herself.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Are you goin’ to be took, Miss Susan?’ -asks Miss Ricketty, settling herself, as she -calls it, for a good chat.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan laughs.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not by the sergeant, any way,’ says -she.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>‘Ah, ye will have yer joke now. An’, sure, -I’m a silly old fool. But ye’re goin’ to have -yer picture done, aren’t ye? Fegs, ’twould -be a shame if ye didn’t. ’Tis a mighty purty -picture would be lost to the world if you held -back. Why, all the world is crowdin’ to that -man’s door. I saw Lady Millbank go in just -now. An’ at her time o’ life! Law, the -vanity o’ some folk! D’ye know what me -brother said to me to-day?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What?’ asks Susan, who is growing -interested.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Whether I wouldn’t like to see me own -face on a card. An’ I tould him as I had -seen it for sixty years in a lookin’-glass, an’ -that was good enough for me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But, Miss Ricketty,’ says Susan, seeing -with her delicate sense of sympathy beneath -the veil that conceals Miss Ricketty’s real -desire to be ‘seen on a card,’ ‘why not be -taken? It would not give you pleasure, -perhaps, but see what pleasure it would give -to others. And as for me, I should love a -photograph of you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>‘Oh now, Miss Susan! Sure, ye know, ye -wouldn’t care for a picture of the likes of -me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I should like it more than I can say,’ -says Susan. ‘Miss Ricketty’—with pretty -entreaty— ‘you really must make up your -mind to it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, I’ll be thinkin’—I’ll be thinkin’,’ -says Miss Ricketty, who is all agog with -excitement and flattery. ‘I suppose, Miss -Susan dear, that shawl they sent me from -America would be too bright?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The very thing,’ says Susan. ‘It would -be lovely. And your people in America will -certainly recognise it, and it will give them -great pleasure to know that you treasure it -so highly.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There’s a lot in that,’ says Miss Ricketty, -musing—she muses considerably. ‘Well, perhaps—’ -Here she pauses again. ‘It may -be,’ says she at last. She might, perhaps, -have condescended to explain this last oracular -speech, but that her bright eye catches -sight of three young ladies going past her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>window. ‘There they go! there they go! -Look at them, Miss Susan, my dear! Did ye -ever see such quare crathures? May the -Vargin give them sense! Look at their hats, -an’ the strut o’ them! They’ve a power -o’ money, I’m tould. “Articles of virtue” -Mr. Connor called them the last day he was -in here; but, faith, where the virtue comes -in—they do say— But that’s not talk -for the likes o’ you or me, dear. But tell -me now, Miss Susan, what of Mr. Crosby? -I’ve heard that he— Oh, murdher! talk of -the divil—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Miss Ricketty retires behind a huge jar of -sweets as Crosby comes into the shop.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Read in Senec, and read eke in Boece,</div> - <div class='line'>There shall ye see express, that it no drede is,</div> - <div class='line'>That he is gentle that doth gentle deedes.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Crosby looks a little surprised at finding -Susan here.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How d’ye do?’ again says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan, without enthusiasm, gives him her -hand. She is busy wondering what could -have brought him in here, of all places. Fond -of chocolates, perhaps.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Why, there you are, Bonnie,’ says Mr. -Crosby gaily. ‘No wonder I didn’t see you -in that nice big chair. How d’ye do, Miss -Ricketty? I hope you have been behaving -yourself properly since last I saw you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, Mr. Crosby!’ The old maid shakes -her head at him with delight.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>‘No fresh flirtations, I trust.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, hear to him!’ Miss Ricketty is -laughing like a girl.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And how is the giant?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Me brother is very well, thank you, sir. -An’ he wants to see ye badly about that -cricket match in the park. They say that -Tim Murphy is goin’ to be very troublesome -over it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not a bit of it. Tell your brother that -I’ve squared the militant Tim, and that he -will turn up all right. What charming -sweets, Bonnie! I love sweets; don’t you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He has made a sign to Miss Ricketty, who -is now making up a splendid parcel.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Bonnie has had a cake,’ says Susan. She -would have said a great deal more if Tommy -had been in question. Indeed, then she -would have refused distinctly; but Bonnie’s -little lovely smiling face, and the joy she -knows it will give the gentle child to share -Mr. Crosby’s gift with his little brother, stops -her. She says nothing more, though it is -actual pain to her to have to accept these -<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>sweets for her brother from Crosby. It is a -debt she owes to Bonnie to suffer thus. But, -then, what does she not owe Bonnie?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘L’appétit vient en mangeant,’ says Crosby. -‘Miss Ricketty, don’t be in such a hurry to -tie up that parcel. Bonnie and I want something -out of it first.’ He puts a delightful -box of chocolate creams on Bonnie’s knee as -he speaks, then turns to Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I suppose I daren’t offer you anything,’ -says he, in a low tone. Miss Ricketty becomes -at once absorbed in a bottle of bull’s-eyes.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No,’ says Susan gently, ‘thank you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not even an apology?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan glances quickly at him, and then -hesitates. Perhaps she would have said -something, but at this moment Miss Barry, -with Betty and Dom and Carew, enter the -shop.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We saw you through the window,’ cries -Betty; and suddenly Susan’s thoughts run -riot. Had he seen her through the window? -‘And so we came in. We must hurry, Susan; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>all the world is going to have its picture -taken—even Lady Millbank, though goodness -alone knows why. And such a guy as she -looks in that velvet mantle—that heavy -thing—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A regular overmantle,’ says Dom.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Bless me!’ says Miss Barry suddenly, -breaking off her conversation with Miss -Ricketty over the proper treatment of young -fowls when they come to be three months old. -‘Susan, you and Betty are wearing the same -frocks.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, it was I who arranged that,’ says -Betty calmly. ‘In some way, Susan and -I have never worn these frocks together -before, and I have heard that those old -Murphy girls—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not the Murphys, Betty—the Stauntons,’ -says Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It doesn’t matter; they are all old maids -alike,’ says Betty lightly. ‘Any way, I have -heard that some of the weird women of -Curraghcloyne have said that we were short -of clothes, because Susan and I had only one -<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>dress between us. This’—smoothing down her -pretty serge frock—‘is the one in question. -So I’m going to be photographed with Susan -in it, if only to upset their theories, and give -them some bad half-hours with their cronies; -cronies never spare one.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You and Susan are going to be photographed -together!’ says Miss Barry, who is -getting a stormy look in her eyes. ‘You -will not, then, be taken separately?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh yes,’ says Betty airily. ‘Separately, -too. I hate double pictures as a rule, but -when duty calls—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Miss Barry is now making wild pantomimic -signs to Susan. ‘Stop her!’ her lips are -saying—‘stop her at all risks, or we shall be -eternally disgraced!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>And, indeed, the poor lady had not another -penny to spend beyond what she had already -arranged for. If this double picture that the -rash and reckless Betty speaks of becomes an -accomplished fact, who is to pay for it? Not -Miss Barry, certainly, because she has nothing -with which to pay. And, naturally, the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>photographer will demand his just fees, and -then all will come out, and—</p> - -<p class='c004'>She is on the point of appealing to Miss -Ricketty, when Dom nudges her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It’s all right,’ whispers he. ‘I have -enough for that. I’ve settled it with Betty.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Miss Barry gives him a grateful look, -greatly interspersed with rebuke. Such a -throwing away of good money! As if that -conceited child could not be satisfied with one -representation of her face! She must really -speak to Dom about his folly later—a little -later—on.</p> - -<p class='c004'>It doesn’t seem folly at all to Dominick, -who is a most generous youth, if extravagant, -and who would give a great deal more to this -photographic business if it was in his power. -But a great deal has been spent of late on -cartridges for the murdering of Mr. Crosby’s -rabbits—so much, indeed, that cigarettes -have grown scarce and pipes a luxury, spite -of even the small sums that Carew has thrown -into the common fund. Carew has generally -a shilling or two in his pockets, the Rector -<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>deeming it advisable to give to his eldest son, -out of his terribly inadequate income, a -certain amount of pocket-money, to prepare -him for the time when he will be thrown on -his own resources; to teach him to economize -now, so that when he is gazetted, and has to -rely on his own slender allowance, he will be -able to understand how to make money go as -far as it can.</p> - -<p class='c004'>All through the boy’s educational course, -he had felt it a sort of madness to put him -into the army at all—a boy who must -necessarily live entirely on his pay—a forlorn -arrangement in these fast days, and one out -of which only ten per cent. rise successfully. -But the last wish of his dying wife had been -that Carew should enter the army. She had -come of a good fighting stock herself, poor -soul! to which she remained faithful, having -fought her own fight with poverty most -bravely until she died; and the Rector, who -had cared less and less for earthly things since -she had gone to heaven, had not the heart or -the strength to refuse that dying wish.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>‘You’re sure you have it?’ whispers back -Miss Barry to Dom.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certain.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Then’—sharply—‘it would have been -much more to your credit if you had -kept it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘To my credit, yes,’ says Dom.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A more disgraceful display of extravagance—’ -Miss Barry, either from the -forced whispering or indignation, here grows -hoarse, and coughs a little, whereupon Miss -Ricketty, who is now intensely interested, -and is listening with all her might, holds out -to her a jar of jujubes; but Miss Barry waves -them off.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I suppose it is the last penny?’ asks -she, still addressing Dom in a whisper, but -with a magisterial air.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes—nearly,’ says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The ‘nearly’ is a concession to the truth. -He has, indeed, three shillings left out of his -monthly allowance, but these are already -accounted for. They are to buy three copies -of Betty for his own special apartment—one -<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>to be hung up over his gun, one over his -bookcase, and one over his study table.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That’s the one you’ll never see,’ Betty had -said to him tauntingly, and most ungratefully, -when he told her of the decision he had come -to about his last three shillings.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Miss Barry, now turning away from him -with a heart decidedly heavy, directs her -conversational powers on Crosby.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I congratulate you on being in good time,’ -says she. ‘When Betty and I started, we -had great trouble in getting Carew and -Dominick to come with us. They were -dreadfully late, and we said then—Betty and -I—that you would surely be late. But you’—smiling -and wagging her curls—‘have -behaved splendidly. I do appreciate a young -man who can be punctual.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan glances quickly at her. ‘Young -man!’ Is she in earnest, and after all that -Betty had said?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Young man!’ Is he a young man? Well, -she has often thought so—she had even told -Betty so. Here she glances at Betty, but -<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>Betty is now enjoying a word-to-word dispute -with Dominick.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Any way, she had told her. But Betty—what -does she know? She has declared -a man once over thirty, old. But Aunt -Jemima thinks otherwise. And really, when -one comes to think of it, Aunt Jemima at -times is very clever—almost deep, indeed; -and certainly very clever in her conclusions.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Look! there are the Blakes coming out,’ -cries Betty suddenly; she is standing on -tiptoe at the window, which commands a fine -view of the entrance to the photographer’s. -‘Auntie, Susan, let us go, before any other -people come.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>With this they all in a body cross the -road, Carew having caught up Bonnie, who -is all eagerness to see this wonderful thing -that will put Susan’s face on paper.