The Hoyden

by Duchess

CHAPTER VI.

HOW ALL THE HOUSE PARTY AT OAKDEAN GROW FRIVOLOUS IN THE ABSENCE OF THE LORD AND MASTER; AND HOW MRS. BETHUNE ENCOURAGES A GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK; AND HOW, AFTER MANY ESCAPES, TITA IS CAUGHT AT LAST.

"She has gone to bed," says Tita, reappearing in the drawing-room just as the clock strikes nine on the following evening.

"Thank goodness!" says Mrs. Chichester, sotto voce, at which
Captain Marryatt laughs.

"She is not very ill, I hope?" says Margaret.

"Oh no! A mere headache."

"Bile!" suggests Mr. Gower prettily.

Tita looks angrily at him.

"What a hideous word that is!" says Mrs. Bethune, with a sneer. "It ought to be expunged from every decent dictionary. Fortunately," with a rather insolent glance at Randal, who is so openly a friend of Tita's, "very few people use it—in civilized society."

"And I'm one of them," says the young man, with deep self-gratulation. "I like to be in a minority—so choice, you know; so distinguished! But what, really," turning to Tita, "is the matter with poor, dear old auntie?"

"A chill, I should think," returns Tita severely. Has he forgotten all about yesterday's escapade? "She seemed to me very wet when she got home last evening."

"She was soaking," says Mr. Gower. "She didn't show it much, because when the water was rising in that wretched old boat—really, you know, Maurice ought to put respectable boats on his lake—she pulled up her——"

"Randal!"

"Well, she did!" says Randal, unabashed. "Don't glare at me! I didn't pull up anything! I'd nothing to pull up, but she——" Here Mr. Gower gives way to wild mirth. "Oh, if you'd seen her!" says he—"such spindleshanks!"

At this Marryatt gets behind him, draws a silken chair-back over his face, thus mercifully putting an end to his spoken recollections.

"If I were you, Tita, I should order Randal off to bed," says Margaret, who, I regret to say, is laughing. "He has been up quite long enough for a child of his years."

"Well—but, really, what is the matter with Miss Gower?" asks somebody.

"Temper," puts in Mrs. Bethune, with a shrug.

She is leaning back in an easy-chair, feeling and looking distinctly vexed. Maurice is away. This morning he had started for town to meet his mother, and bring her back with him for a short stay at Oakdean. He had gone away directly after breakfast, telling them all he would be home by the evening if possible; but he feared the journey would be too long for his mother, and that probably she would spend the night in town. In the meantime, if anything in the shape of a murder or an elopement should occur, they might telegraph to Claridge's. He had then turned and smiled at Tita.

"I leave them all in your care," he had said.

Was there meaning in his smile—was it a little entreaty to her to be "good" during his absence?

"Well, she's in bed, any way," says Tita; "and the question is, what shall we do now?"

"Dance!" says someone.

But they have been dancing every evening, and there seems nothing very special about that.

"I tell you what," says Tita; "let us have hide-and-seek!"

"Oh, how lovely!" cries Mrs. Chichester, springing to her feet.
"What a heavenly suggestion!"

"Yes; two to hunt, and all the rest to hide in couples," says Tom
Hescott.

It has occurred to him that he would like to hunt with Tita, or else to hide with her; and it might be managed. Margaret, who happens to be looking at him, makes a slight movement forward.

"Perhaps we should disturb Miss Gower!" says she anxiously.

"Oh no!" says Mrs. Bethune quickly. "Her room is in the north wing. If we confine our game to this part of the house, she can never hear us."

"Still, it seems such a silly thing to do!" says Margaret nervously.

She distrusts Marian where Tita is concerned. Why should she advocate the game—she who is the embodiment of languor itself, to whom any sort of running about would mean discomfort?

"Dear Margaret," says Mrs. Bethune, in a low voice, but a distinct one—one quite loud enough for Colonel Neilson to hear, who is standing near Miss Knollys—"don't give way to it; don't let it conquer you—too soon!"

"It?—what?" asks Margaret unconsciously.

"Middle age!" sweetly, and softly always, but with a rapid glance at Neilson. She leans back and smiles, enjoying the quiet blush that, in spite of her, rises to Margaret's cheek. "I feel it coming," says she. "Even I feel it. But why encourage it? Why not let these children have their game, without a check from us who are so much older?"

