Chapter Twenty.
Among the Roses.
By no one was the news of Gervase Vanburgh’s advent greeted with more enthusiasm than by Lilias herself, for, truth to tell, the day had seemed interminably long in the company of a depressed and anxious lover. The points of view from which Ned and herself regarded his position seemed to grow more hopelessly far apart the more it was discussed, and the consciousness that he was disappointed by her lack of sympathy did not tend to raise Lilias’s spirits. If the question at stake had not touched the all-important subject of future comfort, she would have been willing to sacrifice her own wishes in order to preserve Ned’s approval, but in this crisis of their fate she would allow no such weakness. If her own parents seemed to place Ned’s scruples before her interests, if Ned himself were so ignorant of what was due to his fiancée as to talk calmly of accepting the position of a clerk on a few hundreds a year, it behoved her to be firm, and make Ned understand that she would never be his wife until he could provide something more than the bare necessaries of life. Nevertheless, the task of opposition was far from pleasant, and the grave wonder of his glance cut like a knife into her vain little heart.
It was a relief to know that the presence of a stranger would prevent further reference to the subject for this evening at least, while the Vanburgh nephew and heir was in himself a sufficiently interesting person. Lilias put on her prettiest dress, and sat trifling with a book until the company had assembled in the drawing-room, and the time was ripe for an effective entrance, when she glided into the room, and smiled sweetly at the stranger, while Nan watched his face with mischievous enjoyment. He was surprised—there was no mistake about that! When Lilias raised her face to his, he gave a distinct little start of surprise, and the sleepy eyes looked for once quite wide-awake and animated.
“And the stupid fellow actually mistook me for her!” chuckled Nan to herself, with that pride in her sister’s beauty which the Rendell girls shared so loyally, looking upon it as a family possession which reflected credit on one and all. “That’s one mistake he will never make again, however much confused he may get among six sisters!”
Conversation at the dinner table was of a general character; but every now and then Nan found an opportunity of exchanging a few quiet remarks with Gervase Vanburgh, who sat next herself, the result of which was to assure her that she had found a character as diametrically different from her own as it was possible to imagine. She was full of energy, he was languid to the verge of apathy; she had hard and fast opinions to offer on every topic, known or unknown, while his “Don’t know!” and “Couldn’t say!” repeated themselves with wearisome echo. She was afire with ardour, with enthusiasm, with the burning desire to right all wrongs, redress all evils, bring peace on earth, and start the millennium without a moment’s delay; judging from appearances, he seemed incapable of any sort of emotion, and possessed with the conviction that nothing was really worth taking any trouble about.
Nan grew irritated beyond measure, wriggled about on her seat, shrugged her shoulders, and crumbled her bread, unconscious alike of her father’s smiles and her mother’s frowns, and, when actions failed to relieve her feelings, was forced into emphatic speech.
“Nothing interests you, nothing gives you pleasure! You care for nothing, you hope for nothing! I wouldn’t be like you for the whole wide world!” she declared; and Gervase Vanburgh fixed his melancholy eyes upon her, and said tragically—
“And I would give the whole wide world if I could once more care and hope like you!”
This was disconcerting. Nan had not expected so speedy a concession, and she followed her mother from the room oppressed by the remembrance of that melancholy look, and consumed with curiosity as to its cause. Money anxiety it could not be, seeing that Mr Vanburgh’s heir need never fear want; but a broken home, disappointed love, and faithless friendship held out wide avenues for speculation. Nan sat and pondered, listening meekly to her mother’s reproofs, while inside the dining-room Mr Rendell could not resist putting a home question to his visitor.
“You were amused by my little girl’s enthusiasm! I saw her growing hot and eager, and had a strong suspicion that you were leading her on! She is a most fervent young person, and cannot understand being less than in deadly earnest over any question.”