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Upstairs they march in a body, to find -themselves presently in a most evil-smelling -corridor, out of which the studio opens. -Here they wait perforce, until at last the -studio door opens, and some people of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>farming class, and very flurried and flushed, -walk nervously down the little lane between -them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Now is your time!’ says Betty, who is -really quite irrepressible to-day. She takes -the lead, and they all swarm after her into -the studio, to find there an emaciated man in -highly respectable clothes regarding them -with a melancholy eye. Collodion seems to -have saturated him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Aunt Jemima, you first,’ says Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, certainly,’ says Dom. ‘First come, -first served. And, you know, in spite of -Betty’s well-meant endeavours, you entered -the room first.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Besides which it is the part of the young -to give way to their elders,’ says Miss Barry, -striving to keep up her dignity, whilst dying -with terror. The photographer and the great -big thing over there with dingy velvet cloth -over it have subdued her almost out of recognition.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Now, auntie, come on. He’s looking at -you.’ ‘He’ is the photographer, who has -<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>now, indeed, turned a lack-lustre eye on -Miss Barry.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We are rather pressed for time,’ says he -in a lugubrious tone. ‘Which lady wishes -to be taken first?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Answer him, auntie,’ says Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What impertinence, hurrying us like -this!’ says Miss Barry. She has recovered -something of her old courage now, though -still frightened, and turns a freezing eye -upon the photographer, who is so accustomed -to all sorts of eyes that it fails to -affect him in any way.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Really, auntie, you ought to have yours -taken first,’ says Dominick seriously, ‘and -as soon as possible. There’s murder in that -man’s eye. Don’t incense him further.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The photographer is now standing in an -adamantine attitude, but his eye, entreating, -cries: ‘Come on, come on!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>But no one stirs.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A most insolent creature,’ says Miss -Barry, who has unfortunately taken a dislike -to him. ‘Look at him; one would think we -<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>had to have our pictures taken by law rather -than by choice. Susan, did you ever see so -villainous a countenance? No, my dear, I—I -really feel—I couldn’t have my picture sent -to your uncle if taken by an assassin like -that.’ She holds back.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Nonsense, Miss Barry!’ says Crosby gaily. -‘You have too much spirit to be daunted by -a mere cast of countenance. And we—we -have no spirit at all—so we depend upon -you to give us a lead.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I assure you, Mr. Crosby, had it been any -other man but this.... However, I submit.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Whereupon, with much outward dignity -and many inward quakings, she approaches -the chair before the camera and seats herself -upon it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A little more this way, please, ma’am,’ -says the photographer.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Which way?’ asks Miss Barry, in a distinctly -aggressive voice.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘If you would pose yourself a little more -like this,’ and the photographer throws himself -into a sentimental attitude.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>‘Mercy! what ails the man?’ says Miss -Barry, turning to Crosby. ‘Do you, my dear -Mr. Crosby—do you think the wretched being -has been imbibing too freely?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, no, not at all,’ says Crosby reassuringly. -‘You must sit like this’—coming -to the photographer’s help with a will—‘just -a little bit round here, d’ye see, so as to make -a good picture. That will give a better effect -afterwards; and of course he is anxious to -make as good a photograph of you as he can.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>At this Miss Barry condescends to move a -little in the way directed. She clutches hold -of Susan, however, during the placing of her, -and whispers thrillingly:</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t believe in him, Susan. Look at -his eye. It squints! Could a squinter give -one a good photograph?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Now, madam!’ says the camera man, in -a dying tone. He has heard nothing, but is -annoyed in a dejected fashion by the delay. -‘If you are quite ready.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Are you?’ retorts Miss Barry.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, ma’am.’ He comes forward to rearrange -<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>her draperies and herself, her short -colloquy with Susan having been sufficiently -lively to disturb the recent pose. He pulls -out her gown, then steps back to further -study her, and finally takes her head between -his hands, with a view to putting that into -the right position also.</p> - -<p class='c004'>If the poor man had only known the consequences -of this rash act, he would, perhaps, -rather have given up his profession than have -committed it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How dare you, sir!’ cries Miss Barry, -pushing him back, and making frightful -passes in the air as a defence against another -attack of his upon her maiden cheek.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Carew, where are you? Dominick! -Susan, Susan, do you see how I have been -outraged?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Dear auntie,’ says Susan, in a low tone, -Carew and Dominick being incapacitated for -service, ‘you mistake him. He only wants -to arrange you for your picture. It is always -done. Don’t you see?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t,’ says Miss Barry stoutly. ‘I see -<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>only that you are all a silly set of children, -who do not understand the iniquity of man! -This creature—’ She points to the photographer, -who has gone back in a melancholy -way to his slides, and is pulling them in and -out, by way of exercise, perhaps. ‘However, -Susan, I’ll go through with it, insolent -and depraved as this creature evidently is; -coming from a huge metropolis like Dublin, -he scarcely knows how to behave himself with -decent people. I must request you to tell -him, however, that I refuse—absolutely -refuse—to let him caress my face again!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Thus peace is restored with honour, for -the time being. And the unlucky man who -has been selected by an unkind Providence -to transmit Miss Barry’s face to futurity, -once again approaches her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Now, ma’am, if you will kindly sit just -so, and if you will look at this—a little more -pleasantly, please’—holding up a photograph -of Lord Rosebery that he has been carrying -about to delight the Irish people. ‘Ah, that’s -better; that earnest expression will—’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>‘Who’s that?’ cries Miss Barry, springing -to her feet. ‘Is that the Radical miscreant -who has taken old Gladstone’s place? God -bless me, man! do you think I’m going to be -pleasant when I look at him?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The wretched photographer, now utterly -dumfounded, casts a despairing glance at -Crosby, who is certainly the oldest, and -therefore probably the most sensible, of the -rest. The noise of the feet of impatient -customers in the passage outside is rendering -the poor man miserable. Yet it is impossible -to turn this terrible old woman out, -when there are so many with her waiting to -be taken, and to pay their money.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I assure you, sir, I thought that picture -would please the lady. I’m only lately from -England, and they told me—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A lot of lies. Ah yes, that’s of course,’ -says Crosby, interrupting him sympathetically. -‘But what they didn’t teach you was -that there are two opinions, you know. You -can show Lord Rosebery to the people who -have not a shilling in the world, and not a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>grandfather amongst them; but I think you -had better show Miss Barry a photograph of -Lord Salisbury, and if you haven’t that, one -of the Queen. She’s quite devoted to the -Queen.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I wish I’d been told, sir,’ says the photographer, -so wearily that Crosby decides on -giving him a substantial tip for himself when -the sittings are over.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Now, ma’am,’ says the photographer, returning -to the charge with splendid courage, -seeing Miss Barry has reseated herself in the -chair, after prolonged persuasion from Carew -and Susan. Betty and Dominick, it must -be confessed, have behaved disgracefully. -Retiring behind a huge screen, and there -stifling their mirth in an extremely insufficient -manner, gurgles and, indeed, gasps, -have come from between its joints to the -terrified Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And now, ma’am, will you kindly turn a -little more this way?’ The poor man’s voice -has grown quite apologetic. ‘Ah, that’s -better! Thank you, ma’am. And if I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>might pull out your dress? Yes, that’s all -right. And your elbow, ma’am, please.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Good gracious! why can’t he stop,’ thinks -poor Susan, who sees wrath growing again -within Miss Barry’s eye.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is just a little, a very little, too pointed. -Ah, yes. There! And your foot, ma’am—under -your dress, if you please.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here Miss Barry snorts audibly, and the -photographer starts back; but hearing is not -seeing, and he rashly regains his courage and -rushes to his destruction.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That’s well, very well,’ says he, not being -sufficiently acquainted with Miss Barry to -note the signs of coming war upon her -face; ‘and if you will now please shut your -mouth—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Miss Barry rises once more like a whirlwind.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Shut your own, sir!’ cries she, shaking -her fist at him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>There is one awful moment, a moment -charged with electricity; then it is all over. -The worst has come, there can be nothing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>more. Miss Barry is again pressed into her -chair. The photographer, having come to the -comforting conclusion that she is a confirmed -lunatic, takes no more pains over her, refuses -to adjust her robe, to put her face into -position or revise her expression, and simply -takes her as she is. The result is that he -turns out the very best photograph he has -taken for many a year.</p> - -<p class='c004'>After this things go smooth enough, until -at last even Betty—who has proved a troublesome -customer, if a very charming one—declares -herself satisfied.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No more, sir?’ says the photographer to -Crosby, whom he has elected to address as -being the principal member of the party. -To speak to Miss Barry would have been -beyond the poor man.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh yes, one more,’ says Crosby.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'>‘If Sorrow stole</div> - <div class='line'>A charm awhile from Beauty, Beauty’s self</div> - <div class='line'>Might envy well the charm that Sorrow lent</div> - <div class='line'>To every perfect feature.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>He draws Bonnie forward—Bonnie, who has -been sitting so quietly in his corner for the -past thirty minutes, enchanted with the -strange scene. He has cared nothing for -his aunt’s eccentricities; he has thought -only of the wonderful things that were done -behind that dingy black velvet curtain. Oh, -if he could only get behind it too, and find -out! The sickly child’s frame was weak, but -his mind was fresh and strong, and ran freely -into regions far beyond his ken.</p> - -<p class='c004'>With the boy’s hand in his, Crosby turns -courteously to Miss Barry.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I hope you will let me have this charming -<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>face taken, if only for my own gratification,’ -says he. ‘I have long wished it. And as he -is here—if you will allow me. It is quite -an ideal type, you know—I may have him -photographed?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes—yes,’ says Miss Barry, with slow -acquiescence, uttered with a pause between. -And then all at once, as if she has come to -the end of her hesitation, ‘Yes, certainly.’ -She looks at Susan as if for approval, but -Susan does not return her glance. She has -cast down her eyes, and is distinctly pale.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Poor Susan! So delighted at the thought -of having a picture of her Bonnie given her, -yet so sorry for the occasion of it. She has -lowered her eyes so that no one may see -what she is thinking about, or what she is -suffering; the quick beating of her heart is -also a secret known only to herself.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The throbs run like this: Oh, how good of -him! Oh, no matter what he is or whom he -loves, he will surely give her one of Bonnie’s -pictures—a picture of her lovely, pretty -Bonnie!</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>Meantime, Bonnie is being taken by the -photographer, and so still, so calm a little -subject he is, that his picture is, perhaps, the -best of all, after Miss Barry’s, which is -unique. Just Bonnie’s head—only that. But -so sweet, so perfect, and the earnest eyes—</p> - -<p class='c004'>The photographer tells them that they -shall have them all in a week or so. The -photographer’s ‘week or so’ is so well understanded -of the people, that the Barrys tell -themselves in whispers in the little studio -that if they get them in a fortnight they may -thank their lucky stars.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘A fortnight with that man!’ says Miss -Barry, with ill-subdued wrath. ‘A month, -you mean. I tell you he’s got the evil eye.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Having thus relieved herself, and the -photographer having vanished into a room -beyond, she rises into happier ways.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Any way, in spite of him,’ says she, -pointing towards the dark doorway into -which he has vanished, ‘this must be called -a most happy occasion—an auspicious one -even, indeed.’ Miss Barry is always on -<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>immense terms with her dictionary. ‘I really -think’—with sudden sprightliness—‘we -should all exchange photos. I hope, Mr. -Crosby’—turning pleasantly to him—‘that -you will give us one of yours.