"That is not the question," says Margaret coldly, who has now recovered herself. "My thought was that perhaps Maurice might not approve of this most harmless, if perhaps——"

"Frivolous performance. Of course, if you are going to manage
Maurice and Maurice's wife," with a strange laugh, "there is no more
to be said. But I wish you joy of the last task. And as for
Maurice," with a curl of her lips, "he is not a prig."

"Well, neither am I, I hope," says Margaret, with perfect temper.

She turns away, Colonel Neilson, who is furious with Mrs. Bethune, following her. As for the latter, she looks after Margaret until she is out of sight, and for once, perhaps, is sorry for her rudeness. She likes Margaret, but she is out of heart to-night and irritable. The absence of Rylton, the coming of her aunt, all tend to disturb her. And Rylton had gone without a word, a look even!—he who always dwelt upon her words, had studied her looks; he had not given her one farewell sign. She had waited to see if he would give one to Tita; but he had not—at least, nothing in particular—nor had Tita run out to the hall to see him off. She had blown him a little kiss from behind the urn, which he had accepted calmly, and that was all!

"Come on," says Randal excitedly; "Miss Hescott and I will hunt the lot of you! But look here, you must all keep to the parts of the house agreed on. I am not going to have my beloved aunt descending upon me in a nightcap and a wrapper!"

"Well, you must give us three minutes," says Tita, "and you mustn't stir until you hear someone cry, 'Coo-ee!' You understand now, Minnie."

"I know! I'll keep him in hand," says Miss Hescott.

"And he mustn't peep," says Mrs. Chichester.

"Good gracious! what a mean thought!" says Mr. Gower, who is already laying plans in his own mind as to how he is to discomfit the hiders, and win laurels for himself as a searcher.

"Well, off we go!" cries Mrs. Chichester, flying out of the room,
Captain Marryatt after her.

Hide-and-seek as a game leaves little to be desired. Even Margaret, who had said so much against it, enters into the spirit of it presently, and knows the throes of anguish when the hunter draws nigh her hiding-place, and the glow of joy when she has safely eluded him and flown to the den, without a clutch upon so much as the end of her garments. Indeed, all have given themselves up to the hour and its excitement, except only Marian Bethune, who, whilst entering into the game with apparently all the zest of the others, is ever listening—listening—— He had said he might come home to-night. And it is now close on eleven! In ten minutes, if at all, he will be here. If only she could so manage as to——

They are all now standing once more, laughing, talking, in the small drawing-room, preparatory to another start.

"Who'll hunt now?" asks Colonel Neilson, who has been far and away the best pursuer up to this.

"Why not Tita and Mr. Hescott?" says Marian suddenly, vivaciously. She seems to have lost all her indolence. "They have not been hunting once to-night."

"Yes; that is true," says Captain Marryatt.

"I hate hunting and I like hiding," says Tita. "Colonel Neilson, you and Margaret can be our pursuers this time. Come, Tom! come, all of you!"

Mrs. Bethune for a moment frowns, and then a quick light comes back to her eyes. Even better so—if Maurice should arrive. She had planned that they—those two, Tita and her cousin—should be together on his arrival, should he come; and now, now they will be hiding together in all probability! Oh for Maurice to come now—now!

She has evaded her own partner in the game, and, slipping away unobserved, is standing in one of the windows of the deserted library—a window that opens on the avenue—listening for the sound of horses' hoofs. In five minutes Maurice will be here, if he comes at all to-night, and as yet they have scarcely started on their game of hide-and-seek. She had heard Tita whisper to Mr. Hescott something about the picture-gallery—she had caught the word—a delightful place in semi-darkness, and with huge screens here and there. Oh, if only Tita could be found hiding behind one with Mr. Hescott!

She presses her hot cheek against the pane of the open window, and as she does so she starts. She leans out into the night, and yes—yes, beyond doubt, here is the carriage!

It is rounding the bushes at the corner, and is already in sight. She springs lightly into the hall—now deserted, as all the house party have gone up the stairs to the happy hunting grounds above. All, that is, except Margaret and Colonel Neilson, who are waiting for the "Coo-ee."

Mrs. Bethune had forgotten them, and running lightly through the hall, she opens the door, and steps into the moonlight just as Sir Maurice comes up the steps.

"You!" says he, surprised.

"Yes. I heard you coming." There is a sort of wild delight in her voice. She would have liked to have flung herself into his arms, but the men outside are busy with his portmanteau and other things; and then—his mother——

"Your mother?" asks she, peering into the darkness.

"She has not come. I had a telegram from her at Claridge's. She can't come till next week, so I came back." He pauses, and then, abruptly, "Where is Tita?"