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I shall give you one with pleasure, Miss -Barry,’ says Crosby, ‘and feel very proud -about your wanting to have it. I shall, -however, demand one of yours in return. -As to your suggestion about a general -exchange, I think it delightful.’ He turns -suddenly to Susan. ‘I hope you will give -me one of yours,’ says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan hesitates. To give her picture to -him, when he thinks Lady Muriel Kennedy -so lovely? Why, if he thinks a girl is so -very lovely—she has described Lady Muriel -to herself as a mere girl—why should he -want a photograph of herself?</p> - -<p class='c004'>Miss Barry has noticed Susan’s hanging -back, and, wondering that she should refuse -her photograph to so good a friend, comes -quickly forward.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan, I really think you might give -<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>Mr. Crosby your picture. You know, Mr. -Crosby, I have always kept the girls a little -strict, and perhaps Susan thinks—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t,’ says Susan, with sudden vehemence. -She has shrunk back a little; her -lovely eyes have suddenly grown shamed. -‘It—isn’t that, auntie.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, my dear, if it isn’t that—’ says -Miss Barry; and being now called by -Dominick, she turns away.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Auntie takes such queer views of things,’ -says Susan, pale and unhappy. ‘It seems, -however, that she would like me to give you -my photograph. Well’—grudgingly—‘you -can have it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I didn’t want it on those terms,’ says -Crosby. ‘And yet’—quickly—‘I do on any -terms.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no,’ says Susan; ‘auntie is right. -Why should I refuse it to you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan,’ says he, ‘is the feud so strong as -all that? Will you refuse me your picture?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, I shall give it,’ says she, faintly -smiling; ‘but I shall make a bargain with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>you. If you will give me one of Bonnie’s, -you shall have one of mine.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I gain, but you do not,’ says he; ‘for you -should have had one of Bonnie all the same. -But what has come between us, Susan? I -thought I was quite a friend of yours. Why -am I to be dismissed like this, without even a -character? You must remember one great -occasion when you said that anyone who was -allowed to go through my grounds would be -sure to treat me with respect, or something -like that. Now, you have often gone through -my grounds, Susan, and is this respect that -you are offering me?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I thought,’ says Susan gravely, ‘that you -promised never to speak of that again.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Of what—respect?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, of that’—reluctantly—‘that day in -the garden.’ The dawn of a blush appears -upon her face, and her eyes rest on him reproachfully. -‘You are not to be depended -on,’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, Susan!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>His air is so abject that, in spite of herself, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>Susan laughs, and presently she holds out her -hand to him with the sweetest air. ‘Any -way, I have to thank you a thousand times -for having had my Bonnie’s picture taken,’ -says she. ‘And I know you knew that I -wished for it.’ She gives him her hand. -Tears rise to her eyes. ‘You could never -know how I wished for it,’ says she.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Words would but wrong the gratitude I owe you;</div> - <div class='line'>Should I begin to speak, my soul’s so full</div> - <div class='line'>That I should talk of nothing else all day.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>‘Now, Miss Manning,’ says Wyndham, in his -quick, alert, business-like way. He steps -back, and motions her to go through the -gateway that Mrs. Denis had opened about -three inches a minute ago.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Miss Manning, a tall, thin, rather nervous-looking -lady of very decided age, steps -inside the gate, and glances from Wyndham -to Mrs. Denis and back again interrogatively.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘This is Miss Moore’s housekeeper, cook, -and general factotum,’ says Wyndham, making -a hasty introduction, and with a warning -glance towards Mrs. Denis, who has dropped -<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>a rather stiff curtsy. ‘Yours too. She -will remove all troubles from your shoulders, -and will take excellent care of you, I don’t -doubt.’ He pauses to give Mrs. Denis—who -is looking glum, to say the least of it—room -for one of her always only too ready speeches, -but nothing comes. ‘Eh?’ says he, in a -sharp metallic voice that brings Mrs. Denis -to her senses with a jump.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, sir,’ says she, and no more—no promises -of obedience.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham hurries Miss Manning past her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The other maid you can manage,’ says he, -in a low tone, ‘and no doubt Mrs. Denis after -awhile. She is a highly respectable woman, -if a little unreasonable, and a little too devoted -to your pupil. About the latter’—hastily—‘you -know everything—her whole -history—that is, so far as I know it—even to -her peculiarities. You quite understand that -she refuses to leave these grounds, and you -know, too, her reasons for refusing—reasons -not to be combated. They seem absurd to -me, as I don’t believe that fellow has the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>slightest claim upon her; but she thinks -otherwise. And—well, they are her reasons’—he -pauses—‘and therefore to be respected.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certainly,’ says Miss Manning, in a low, -very gentle voice, ‘and I shall respect them.’ -Her voice is charming. Wyndham tells himself -that he could hardly have made a better -choice of a companion for this strange girl -who has been so inconveniently flung into -his life. Miss Manning’s face, too, is one to -inspire instant confidence. Her eyes are -earnest and thoughtful; her mouth kind, if -sad. That she has endured much sorrow is -written on every feature; but troubles have -failed to embitter a spirit made up of Nature’s -sweetest graces. And now, indeed, joy is -lighting up her gentle eyes, and happy -expectancy is making warm her heart. A -month ago she had been in almost abject -poverty—scarce knowing where to find the -next day’s bread—when a most merciful God -had sent her Paul Wyndham to lift her from -her Slough of Despond to such a state -of prosperity as she had never dared to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>dream of since as a child she ran gaily in her -father’s meadows.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am sure of that,’ says Wyndham heartily. -‘I am certain I can give her into your hands -in all safety. I know very little of her, but -she seems a good girl, not altogether tractable, -perhaps, but I hope you will be able to -get on with her. If, however, the dulness, -the enforced solitude, becomes too much for -you, you must let me know.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I shall never have to let you know that,’ -says Miss Manning, in a low, tremulous tone. -‘A home in the country, a young companion, -a garden to tend—for long and very sad -years I have dreamt of such things, but -never with a hope of seeing them. And -now, if I have seemed poor in my thanks, -Paul—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She breaks off, turning her head aside.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, yes; I understand,’ says Wyndham -hurriedly, dreading, yet feeling very tenderly -towards her emotion. Once again he congratulates -himself on having thought of this -sweet woman in his difficulty.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>‘And for myself,’ says she, calmly now -again, ‘I should never like to stir from this -lovely garden.’ They are walking by one of -the paths bordered with flowers. ‘I have -been so long accustomed to solitude that, -like my pupil, I shrink from breaking it. To -see no one but her and’—delicately—‘you -occasionally, I hope, is all I ask.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You may perhaps have to see the Barrys -now and then—the Rector’s people. They -live over the way,’ says Wyndham, pointing -towards where the Rectory trees can be seen. -‘I found the last time I was here that Susan, -the eldest girl, had come in, or been brought -in here by Miss Moore, so that there is -already a slight acquaintance; and with girls,’ -says the barrister, somewhat contemptuously, -‘that means an immediate, if not altogether -undying, friendship.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes,’ says Miss Manning. She feels a -faint surprise. ‘It is not so much, then, that -she does not desire to know people, as that -she refuses to stir out of this place?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That is how I take it. I wanted her very -<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>much to move about, to let herself be known. -Honestly’—colouring slightly—‘it is rather -awkward for me to have a tenant so very -mysterious as she seems bent on being. I -urged her to declare herself at once as my -tenant and wait events; but she seemed so -terrified at the idea of leaving these four -walls that I gave up the argument. Perhaps -you may bring her to reason, or perhaps -the Rector and his youngsters may -have the desired effect of putting an end to -this morbidity. By-the-by, I am going over -to the Rectory after I have introduced you -to—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ella’ was on the tip of his tongue, but he -substitutes ‘Miss Moore’ in time.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The very near slip renders him thoughtful -for a moment or two. Why should he have -called her Ella? Had he ever thought of -her as Ella? Most positively never.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He is so absorbed in his introspection that -he fails to see a slight, timid figure coming -down the steps of the Cottage. Miss Manning -touches his arm.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>‘Is this Miss Moore?’ cries she, in an -excited whisper. ‘Oh, what a charming -face!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>And, indeed, Ella is charming as she now -advances—very pale, as if frightened, and -with her dark eyes glancing anxiously from -Wyndham to the stranger and back again. -She has no hat on her head, and a sunbeam -has caught her chestnut hair and turned it to -glistening gold.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I hope you received my letter last night,’ -says Wyndham, calling out to her and -hastening his footsteps. ‘You see’—awkwardly—‘I -have brought—brought you—’ -He stops, waiting for Miss Manning to come -up, and growing hopelessly embarrassed.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Your friend, my dear, I trust,’ says Miss -Manning gently, taking the girl’s hand in -both her own and regarding her with anxious -eyes.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ella flushes crimson. She has so dreaded, -so feared, this moment, and now this gentle, -sad-eyed woman, with her soft voice and -pretty impulsive speech! Tears rise to the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>girl’s eyes. Nervously, yet eagerly, she -leans forward and presses her lips to Miss -Manning’s fair, if withered, cheek.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham, congratulating himself on the -success of his latest enterprise, takes himself -off presently to inspect a farm five miles -farther out in the country, that had been left -to him by his mother, with the Cottage. He -has determined on taking the Rectory on his -way back to meet the evening train—to -enlist further Mr. Barry’s sympathy for his -tenant. He tells himself, with a glow of self-satisfaction, -that he is uncommonly good to -his tenant; but so, of course, he ought to be, -that dying promise to the Professor being -sacred; and if it were not for the affection he -had always felt for that great dead man, he -would beyond doubt never have thought of -her again.... There is much moral support -in this conclusion.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Yes, he will spend half an hour at the -Rectory. He can get back from the farm in -plenty of time for that, and Miss Manning -being an old friend of the Rector’s, the latter -<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>will be even more inclined to take up her -pupil, which will be a good thing for the -poor girl. He repeats the words ‘poor girl,’ -and finds satisfaction in them. They seem -to show how entirely indifferent he is to her -and her fortunes. That mental slip of his -awhile ago had alarmed him slightly. But -‘poor girl,’ to call her that precludes the -idea of anything like—pshaw!</p> - -<p class='c004'>He dismisses the ‘poor girl’ from his mind -forthwith, and succeeds admirably in getting -rid of her, whilst blowing up his other tenants -on the farm. But on his way back again to -Curraghcloyne her memory once more becomes -troublesome.</p> - -<p class='c004'>To-day, so far, things have gone well. -She has seemed satisfied with Miss Manning, -and Miss Manning with her. And as for the -fear of an immediate scandal, that seems -quite at rest. But in time the old worry is -sure to mount to the surface again. For -example, when Mrs. Prior hears of her—he -wishes now, trudging grimly over the uneven -road, that he had not led that astute woman -<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>to believe his tenant was a man—as she inevitably -must, there will be a row on somewhere -that will make the welkin ring; and -after that, good-bye to his chances with Lord -Shangarry, who has very special views about -the right and the wrong.</p> - -<p class='c004'>If only this silly girl could be persuaded to -come out of her shell and mingle with her -kind, all might be got over after a faint -wrestle or two. But no! Angrily he tells -himself that there is no chance of that. Soft -as she looks, and gentle, and lov—h’m—he -kicks a stone out of his way—and pleasant-looking, -and all that, he feels absolutely sure -that nobody will be able to drag her out of -her self-imposed imprisonment.</p> - -<hr class='c012'> - -<p class='c004'>After this diatribe, it is only natural that -he should, on entering the Rectory garden, -feel himself a prey to astonishment on seeing, -amongst a turbulent group upon the edges of -the tennis-court, the ‘poor girl’ laughing with -all her heart.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He stands still, within the shelter of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>laurels, to ask himself if his eyesight has -failed him thus early in life. But his eyesight -still continues excellent, and when he -sees the ‘poor girl’ pick up Tommy and -plant him on her knee, he knows that all -is well with his visual organs.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The fact is that, almost as he left the -Cottage by the front-gate, Susan had run -across the road and hammered loudly at the -little green one. This primitive knocking -had become a signal now with the Barrys -and Ella, and soon the latter had rushed to -open the door. There had been entreaties -from Susan that she would come over now—now, -at once—and have a game of tennis with -them. She did not know tennis. All the -more reason why she should begin to learn; -and Aunt Jemima was quite pining to know -her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, do come!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No—no, I can’t. I have said I would -never leave this place.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, that, of course; but—oh!—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here Susan breaks off abruptly. Who is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>that pretty, tall lady coming down the path? -It is Miss Manning, and Ella very shyly -introduces Susan to her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Miss Manning, tell her to come and play -tennis with us this afternoon,’ says Susan. -‘Not a soul but ourselves, and she’s very -lonely here. Father says she ought to see -people.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think as your father does,’ says Miss -Manning gently.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And will you come too?’ asks Susan. -‘Aunt Jemima’—with born courtesy—‘will -come and see you to-morrow, but in the -meantime—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am afraid I have some unpacking to do,’ -says Miss Manning, smiling, having fallen in -love with Susan’s soft, flushed face and -childish air. ‘But if you can persuade Ella—I -know, my dear’—to Ella, who has -turned a sad face to hers, a face that has -yet the longing for larger life upon it—‘that -you wish never to leave this place. But to -go just across the road.... And there is no -one there, Miss Barry tells you; and it is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>only a step or two, and’—smiling again—‘if -you wish it, I’ll go over in an hour and bring -you back again.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No, don’t do that,’ says Ella. ‘You are -tired.’ She hesitates, then looks out of the -gateway, and up and down the lane. It is -quite empty. ‘Well, I’ll come,’ says she, -giving her hand to Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is evidently a desperate resolve. Even -as she says it, she makes a last drawback, but -Susan clings to her hand, and pulls her -forward, and together the girls run down the -lane to the Rectory gate and into it, Ella all -the time holding Susan tightly, as if for protection.</p> - -<p class='c004'>This was how it happened that Ella first -left the shelter of the Cottage. She was -most kindly received by the Rector, who -spared a moment from his precious books to -welcome her—and even agreeably by Aunt -Jemima. Ella had gone through the ordeal -of these two introductions shyly but quietly. -She had, however, been a little startled at -finding that, added to the Barrys congregated -<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>on the lawn (a goodly number in themselves), -there was a strange gentleman. Crosby -struck her at first sight as being formidable—an -idea that, if the young Barrys had -known it, would have sent them into hysterics -of mirth.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby had strolled down early in the -afternoon, and now Wyndham, standing -gazing amongst the shrubberies, can see him -turn from Susan to say something or other -to Ella.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham, in his voluntary confinement, -feels a sharp pang clutch at his breast. He -stands still, as if unable to go on, watching -the little pantomime.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Tommy is speaking now. The child’s voice -rings clear and low.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’ll tell you a story.’ He has put up a -little fat hand, and is pinching Ella’s cheek. -Ella has caught the little hand, and is kissing -it. How pretty!</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Silence!’ cries Crosby gaily. ‘Tommy is -going to tell Miss Moore a story.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>There seems something significant to Wyndham -<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>in his tone. Why should he demand -silence in that imperative manner, just -because Miss Moore wishes a story to be told -to her? He hesitates no longer. He comes -quickly forward and up to the group.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘To feel every prompting of pleasure,</div> - <div class='line in2'>To know every pulsing of pain;</div> - <div class='line'>To dream of Life’s happiest measure,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And find all her promises vain.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Susan sees him first, and, pushing Bonnie -gently from her, rises to meet him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How do you do?’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That you, Wyndham?’ cries Crosby. -‘You are just in time to hear Tommy’s story. -Miss Moore has promised to lend him her -support during the recital.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>For all Crosby’s lightness of tone, there is -a strange, scrutinizing expression in his clever -eyes as he looks at Wyndham. He knows -that Ella Moore’s presence here must prove a -surprise to him; and how will he take it? -The girl seems well enough, but—And -<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>if Wyndham has been capable of placing so -close to this family of young, young people -someone who—</p> - -<p class='c004'>He is studying Wyndham very acutely. -But all that he can make out of Wyndham’s -face is surprise, and something that might be -termed relief—nothing more. As for the -girl, she is the one that looks confused. She -rises, holding Tommy by her side, and looks -appealingly at Wyndham. She would have -spoken, perhaps, but that the Rector, who -has not yet gone back to his study, takes up -the parable.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We are very glad to have persuaded Miss -Moore to come here to-day,’ says he, in a -tone to be heard by everyone. ‘She has told -me that you came down this morning, bringing -Miss Manning with you. That will be a -source of pleasure to us all, I am quite sure.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He bows his courteous old head as amiably -as though Miss Manning over the road could -hear him. It is a tribute to her perfections. -After this he buttonholes Wyndham, and -draws him apart a bit.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>‘She’s a nice girl, Wyndham—a nice girl, -I really think. A most guileless countenance! -But not educated, you know. Betty and -Susan—mere children as they are—could -almost teach her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The Rector sighs. He always regards his -girls as having stood still since his wife’s -death. Children they were then, children -they are now. He has not seemed to live -himself since her death. Since that, indeed, -all things have stood still for him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes. But she seems intelligent—clever,’ -says Wyndham, a little coldly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I dare say. And now you have secured -Miss Manning for her! That is a wise step,’ -says the Rector thoughtfully. ‘She owes you -much, Wyndham. I was glad when Susan -persuaded her to come over here to-day. -But I doubt if she will consent to go further. -She seems terrified at the thought of being -far from your—her home. Have you not -yet discovered any trace of that scoundrel -Moore? The bond between them might -surely be broken.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>‘There is no bond between them. Of that -I am convinced,’ says Wyndham.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I trust not—I trust not,’ says the Rector. -He makes a little gesture of farewell, and goes -back to his beloved study, his head bent, his -hands clasped behind his back, as usual.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We’re waiting for you, Mr. Wyndham,’ -calls out Betty, arching her slender neck to -look over Dominick’s shoulder. The wind -has caught her fair, fluffy hair, and is ruffling -it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes; come along, Wyndham,’ says Crosby. -‘Tommy’s story is yet to tell.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Better have one from you instead, Mr. -Crosby,’ says Susan hastily. She knows -Tommy. ‘You can tell us all about lions and -niggers and things. You’d like to hear of -lions and niggers, Tommy’—in a wheedling -tone—‘wouldn’t you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham by this time has joined the -group, and, scarcely knowing how, finds -himself sitting on half of a rug, the other -half of which belongs to his tenant.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I want to tell my own story,’ says Tommy -<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>with determination. He is evidently a boy -possessed of much firmness, and one not to -be ‘done’ by anyone if he can help it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But, Tommy,’ persists Susan, who has -dismal reasons for dreading his literary -efforts, ‘I think you had better not tell one -just now. We—that is—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, do let him tell it!’ says Ella -softly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘My dear Susan,’ says Crosby, ‘would you -deprive us of an entertainment so unique—one -we may never enjoy again?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, go on, Tommy,’ says Susan, resigning -herself to the worst.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘There once was a man,’ begins Tommy; -and pauses. Silence reigns around. ‘An’ -he fell into a big bit of water.’ The silence -grows profounder. ‘’Twas as big as this’—making -a movement of his short arms a foot -or so from the ground. At this there are -distinct groans of fear. ‘An’ he was -drownded—a little fish ate him.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, Tommy!’ says Susan, in woeful tones. -She can now pretend to be frightened with a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>free heart. Evidently Tommy’s story this -time is going to be of the mildest order. -‘He didn’t really eat him?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘He did—he did!’ says Tommy, delighted -at Susan’s fright. ‘He ate him all up—every -bit of him!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here Susan lets her face fall into her hands, -and Tommy relents.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But he wasn’t killed,’ says he. He looks -anxiously at Susan’s bowed head. ‘No, he -wasn’t.’ Susan lifts her head, and shakes it -at him reproachfully. ‘Well, he wasn’t, -really,’ says Tommy again. This repetition -is not only meant as a help to Susan to -mitigate her extreme grief, but to give -him pause whilst he makes up another -chapter.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, are you sure?’ asks Susan tragically.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I am. The fish swallowed him, but he -came up again.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Who gave the emetic?’ asks Dominick; -but very properly no one attends to -him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes; well, what’s after that?’ asks Betty.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>‘Well—’ Tommy stares at the earth, -and then, with happy inspiration, adds: -‘The nasty witch got him.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Poor old soul!’ says Carew.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The witch, Tommy? But—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, the witch’—angrily. ‘An’ then the -goat said—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Goat! What goat?’ asks Ella very -naturally, considering all things.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That goat,’ says Tommy, who really is -wonderful. He points his lovely fat thumb -down to where, in the distant field, a goat is -browsing. His wandering eye had caught it -as he vaguely talked, and he had at once -embezzled it and twisted it into his imagination.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes?’ says Susan, seeing the child pause, -and trying to help him. ‘The goat?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The goat an’ the witch—’ Long pause -here, and plain incapacity to proceed. Tommy -has evidently come face to face with a -<i><span lang="fr">cul de sac</span></i>.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Hole in the ballad,’ says Dominick to -Betty in a low tone.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>‘Go on, Tommy,’ says Susan encouragingly. -Really, Tommy’s story is so presentable this -time that she quite likes to give him a lift, as -it were.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, the witch fell down,’ says Tommy, -goaded to endeavour, ‘an’ the goat sat on -her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not on her,’ says Susan, with dainty -protest. ‘You know you frightened me once, -Tommy, but now—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, they did, Susan—they did.’ In his -excitement he has duplicated the enemy. -‘They all sat down on her—every one of -them, twenty of them.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But, Tommy, you said there was only one -goat.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>This is rash of Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t care,’ cries Tommy, who is of a -liberal disposition. ‘There was twenty of -them. An’ they all sat down on her, first on -her stomach, an’’—solemnly turning himself -and clasping both his fat hands over the seat -of his small breeches—‘an’ then on her here.’ -He lifts his hands and smacks them down -<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>again. He indeed most graphically illustrates -his ‘here.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>There is an awful silence. Susan, stricken -dumb, sits silent. She knew how it would -be if she let that wretched child speak.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Shamed and horrified, she draws back, -almost praying that the earth may open -and swallow her up quick. She casts a -despairing glance at Crosby, to see how he -has taken this horrible fiasco, before following -Dathan and Abiram; but what she sees in -his face stops her prayers, and, in fact, -reverses them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby is shaking with laughter, and now, -as she looks, catches Tommy in his arms and -hugs him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Another moment and Betty breaks into a -wild burst of laughter, after which everyone -else follows suit.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’m going to publish your story, Tommy, -at any price,’ says Mr. Crosby, putting -Tommy back from him upon his knee, and -gazing with interest at that tiny astonished -child. ‘There will be trouble with the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>publishers. But I’ll get it done at all risks -to life and limb. I don’t suppose I shall be -spoken to afterwards by any respectable -person, but that is of little moment when a -literary gem is in question.