"Tita?" Mrs. Bethune shrugs her shoulders, and a little low laugh escapes her. "She is playing hide-and-seek," says she, "with—her cousin."

"What are you saying?" exclaims Rylton, her manner far more than her words striking cold to his heart. "Do you mean to insinuate——"

"Why, nothing. I insinuate nothing; we have all been playing——"

"All?"

"Yes."

"You and——"

"And everyone else."

"Was there nothing better, then, for you all to do?"

"Many things," coldly. "But your wife started the game. She had doubtless her reasons——"

"Is that another insinuation? But at all events you cannot condemn the game, as you joined in it."

"I could not avoid joining in it. Was I to be the one to censure my hostess?"

"Certainly not," sternly. "No one is censuring her. And besides, as you all——" Then, as though the words are torn from him, "Where is she now?"

"In the picture-gallery, behind one of your favourite screens, with
Mr. Hescott."

"A graphic description," says he. He almost thrusts her aside, and steps quickly into the hall. Mrs. Bethune, leaning against the wall behind her, breaks into silent, terrible laughter.

At the foot of the stairs Margaret comes quickly to him. His face frightens her.

"Where are you going, Maurice?"

"Upstairs," returns he quite calmly.

"You are going to be angry with Tita," says Margaret suddenly. "I know it! And nothing is true. Nothing! What has Marian been saying to you? She"—with the very strangest little burst of passion, from Margaret, the quiet Margaret!—"she has been telling you lies!"

"My dear Margaret!"

"Oh, Maurice, do be led by me!—by anyone but her!" says Miss
Knollys, holding him, as he would have gone on. "Why can't you see?
Are you blind?"

"I really think I must be," returns he with a peculiar smile. "It is only just now I am beginning to open my eyes. My dear, good Margaret!" He lifts her hand from his sleeve and pats it softly. "You are too good for this world. It is you who are blind, really. It will take longer to open your eyes than even mine." He runs lightly past her up the stairs.

Margaret gives a little cry of despair. Colonel Neilson, catching her hand, draws her into a room on the left. The expected "Coo-ee" has been called twice already, but neither Margaret nor Neilson have heard it.

"Marian has done this," says Margaret, in great distress. He has her hand still in his, and now, half unconsciously, she tightens her fingers over his.

"That woman is a perfect devil!" says the Colonel savagely. "She is playing Old Harry with the régime here."

"I can't think what she means to be the end of it," says Margaret.
"She can't marry him herself, and——"

"She might, you know, if—if—she could manage to prove certain things."

"Oh no! I won't believe she is as bad as that," says Margaret with horror. "She has her good points. She has, really, though you will never believe me."

"Never!" says the Colonel stoutly. "The way she behaved to you this evening——"

"To me?" Margaret flushes quickly. The flush makes her charming. She knows quite well to what he is alluding, and she likes him for being indignant with Marian because of it—and yet, if only he hadn't alluded to it! It isn't nice to be called middle-aged—though when one is only thirty, one ought to be able to laugh at it—but when one is thirty and unmarried, somehow one never laughs at it.

"To you. Do you think I should have cared much if she had been beastly to anyone else? I tell you, Margaret, I could hardly restrain myself! I had only one great desire at the moment—that she had been a man."

"Ah! But if she had been a man, she wouldn't have said it," says
Margaret. There is a little moisture in her eyes.

"No, by Jove! of course not. I'll do my own sex that credit."

"And after all," says Margaret, "why be so angry with her? There was nothing but truth in what she said."

There is something almost pathetic in the way she says this; she does not know it, perhaps, but she is plainly longing for a denial to her own statement.

"I really think you ought to be above this sort of thing," says the Colonel, with such indignation that she is at once comforted; all the effusive words of flattery he could have used could not have been half so satisfactory as this rather rude speech.

"Well, never mind me," says she; "let us think of my dear little girl. My poor Tita! I fear—I fear——" She falters, and breaks down. "I am powerless. I can do nothing to help her; you saw how I failed with him just now. Oh, what shall I do?"

She covers her face with her hands, and tears fall through her fingers.

Neilson, as if distracted by this sad sight, lays his arm gently round her shoulder, and draws her to him.

"Margaret, my darling girl, don't cry about it, whatever you do," entreats he frantically. "Margaret, don't break my heart!"

Miss Knollys' tears cease as suddenly as though an electric battery has been directed at her.

"Nonsense! Don't be foolish! And at my age too!" says she indignantly.

She pushes him from her.