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Tommy, not understanding, but scenting -fun, laughs gaily.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t think you ought to encourage -him like that,’ says Susan, whose pretty -mouth, however, is sweet with smiles.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘One should always encourage a genius,’ -says Crosby, undismayed.</p> - -<p class='c004'>There is a little stir here. Tommy has -wriggled out of Crosby’s lap and has gone -back to Ella, who receives him with—literally—open -arms.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Wyndham is watching her curiously. Her -manner all through Tommy’s absorbingly -interesting tale has been a revelation to him. -He has found out for one thing that he has -never heard her laugh before—at all events, -not like that. No, he has never heard her -really laugh before, and, indeed, perhaps poor -Ella, in all her sad young life, has never -<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>laughed like that until now. It has been to -the shrewd young barrister as though he has -looked upon her for the first time to-day after -quite two months of acquaintance—he who -prides himself, and has often been complimented, -on his knowledge of character, his -grasp of a client’s real mind from his first -half-hour with him or her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Her mirth has astonished him. She, the -pale, frightened girl, to laugh like that! -There has been no loudness in her mirth, -either; it has been soft and refined, if very -gay and happy. She has laughed as a girl -might who has been born to happiness in -every way—to silken robes and delicate surroundings, -and all the paraphernalia that go -to make up the life of those born into families -that can count their many grandfathers.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Once or twice he has told himself half impatiently—angry -with the charge laid upon -his unwitting shoulders—that the girl is -good-looking. Now he tells himself something -more: that she is lovely, with that -smile upon her face, as she sits—all unconscious -<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>of his criticism—with Tommy in her -arms, and</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c013'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'>‘Eyes</div> - <div class='line'>Upglancing brightly mischievous, a spring</div> - <div class='line'>Of brimming laughter welling on the brink</div> - <div class='line'>Of lips like flowers, small caressing hands</div> - <div class='line'>Tight locked,’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c014'>around the lucky Tommy’s waist.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But now she puts Tommy (who has -evidently fallen a slave to her charms, and -repudiates loudly her right to give him -away like this) down on his sturdy feet, -and comes a little forward to where Susan -is standing.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’m afraid I must go now,’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, not yet,’ says Susan; ‘there is plenty -of time. It isn’t as if you had to drive five -miles to get to your home.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Still—I think—’ She looks so anxious -that Susan, who is always charming, understands -her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘If you must go,’ whispers she sweetly—‘if -you would rather—well, then, do go. -But to-morrow, and every other day, you -must come back to us. Carew—’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>‘I’m here,’ says Carew, coming up, and -blushing as well as the best of girls as he -takes Ella’s hand. ‘I’ll see you home,’ -says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t think it will be necessary,’ says -Wyndham shortly. Then he stops, confounded -at his own imprudence, considering -all the circumstances. Yet the words have -fallen from him without volition of his own. -‘The fact is,’ says he quickly, ‘I too am -going now, and will be able to see Miss -Moore safely within her gate.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Carew frowns, and Susan comes to the -rescue.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘We’ll all go,’ cries she gaily.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The very thing,’ says Crosby. ‘That -will give me a little more of your society, as -I also must drag myself away.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The ‘your’ is so very general that nobody -takes any notice of it, and they all go up the -small avenue together.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You were surprised to see me here?’ says -Ella in a nervous whisper to Wyndham, who -has doggedly taken possession of her, in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>spite of the knowledge that such a proceeding -will in the end tell against him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I confess I was’—stiffly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You are displeased?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘On the contrary, you know I always -advised you to show yourself—to defy -your enemies. You can defy them, you -know.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes; but—I mean that, after all I said to -you about my dislike, my fear, of leaving the -Cottage, you must think it queer of me to be -here to-day.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I do not, indeed. I think it only natural -that you should break through such a melancholy -determination. Besides, no doubt’—with -increasing coldness—‘you had an inducement.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, yes; I had,’ says she quickly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Ah!’ A pause. ‘Someone you have -seen lately?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Quite lately.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Second pause, and prolonged.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I suppose you will soon see a way out of -all your difficulties?’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>No doubt she had fallen in love with -Crosby, and he with her, and—</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No; I don’t think there is any chance of -that,’ says she mournfully. ‘But when Su—Miss -Barry asked me to come here, I couldn’t -resist it. You can see for yourself what an -inducement she is.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan! is it only Susan? He pulls himself -up sharply. Well, and if so, where is -the matter for rejoicing? Of course, being -left in a sense her guardian by the Professor, -he is bound to feel an interest in her; but a -vague interest such as that should not be -accompanied by this quick relief, this sudden -sensation of—of what?</p> - -<p class='c004'>Dominick, just behind him, is singing at -the top of his lungs—sound ones:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c013'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘As I walked out wid Dinah,</div> - <div class='line in2'>De other afternoon,</div> - <div class='line'>De day could not be finer,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Ho! de ring-tailed coon!’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c004'>He is evidently pointing this nigger melody -at Betty, who has been rash enough to go -walking out with him. She has gone even -<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>farther. She has condescended to sing a -second to his exceedingly loud first, a stroke -of genius on her part, as it has taken the -wind out of his sails so far as his belief in -his powers of teasing her (on this occasion, -at all events) are concerned.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Mr. Wyndham takes the opportunity of -the second verse coming to a thrilling conclusion -to break off his conversation with -Ella. And now, indeed, they are all at the -little green gate, and are saying their adieus -to her. And presently they have all gone -away again, and Ella, standing inside, feels -as if life and joy and all things have been -shut off from her with the locking of that -small green gate.</p> - -<hr class='c012'> - -<p class='c004'>‘Isn’t she pretty?’ cries Susan enthusiastically, -when they have bidden good-bye -to Crosby and Wyndham too, and are back -again on their own small lawn.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘She’s a regular bud,’ says Dom, striking -a tragic attitude. He doesn’t mean anything -<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>really, but Carew, with darkling brow, goes -up to him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I think you ought to speak more respectfully -of her,’ says he. ‘It isn’t because she -is alone in the world that one should throw -stones at her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Betty, I appeal to you,’ says Dominick. -‘Did I throw a stone? Come, speak up. I -take this as a distinct insult. The man who -would throw a stone at a woman—He’s -gone!’ says Mr. Fitzgerald, staring at Carew’s -disappearing form. ‘Well, I do call that -mean. And I had arranged a peroration -that would have astonished the natives. -Anyway, Susan’—turning—‘what did I say -to offend him? Called her a bud. Isn’t a -bud a nice thing? I declare he’s as touchy -about her as though she were his best -girl.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What’s a best girl?’ asks Betty.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The one you like best.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, perhaps she’s his’—growing interested. -‘Susan, I do believe he is in love -with her.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>‘Do you?’ says Susan thoughtfully. And -then: ‘Oh no! Boys never fall in love.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Dom thinks they do,’ says Betty, turning -a saucy glance on Fitzgerald. She flings a -rose at him. ‘Who’s your best girl?’ asks she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Need you ask?’ returns that youth with -his most sentimental air.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t think I quite approve of her,’ -says Miss Barry, joining in the conversation -at this moment, and shaking her curls severely; -‘I thought her a little free this -afternoon.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, auntie!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certainly, Susan! Most distinctly free.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I thought her one of the gentlest and -quietest girls I ever met,’ says Carew, who -has strolled back to them after his short -ebullition of temper—unable, indeed, to -keep away.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What do you know of girls?’ says Miss -Barry scornfully.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’m sure she’s gentle,’ says Dominick, -who is so devoted to Carew that he would -risk a great deal—even his friendship—to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>keep him out of trouble, ‘and very, very -good; because she is beyond all doubt most -femininely dull.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Pig!’ says Betty, in a whisper. She -makes a little movement towards him, and -a second later gets a pinch and a wild yell -out of him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What I say I maintain,’ says Miss Barry -magisterially. ‘She may be a nice girl, a -gentle girl, the grandest girl that was ever -known—I’m the last in the world to depreciate -anyone—but who is she? That’s -what I want to know. And no one knows -who she is. Perhaps of the lower classes, -for all we know. And, indeed, I noticed a -few queer turns of speech. And when I -said she was free, Susan, I meant it. I -heard her distinctly call that child’—pointing -to him—‘“Tommy.” Now, if she is, as -I firmly believe—your father is a person of -no discrimination, you know—a person of a -lower grade than ourselves, didn’t it show -great freedom to do that? Yes, she distinctly -said “Tommy.”’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>‘Well, she didn’t say “Hell and Tommy,” -any way,’ says Dominick, who sometimes runs -over to London to see the theatres.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘If she had,’ says Miss Barry with dignity—she -has never seen the outside of a theatre—‘I -should have had no hesitation whatsoever -in sending for the sergeant and giving her in -charge.’</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'>‘She is outwardly</div> - <div class='line'>All that bewitches sense, all that entices,</div> - <div class='line'>Nor is it in our virtue to uncharm it.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>It is a week later, and the village is now -stirred to its depth. Such gaieties! Such -gaddings to and fro! Such wonderful tales -of what Lady Forster wore and Sir William -said, and how Miss Prior looked. Gossip is -flowing freely, delightfully, and Miss Ricketty, -whose shop is a general meeting-place, is -doing a roaring business in buns and biscuits.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The Park, in fact, is full of guests.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Every corner,’ says Miss Blake to Mrs. -Hennessy, in a mysterious whisper, ‘is full -to overflowing. I hear that some of the -servants have to be accommodated outside -<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>the house, and that Mr. Crosby has painted -and papered and done up the loft over the -stables in the latest Parisian style for the -maids and valets.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘My dear!’ says Mrs. Hennessy, in an -awful tone—very justly shocked; then, ‘You -forget yourself, Maria!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Faith I did,’ says Miss Blake, bursting -into an irrepressible giggle. ‘Law, how -funny y’are! But they’re safely divided, -I’m told, one at one side o’ the yard, the -other at this, as it were. Like the High -churches we hear of in England. The goats -and the sheep—ha, ha!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But where are the maids?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Over the stables at the western side, some -of them.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You don’t say so!’ says Mrs. Hennessy. -‘Bless me, but they wouldn’t like—you -know, the—er—the atmosphere!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, there’s ways of doing away with that -too,’ says Miss Blake, with a knowing air. -‘But you’ll come in for a cup of tea, won’t -you? Jane’s dyin’ to have a chat with you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>Miss Blake is hardly to be trusted in -matters such as these, her imagination being -extraordinarily strong. And, indeed, the -idea of those stables rose alone from her -great mind. But although there are still -corners in the splendid old Hall to let, it -must be confessed that it is pretty full at -present.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Guests at the Park! Such a thing had -not been heard of for many years. Not for -the last eight years, at all events.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Crosby, who was about twenty-five, -came home from Thibet, and his sister -Katherine, who was quite a girl—being six -years his junior—had been brought over -from England by her aunt to freshen up her -old love for him, and to stay with him for -his birthday. Not longer. The birthday -came off within the week of their arriving. -Lady Melland was a woman of Society, who -hated earwigs, and early birds, and baa-lambs, -and insisted on bringing quite a big -company ‘on tour’ with her on this re-introduction -of the brother to the sister, and had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>organized a distinct rout at the Hall during -her memorable stay. It had created a fearful, -if pleasurable, impression at the time, -and people are beginning now to wonder in -this little village if Lady Forster will be a -worthy representative of her aunt. Or if -perchance the aunt will again take up the -deal; for Lady Melland has, they say, come -here with her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>However, for once ‘they say’ is wrong. -Katherine Crosby had married Sir William -Forster two years after the termination of -that remarkable visit, and nothing had been -seen of her since that, until now. She had, -however, in between shaken off Lady Melland.</p> - -<p class='c004'>She has brought an innumerable company -in her train, thus justifying the idea of -Curraghcloyne that she would probably -follow in her aunt’s footsteps, and, as I -have said, the village has waked to find itself -no longer deserted, but the centre of a -very brilliant crowd.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Yesterday was the first of August, Saturday, -and a most unendurable one on the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>small platform of the railway-station. Possibly -during its brief existence so many basket-trunks -have never been laid upon its modest -flags before. To-day is Sunday, and possibly -also the parish church has never had so large -a congregation within its whitewashed walls. -Even the Methodists, quite a large portion of -the Curraghcloyne people, have deserted their -chapel for the orthodox church. Even Miss -Ricketty has been heard to say with distinct -regret that she ‘wished she was a Protestant -for once.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>The Hall pews, which number four, and -for which Mr. Crosby, during all his wanderings, -has paid carefully, are all filled, and -the three seats behind them again, that have -vacant sittings in them, are all filled also -with the servants of the people in the four -front seats. Never was there such a display -in the small church of Curraghcloyne! And -it was acknowledged afterwards by everyone -in the town that though the Rector did not -‘stir a hair,’ the curate was decidedly ‘onaisy.’ -The curate was unnerved beyond a doubt. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>He grew fatter and stouter as the service -went on, and he does not know to this day -how he got through his sermon. He says -now, that people oughtn’t to spring people -on one without a word of preparation.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan tried to keep her eyes off the -Hall pews, but in spite of herself her eyes -wandered. Betty did not try to keep her -eyes off at all, so they wandered freely. She -was able, half an hour later, to tell Susan not -only the number of guests Mr. Crosby had, -but the exact colour of each gown the women -wore, and she told Susan privately that she -thought, if ever she were a rich woman, she -would never let her servants wear red ribbons -in their bonnets in church.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Mr. Haldane rushes through his sermon at -the rate of an American liner, and presently -the service is over, and all move, with the -cultivated leisurely steps that are meant to -hide the desire to run, towards the open door.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Some of the other Rectory people have -gone through the side-door, and, with -Bonnie’s hand fast clasped in hers, Susan is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>following after them, when a well-known -voice calls to her:</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan, my sister wants very much to -know you. Will you let me introduce you -to her?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan turns her face, now delicately pink, -and she sees a small, dainty, pretty creature -holding out her hand to her with the prettiest -smile in the world.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Is this Mr. Crosby’s sister?</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How d’ye do?’ says Lady Forster, in a -very clear if low voice. ‘George was chanting -your praises all last night, so naturally -I have been longing to see you. George’s -friends, as a rule, are frauds; but—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She pauses, evidently amused at the girl’s -open surprise, not so much at her words as -at her appearance.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’m not a bit like George, am I?’ says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>No, she is not. Crosby is a big man, if -anything, and she is the tiniest creature. -Her features are tiny too, but exquisitely -moulded. The coquettish mouth, the nose -‘tip-tilted like a flower,’ the well-poised -<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>dainty head, the hands, the feet—all are -small, and her figure slender as a fairy’s. -She is wonderfully pretty in a brilliant -fashion, and her bright eyes are alight with -intelligence. She is altogether the last -person in the world Susan would have imagined -as Crosby’s sister. And yet there is -certainly a likeness between them—a strange -likeness—but, of course, his sister should -have been large and massive, not a little -thing like this. Susan has always told herself -that she should be dreadfully afraid of -his sister—but to be afraid of this sister!</p> - -<p class='c004'>Lady Forster, indeed, is one of those -women who look as if they ought to be -called ‘Baby’ or ‘Birdie,’ but in reality she -was named Katherine at her birth, with a -big and a stern K, not a C—which we all -know is much milder—and never did Susan -hear her called anything less majestic by -anyone. Not even by her brother or her -husband. And this was probably because, -beneath her charming butterfly air, there lay -a good deal of character and a strength of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>will hardly to be suspected in so slight a -creature.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No,’ says Susan shyly. She smiles, and -involuntarily tightens her fingers on those -she is holding—Lady Forster’s fingers. -‘But—’ A still greater shyness overcomes -her here, and she grows quite silent. -The ‘but,’ however, is eloquent.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You see, George! She thinks I am infinitely -superior to you. How lovely of her!’ -She laughs at Susan and pats her hand. -‘You will come up and lunch with us to-morrow, -won’t you? It is George’s birthday. -And considering the slap you have given him -just now, you can hardly refuse. It will be -a little sop to his pride, and that’s frightful! -He thinks himself a perfect joy! I’m told -that in Darkest Africa the belles—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here Crosby gives her a surreptitious -but vigorous nudge, and she breaks off her -highly-spiced and distinctly interesting, if -slightly unveracious, account of his doings in -Uganda.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What’s the matter with you?’ asks she, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>whispering, of her brother, who whispers -back to her many admonitory things. She -turns again to Susan: ‘We shall expect you -to-morrow, then. It will be a charity to -enliven us, as we hardly know what to do -with ourselves, being strangers in a strange -land.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Thank you,’ says Susan faintly. How -on earth can she ever summon up courage -enough to go and lunch up there with all -these fashionable people? It is she who will -be the stranger in a strange land.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That is settled then,’ says Crosby quickly. -Had he feared she would go on to say something -more—to say that she had an engagement? -‘I will call for you at twelve.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no,’ says Susan. ‘I’—confusedly—‘I -can walk up. It—it is too much trouble.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘George doesn’t think so,’ says Lady -Forster, with a faint grimace. ‘Is this -your brother?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>She bends in her quick way, and turns up -Bonnie’s beautiful little face and looks at it -earnestly.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>‘What a face!’ cries she. ‘Is everyone -beautiful down here? I shall come and live -here, George—no use in your putting me off! -I’m determined. It is a promise, then’—to -Susan, smiling vivaciously—‘that you will -come to-morrow, and another day. We must -arrange another day—you will bring me up -this small Adonis,’ patting Bonnie’s cheek as -he smiles at her (children love all things -pretty) ‘to see me?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I shall be very glad,’ says Susan tremulously. -Then Lady Forster trips away to -rejoin her friends, who are standing beside -the different carriages, and quarrelling gaily -as to who shall go home with whom, and for -a second Crosby is alone with Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You said it was a promise.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes,’ says Susan, ‘but—I have not known -any very—very—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Smart folk,’ says Crosby, laughing. -‘Well, you’ll know them to-morrow, and I -expect you’ll be surprised how very little -smart they are.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But—’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>‘There shan’t be a “but” in the world.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is only this’—miserably—‘that I shall -be shy, and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not a bit of it. And even if you are’—he -looks at her—‘you may depend on me. -I’ll pull you through. But don’t be too -shy, Susan. Extremes are attractive things—fatally -attractive sometimes.’ He pauses. -‘Well, so much for the shyness, but what -did your “and” mean?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It meant,’ says Susan, with deep depression, -‘that they will all hate me.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I almost wish I could believe that.’ He -laughs again as he says this, and gives -Bonnie’s ear a pinch, and follows his sister. -Two minutes later, as Susan rejoins her own -people at the little gate that leads by a -short-cut to the Rectory, she sees him again, -talking gaily, and handing into one of the -carriages a tall and very handsome girl, -dressed as Susan had never seen anyone -dressed in all her life. It seems the very -perfection of dressing. She lingers a moment—a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>bare moment—but it is long enough to -see that he has seated himself beside the -handsome girl, and that he is still laughing—but -this time with her—over some reminiscence, -as the carriage drives away.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Anxiety is the poison of human life.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>‘I suppose I’ll have to go,’ says Susan, who -is evidently terrified at the idea, crumpling -up a small note between her fingers—a most -courteous little note sent by Lady Forster -this morning, Monday, the third of August, -to ask Miss Barry’s permission for Susan to -lunch at the Park. She—Lady Forster—had -met her charming niece yesterday, and -had induced her to promise to come to them -on this, her brother’s birthday. And she -hoped Miss Barry had not quite forgotten -her, but would remember that she was quite -an old friend, and let her come and see her -soon.</p> - -<p class='c004'>It is a pretty little note, and delights Miss -<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>Barry; yet Susan finds no pleasure in it, and -now sits glum and miserable.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Go!’ cries Betty. ‘I should think so. -Oh, you lucky girl!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Would you like to go, Betty, if it were -your case?’—this wistfully. Oh that it were -Betty’s case!</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Is there anything on earth that would -keep me away?’ cries Betty enthusiastically. -‘What fun you will have there! I know by -Lady Forster’s eyes that you are safe to -have a good time. I think’—gloomily—‘she -might have asked me too.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I wish she had,’ says Susan fervently. -‘If—I had one of you with me, I should not -feel half so nervous.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What makes you nervous?’ asks Carew.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, they are all strangers, for one thing—and -besides’—rather shamefacedly—‘they -will be very big people, of course, and at -luncheon there will be entrées, and dishes, -and things I have never even heard of, and’—almost -tearfully now—‘I shan’t know what -to do.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>‘There are only two things to be remembered -really,’ says Mr. Fitzgerald slowly -but forcibly. ‘One is not to pick your teeth -with your fork, and the other is even more -important: for goodness’ sake, Susan, whatever -you do, don’t eat your peas with your -knife. All that sort of thing has gone out—has -been unfashionable for quite a year or -more.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, it’s all very well for you to make fun -of it,’ says Susan resentfully. ‘You haven’t -to go there.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And is that what you call “well for me”? -I wish I was going there, if only to look after -your manners, which evidently, by your own -account of them, leave a great deal to be -desired. By-the-by, there is one thing more -I should like to impress upon you before you -start: never, Susan—no matter how sorely -tempted—put your feet on the table-cloth. -It is quite a solecism nowadays, and—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘If you won’t go away, I shall,’ says -Susan, rising with extreme dignity. But -he leans forward, and catching the tail of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>her gown just as she is gaining her feet, -brings her with a jerk to her sitting position -again. After which they all laugh irrepressibly, -and the <i><span lang="fr">émeute</span></i> is at an end.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What a lot of servants they had in -church!’ says Betty, alluding to the all-absorbing -guests at the Park. ‘I suppose -that tall woman was Lady Forster’s maid?’ -‘Yes, and the little woman was Mrs. -Prior’s. By the way, that squares matters. -Mrs. Prior has grown several yards since last -year.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It seemed to me that each maid sat -behind her own mistress.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘So as to keep her eye on her. And very -necessary too, no doubt.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Did you see that pale young man, ever so -thin and wretched-looking, but so conceited? -His hair was nearly down to his waist, and -he hadn’t any chin to speak of.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, that!’ cries Betty eagerly. ‘That’s -the poet. Yes, he is, Susan. He’s a real -poet. Miss Ricketty told me about him -yesterday. He has written sonnets and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>whole volumes of things, and is quite a -poet. Miss Ricketty says that’s why his -hair grows like that.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Samson must have been the laureate of -his time,’ says Dominick thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘So that was the poet,’ says Susan, who -had heard of his coming from Crosby. -‘Well, he certainly looked queer enough for -anything. I wonder’—nervously—‘who was -the tall girl sitting next to Mr. Crosby?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>This was the tall girl with whom Crosby -had driven away.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t know,’ says Betty. ‘Wasn’t she -pretty? And wasn’t she beautifully dressed? -Oh, Susan, didn’t you want to see yourself -in a gown like that?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No,’ says Susan shortly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, I did. I wanted to know how I’d -look.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘As if you didn’t know,’ says Dominick -encouragingly. ‘Like Venus herself!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I never heard she had her frocks from -Paris,’ says Betty, hunching up an unkind -little shoulder against him.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>‘You’ve heard so little, you see,’ says Dom, -with gentle protest. ‘Now, as a fact, Venus -had her frocks made by—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well?’ with a threatening air.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Miss Fogerty,’ naming Betty’s own dressmaker.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Pshaw!’ says that slim damsel contemptuously. -‘However, Susan, that girl was -pretty, any way. I wonder who she was? -Had she a maid, I wonder? There was a -dark-looking woman amongst the servants -farther on, just behind the poet. Perhaps -it was hers.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no,’ says Dom gravely, ‘that was his.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘His?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The poet’s. Yes.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Nonsense!’ says Betty. ‘What would -he want a maid for?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘To comb his locks and copy his sonnets,’ -says Dom, without blinking.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Nonsense! Men don’t have maids,’ says -Betty, who seems to know all about it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, here is someone from the Park,’ cries -Jacky suddenly.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>‘Is it Mr. Crosby or Lady Forster?’ asks -Susan anxiously.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Both of ’em,’ says Jacky, in his own -sweet laconic style.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The smart little cart, with its wonderful -pair of ponies, rattled up to the door, and -Miss Barry, who had known that someone -would come to fetch Susan, and had therefore -put on her best bib and tucker, emerged from -the flower-crowned porch of the Rectory to -receive Lady Forster, her old face wreathed -in smiles. It was sweet to her to see Susan -accepted and admired by the Park people. -‘Our own sort of people’ proudly thought -the poor old maid, who had struggled with -much poverty all her life.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And Lady Forster was quite charming to -her, insisting on going to see the old garden -again, ‘which she quite remembered.’ Lady -Forster had never stuck at a tarradiddle or -two, and was, after seeing it, genuinely -enthusiastic over its old-fashioned charms. -Might she bring her friends to see it? They -had never, never seen anything so lovely! -<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>It would be a charity to show them something -human, these benighted town-people. -To hear her, one would imagine she despised -the town herself, whereas, as a fact, she could -never live for six months out of it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Miss Barry was elated—so elated, indeed, -that she took a dreadful step. She invited -Lady Forster and all her friends to tea -the next Friday, without a thought as to -the consequences—until afterwards! Lady -Forster accepted the invitation with effusion. -There was no getting out of it, Miss Barry -felt during that dreadful ‘afterwards.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Meantime Susan had found herself, comparatively -speaking, alone with Crosby, when -she came downstairs after putting on her best -gown and hat. She had brought something -with her besides the best gown and hat; a -little silken bag, made out of a bit of lovely -old brocade she had begged from Miss Barry -a month ago. She had cut it out, and -stitched it, and filled it with lavender-seeds, -and worked on it at odd moments when no -one but Betty could see her (she was afraid -<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>of the boys’ jokes) the words: ‘Mr. Crosby, -from Susan.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>At first she had thought of buying something -for him—something at Miss Ricketty’s, -who really had, at times, quite wonderful -things down from Dublin, but her soul revolted -from that. What could she buy him -that he would care for? And besides, to -buy a thing for a person one liked, and one -who had been so good to Bonnie! No; she -could not. It seemed cold, unkind. So she -decided on the little bag that was to lie in -his drawer and perfume his handkerchiefs, -and tell him sometimes of her—yes, her -love for him! Because she did love him, if -only for his goodness to the children, and to -her Bonnie first of all.</p> - -<p class='c004'>She had been afraid to run the gauntlet of -the boys’ criticisms, but Betty she clung to. -A confidante one must have sometimes, or -die.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You know he told me, Betty, when his -birthday would be.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes. So clever of him!’ said Betty, who, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>if she were at the point of death, could not -have refrained from a joke.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, he has been good to the chicks, -hasn’t he? To darling Bonnie especially.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, he has—he has indeed,’ Betty declared -remorsefully, melting at the thought -of the little crippled brother who is so inexpressibly -dear to them all.</p> - -<hr class='c012'> - -<p class='c004'>Betty had hurried up with Susan to get -her into her best things, and then had given -her sound advice.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Give it to him now, Susan. Lady -Forster’—glancing out of the window—‘is -talking to Aunt Jemima. Hurry down and -give it to him at once. It is the sweetest -bag. No one’—giggling—‘can say less -than that for it. It’s quite crammed with -lavender.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, I will,’ says Susan valiantly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>She doesn’t, however. She hesitates, and -is, as usual, lost. She tries and tries to take -that little bag out of her pocket and give -it to him, but her courage fails her. And -<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>presently Lady Forster carries her off, and -now the Park is reached, and she finds herself -in the lovely, sunny drawing-room, and -after a while in the dining-room, and still -that little fragrant bag lies perdu.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan glances shyly round her. Sir -William Forster, a tall young man with a -kindly eye, takes her fancy at once, and -there is a big girl over there and a big -woman here (they must be mother and -daughter), who make her wonder a great -deal about their strange garments. Mrs. -Prior is here, too, and Miss Prior—Mr. -Wyndham’s people. And at the opposite -side of the table Mr. Wyndham himself. -Beside him sits the poet, a lachrymose young -man with long hair and a crooked eye, and -the name of Jones. No wonder he looks -depressed!</p> - -<p class='c004'>He has got his best eye fixed immovably -on Susan, who seems to appeal even to his -high ideal of beauty—and, indeed, throughout -the day she suffers a good deal, off -and on, from his unspoken, but quite open, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>adoration of her. Poets never admire: they -adore. And for a simple country maiden -this style is somewhat embarrassing. On -Mr. Crosby’s right hand is sitting the tall -and beautiful girl, with the pale roses near -her throat, with whom he had driven home -from church on Sunday. It seems all quite -clear to Susan. Yes, this is the girl he is -going to marry. But a girl so beautiful as -that could make anyone happy. She had -heard someone call her Lady Muriel. Rank -and beauty and sweetness—all are for him. -And surely he deserves them all; and that -is why she is at his right hand.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span> - <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Thou didst delight mine ear,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Ah! little praise; thy voice</div> - <div class='line in2'>Makes other hearts rejoice,</div> - <div class='line'>Makes all ears glad that hear,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And shout my joy. But yet,</div> - <div class='line in2'>O song, do not forget.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Susan is seated beside a very fashionably-dressed -girl with an extremely good-humoured -face, and Captain Lennox—a man of about -thirty or thereabouts—who seems to find -pleasure in an every two minutes’ contemplation -of her young and charming face. In -this, the good-humoured looking girl—Miss -Forbes—is not a whit behind Captain Lennox, -she too seeming to be delighted with Susan. -And, indeed, everyone seems to have fallen -in love with pretty Susan, for presently the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>stately young beauty sitting next to Crosby, -who has come in a little late for luncheon, -whispers something to him, and then looks -smilingly at Susan. Crosby, in answer to -her words, says quietly:</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan—Lady Muriel Kennedy is very -anxious to know you. Miss Barry, Lady -Muriel.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I went past your charming old home -yesterday,’ says Lady Muriel, in tones barely -above a whisper, but which seem to carry a -long distance. ‘I quite wanted to go in, but -I was afraid.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Well, you’ll be able to satiate your curiosity -on Friday,’ says Lady Forster, ‘as we -have been asked to tea on that day at the -Rectory.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How delightful!’ says Lady Muriel.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Your house is quite close to the Cottage, -is it not, Miss Barry?’ asks Mrs. Prior. -‘My nephew’s place, you know’—nodding at -Wyndham, who changes colour perceptibly. -Good heavens! what is going to happen -next?</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>‘Yes,’ says Susan; ‘only the road divides -us.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Then you can tell us about Mr. Wyndham’s -new tenant. You’—smiling archly—‘are -quite an old friend of my nephew’s, eh?’ -It is quite safe to make a jest of the friendship -with this insignificant little country girl, -as, of course, Paul, or any other man of consequence, -would not waste a thought over her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Almost, indeed,’ says Susan. ‘But as to -the tenant—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby drops a spoon, and Susan, a little -startled, turns her head. It is not on him, -however, her eyes rest, but on Wyndham, -who is looking at her with a strange expression. -Is it imploring, despairing, or -what? It checks her, at all events.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I know very little,’ she murmurs faintly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Been flirting with him,’ thinks Mrs. Prior -promptly. ‘All country girls are so vulgar. -Any new man.... And I dare say this tenant -of Paul’s is by no means a nice man either.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>There might have been a slight awkwardness -here, but providentially Lady Forster, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>who is never silent for two minutes together, -breaks into the gap.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What’s this, George?’ asks she, peering -into a dish before her. ‘Are you prepared -to guarantee it? It’s your cook, you know, -not mine. Looks dangerous, and therefore -tempting; and any way, one can only die -once. Oh! is that you?’—to a late man -who has strolled in. ‘Been losing yourself -as usual? Come over here and sit beside -me, you innocent lamb’—patting the empty -chair near her—‘and I’ll look after you. I’ll -give you one of these’—pointing to the dish—‘I -hate to die alone. What on earth are -they?’—glancing at the little brown curled-up -things that seem filled with burnt crumbs. -‘Will they go off, George? Bombs, eh?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here the butler murmurs something to her -in a discreet tone.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, mushrooms! Good gracious, then -why don’t they try to look like them!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Have you any brothers?’ asks Miss -Forbes, turning to Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Don’t answer,’ says Captain Lennox. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>‘She’s always asking after one’s brothers. Tell -me, instead, how many sisters you have. Much -more interesting. I love people’s sisters.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I’m George’s sister,’ says Lady Forster, -glancing at him thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘And my wife!’ says Sir William, with -such an over-assumption of marital authority -that they all laugh, and his wife throws a -pellet of bread at him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Susan grows thoughtful, filled with a -slight amazement. She had been nervous, -almost distressed, at the idea of having to -lunch at the Park. Its habitués, she told -herself, would be very grand folk, and clever, -and learned, and would talk very far above -her little countrified head. And now how is -it? Why, after all, they are more like Dom -in his queerest moods than anything else.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What shall we do after luncheon?’ says -Lady Forster. ‘I am willing to chaperon -anybody.’ She glances at Lady Muriel, and -Susan intercepts the glance.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Is it Lady Muriel and Mr. Crosby she is -thinking of chaperoning?</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>‘Oh, I like your idea of supervision,’ says -the Guardsman who has come in late, and -who is called Lord Jack by everybody, only -because, as Susan discovers afterwards, his -name is Jack Lord. This, naturally, is inevitable. -‘You once undertook to chaperon -me, and let me in for about the most <i><span lang="fr">risqué</span></i> -situation of my life. I came out of it barely -alive, and very nearly maimed.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes—I don’t think Katherine would make -a very excellent chaperon,’ says Mrs. Prior, -who likes Crosby, but cordially detests his -sister.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What a slander!’ cries Lady Forster; -‘easy to see you don’t understand me! I’m -a splendid chaperon—a born one. Always -half a mile ahead—or else in the rear. One -should always be ahead if possible, as it gives -the poor creatures a chance of getting up to -you in an honourable way, if the enemy -should come in sight. Whereas the turning -and running back business always looks so -bad. No, better be in front of them. I’m -going to write a little treatise on the art -<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>of chaperoning for all right-minded married -women—and I hope you will accept a copy, -dear Mrs. Prior.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I don’t expect I shall get one,’ says Mrs. -Prior, with a distinct sneer.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh, you shall indeed, “honest Injun,”’ -says Lady Forster. ‘You’ll be delighted -with it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I feel sure of that,’ says Captain Lennox -in an aside to Miss Forbes.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘But really what shall we do this afternoon, -George?’ asks his sister; ‘ride—drive?’ -She has left her seat, and has perched herself -on the arm of the handsome old chair in -which her husband is sitting at the foot of -the table.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What about the Abbey, Bill?’ asks -Crosby, addressing his brother-in-law.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No use in asking “Billee Barlow” anything,’ -says that young man’s wife. ‘He -hasn’t an idea on earth. Have you, Billee? -And the Abbey is miles off, and— Do -you ride, Susan? I am going to call you -Susan, if I may.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>She pauses just long enough to give Susan -time to smile a pleased, if shy, assent.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan is so pretty,’ says Captain Lennox -absently.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Eh?’ says Crosby quickly, and with a -suspicion of a frown.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Very, very pretty,’ repeats Lennox -fervently.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Crosby glances at Susan. This absurd -joke, this jest on her name—with anyone -else here it would be a jest only, but Susan—would -she.... Her colour is faintly, very -faintly accentuated, and she is looking -straight at Lennox.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘My name?’ says she, taking up the -meaning he had not meant. ‘Do you really -think it pretty? The boys and Betty despise -it.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Her gentle dignity goes home to all. -Crosby is indignant with Lennox, and, indeed, -so is Sir William. Sir William’s wife, -however, I regret to say, is convulsed with -laughter.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It is certainly not a name to be despised,’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>says Lennox courteously, who is now a little -ashamed of himself.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I like to be called by my Christian name,’ -says a singularly young-looking married -woman. ‘Puts people out so. They never -know whether you are married or not for the -first half-hour, at all events.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>They are now in a body strolling into the -drawing-rooms, and Miss Forbes has gone -back to her cross-examination of Susan.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Four brothers? So many? And all -grown up?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no! Carew is the eldest, and he is -only seventeen. But we have a cousin living -with us, and he is twenty.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What lovely ages!’ cries Lady Forster. -‘George, why didn’t you tell me about -Susan’s boys? You know I adore boys. -Susan, you must bring them up to-morrow. -Do you hear?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘They will be so glad,’ says Susan; ‘do -you know’—blushing shyly and divinely—‘they -were quite envious of me because I -was coming here to-day.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>‘Oh! why didn’t you bring them with you? -Seventeen and twenty—the nicest ages in the -world!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certainly not the nicest,’ says Lennox, -who is a born tease. ‘You, Miss Barry’—looking -at Susan—‘are thirteen, aren’t you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no; much, much more than that!’ -says Susan, laughing. Strangely enough, -she has begun to feel quite a liking for her -tormentor, divining with the wisdom of -youth that his saucy sallies are filled with -mischief only, and no venom. ‘I was -eighteen last May.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘How very candid!’ says Miss Prior, whose -own age is growing uncertain, and who is -feeling a little bitter over the attention paid -to Susan. If Paul should prove inconstant, -there is always the master of the Park to -fall back upon, or so she has fondly hoped -till now. But there is no denying the fact -that Crosby has been very anxious all this -afternoon about Susan’s happiness.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Nonsense!’ says Lennox. ‘Tell that to—well, -to somebody else.’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>‘But that’s what I am really,’ says Susan, -who is secretly disgusted at being thought -thirteen. ‘I was born in—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Don’t tell that,’ says Lady Forster, -putting up her finger. ‘It will be fatal -twenty years hence.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Still, I’m not thirteen,’ says Susan, with -gentle protest. ‘And I think anyone could -see that I’m not.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I could, certainly,’ says Crosby, coming -to the rescue. ‘In my opinion, anyone that -looked at you would know at once that you -were forty.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>At this they laugh, and Susan casts her -so very unusual ire behind her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You will bring up the boys to-morrow, -then?’ says Lady Forster, who is always -chattering. ‘And we’ll go for a long drive, -and have a gipsy tea. That will be better -than nothing. And as we go Susan shall -show us the bits. No use in depending on -George for that. He knows nothing of the -scenery round here, or any other scenery for -the matter of that, except African interiors, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>kraals, and nasty naked nigger women, and -that. So immodest of him! He’ll come to -grief some day. We can go somewhere for -a gipsy tea to-morrow, can’t we, George? -I’m dying to light a fire.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘What, another!’ says Lord Jack, regarding -her with a would-be woe-begone air. He -lays his hand lightly on his heart.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It’s going to rain, I think,’ says Sir -William presently; he is standing in one -of the windows.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘“Ruin seize thee, ruthless king!”’ exclaims -Miss Forbes. ‘What a thing to say!’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘It always rains in Ireland, doesn’t it?’ -asks Lady Muriel, in her soft, low voice.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Oh no—no indeed!’ cries Susan eagerly. -‘Does it, Mr. Crosby?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Certainly not. Lady Muriel must prolong -her stay here’—smiling at the beautiful girl -leaning in a picturesque attitude against the -window-shutter—‘and take back with her a -more kindly view of our climate.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>Yes; it is quite settled, thinks Susan. He -loves her, and she—of course she loves him. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>And he wants her to prolong her stay, most -naturally. And most naturally, too, he would -like her to take back to England a kindly -impression of her future home, of her future -climate. Oh, how pretty, how lovely she is!</p> - -<p class='c004'>Heavily, heavily beat the raindrops on the -window-pane.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Never mind,’ says Lady Forster, whom -nothing daunts; ‘we’ll have a dance. You -love dancing, Susan, don’t you? Come -along, then. Take your partners all, and -let’s waltz into the music-room.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>In a second Susan finds Captain Lennox’s -arm round her waist, and through the halls -and the library they dance right into the -music-room beyond. After her comes Crosby -with Lady Muriel, and after them Lady -Forster with—no, not Lord Jack, after all, -but Sir William.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And now the big woman whom Susan had -noticed at luncheon has seated herself at the -piano, and the poet has caught up a fiddle, -and if the big woman can do nothing else -on earth, she can at least play dance music -<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>to perfection, and the poet, ‘poor little fellow,’ -as Susan calls him to herself—if he could -only have heard her!—does not make too -many false notes on the fiddle, so that she -dances very gaily, feeling as if her feet -are treading on air, and answering Captain -Lennox’s whispered honeyed words with soft -smiles and hurried breathing. Oh, how -lovely it all is! And, oh, how happy Lady -Muriel is going to be!</p> - -<p class='c004'>The waltz has come to an end, and now -Crosby is standing before her. And now his -arm is round her waist, and he—oh yes, there -is no doubt of it—he dances even better than -Captain Lennox, and it is good of him, too, -to spare so much time from the lovely Lady -Muriel.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Susan,’ says Crosby, as they pause at the -end of the room, ‘I consider your conduct -distinctly immoral! The way you have been -going on—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Who—I?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes, you! Don’t attempt to deny it. -Your open flirtation with Lennox—’</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>‘What?’ Susan lifts her dewy eyes to -his. Suddenly she breaks into the merriest -laughter. ‘You’re too funny for anything,’ -says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Not for another dance, I hope.’ He -laughs too, and so gaily. And again his -arm is round her, and away they go once -more, dancing to the big lady’s happiest -strains. There is a conservatory off the -music-room, and into this he leads her -presently.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘You have no flowers,’ says he. ‘I must -give you some. These roses will suit you.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘They suit Lady Muriel too,’ says Susan, -remembering.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Yes? Oh yes! I gave them to her this -morning. Well, it shan’t be roses, then. -These pink begonias?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I should like those better,’ says Susan; -she takes them tranquilly. It is, of course, -quite right that he should wish to give her -flowers different from those he has just given -his <i><span lang="fr">fiancée</span></i>. She had reminded him just in -time.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>Crosby is thankful for her suggestion, but -for very different reasons. He had forgotten -about Lady Muriel’s roses, and to give her -the same—</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘The rain is clearing away,’ says he, looking -out of the window. ‘Still’—as if to -himself—‘I think we had better take an -umbrella.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘An umbrella?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘On our way home.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Mr. Crosby’—eagerly—‘you need not -take me home. You must not. There is -really no necessity. Oh!’—anxiously, thinking -of Lady Muriel and his desire to be with -her—‘I hope you won’t come.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘That is not very civil, Susan, is it?’ says -he, smiling. He pauses and looks suddenly -at her, a new expression growing in his eyes. -‘Of course, if you have arranged to go home -with anyone else—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘No—no indeed. But to take you away -from your guests—’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘My guests will live without me for half -an hour, I have no doubt.’ His tone is quite -<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>its old joyous self again. ‘And I promised -your aunt to see that you got safely back to -her, and, as the children say, “a promise is a -promise.” Here are your begonias. Shall I -fasten them in for you?’</p> - -<p class='c004'>He arranges them under her pretty chin, -she holding up her head to let him do it, and -then they go back to the music-room, where -Sir William catches him and carries him off -for something or other. Susan, sinking into -a chair, finds Josephine Prior almost immediately -beside her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘Those pretty begonias!’ says she. ‘How -they suit you, though hardly your frock! -Of course’—with elephantine archness—‘I -need not ask who gave them to you. Mr. -Crosby is always showering little favours on -his women friends. Those roses to Lady -Muriel’—Susan holds her breath a moment—‘and -these begonias to you, and opera-tickets -to others, and last night such a delicious -box of <i><span lang="fr">marron glaces</span></i> to me.’ She -forgets to add that he gave a similar box -to each of his lady guests, having run up to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>Dublin in the morning and brought them -back with him from Mitchell’s.</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I declare the sun is coming out at last,’ -says Lady Forster. ‘It is going to be a -glorious evening. What a swindle! We -have been quite done out of our day. I do -call that maddening. Never mind, we must -make up for it to-night. We will have—what -shall we have, Dolly?’—to Miss Forbes. -‘A pillow scuffle? Yes; that will be the -very thing. And, Susan, you shall stay and -sleep and help us. And we’ll get the boys -up. They would be splendid at it, and give -even us points, I shouldn’t wonder.’</p> - -<p class='c004'>‘I have promised Miss Barry,’ says Crosby, -in a distinct tone, ‘to take Susan home this -evening at six, and I’m afraid it is rather -after that now. Will you go and put on -your hat, Susan?’</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c006'> - <div>END OF VOL. 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