“She is er—refreshingly young!” replied Gervase in his soft, drawling voice. He took no notice of the charge made against himself, but went on peeling his fruit with an air of pensive exhaustion, at which the two elder men exchanged glances of amusement. He looked at once so young, so healthy, and so prosperous, that this affectation of depression had somewhat of a ludicrous air to men who knew the world and had acquaintance with real and pressing anxieties. Ned Talbot looked across the table at the handsome youngster, and heaved a sigh to the memory of the good old days when he also was happy enough to invent troubles, and philosophise darkly concerning unknown woes. He had come south with a heart heavy with care, yet with an expectation of comfort which had taken away half the sting, but that hope had been doomed to disappointment, and on the morrow he must return to his work with an added fear in his heart. Could it be that he had been mistaken in Lilias? As a man eating a soft bloomy peach jars his teeth suddenly against its stone, so had Ned found himself confronted with a hardness in his fiancée’s nature which had brought with it a shock of disillusionment. Surely, surely, if a girl were ever to be sweet and sympathetic to the man whom she had promised to marry, it was when he was threatened by misfortune; but Lilias evidently refused to believe in his version of affairs, and cherished a grudging conviction that he was sacrificing her to romantic scruples. He had talked, and pleaded, and reasoned—it was like hitting one’s self against a wall. She never swerved from her position, her voice never lost its tone of studied toleration; and now he sat, the poor fellow! listening dreamily to the conversation between the other two men, too weary and depressed to take any active share in it himself.
When a movement was made towards the drawing-room half an hour later, however, Lilias was discovered leaning against the lintel of the window, looking so young, so sweet and fragile, that every chivalrous instinct rose up in her defence. Such a girl was not made to endure hardships, Ned reflected tenderly. The man who was lucky enough to own her should be prepared to carry all burdens on his own shoulders. He was ready! Oh yes; if Lilias would but love him faithfully, he would work for her with the strength of twenty men. He was eager to tell her so, to apologise for his harshness of the afternoon; and, stepping past into the garden, he caught her hand in his, and tried to draw her away.
“Come, dear, come! Let us walk round the garden. I want to speak to you alone.”
Lilias laughed, gave a caressing little squeeze to his hand, but stood firmly in her position. Gervase Vanburgh and her father were approaching, and a general conversation seemed at the moment more interesting than a tête-à-tête with her lover. So far she had had little opportunity of speaking to the stranger, and his appearance both interested and perplexed her. The air of languid elegance which provoked Nan, filled her sister with admiration, yet there was something baffling in the expression of the sleepy eyes. Lilias had an uncomfortable impression that those eyes might be very keen on occasions, and would have suspected a quizzical expression at the present moment, had the idea not been so palpably absurd. Why should Gervase find anything amusing in her attitude? It was surely a most natural thing that she, as the eldest daughter at home, should wait for the gentlemen, while her sisters went out into the garden, and, that being so, where should she stand, if not by the window? Nevertheless, the slow, quiet smile which followed his glance around, sent the blood into her cheeks, and seemed to intimate that he was as well aware as herself of the appropriateness of the background, and the care which had devised that seemingly careless pose! So disconcerted was she that she would have been inclined to retire in Ned’s company had he pressed his request a second time, but he was silenced by the first refusal, and the little group stood together exchanging commonplaces, until a white dress appeared among the rose-bushes, and Nan’s voice called out an unabashed summons—
“I thought you were never coming! Why don’t you come out? It’s perfectly lovely here. The roses smell so delicious in the dusk; and oh, father, there are two whole flowers on the little pink-belled saxifrage you brought home from Norway!”
“No!” cried Mr Rendell in tones of incredulous ecstasy, which stamped him on the spot as one of the noble army of gardeners. He hurried forward to inspect the new treasures, while Nan went down on her knees to hold up their tiny heads and expatiate on their fragile beauty. When she arose five minutes later, she found two surprises awaiting her, the first being the presence of Mr Vanburgh by her side, and the second, alas! two large green stains on her white skirt, in the middle of the front seam, where she had knelt on the dewy grass. Her face of dismay as she pointed downwards evoked a laugh from the two men, but Mr Rendell checked himself, glanced over his shoulder towards where his wife paced to and fro, and said quickly—
“Better run upstairs, dear, and change it. No need to be distressed; you have plenty more, I suppose, and it will wash.”
Nan groaned in a sepulchral fashion, and shook her head.
“You don’t understand! It’s an evening skirt with trimmings, not an ordinary piqué. My very best too! I put it on because Mr Vanburgh was coming, and now it’s spoilt!”
“Oh, surely not! Don’t say that; it makes me feel so horribly guilty. Let me try if I can rub it off,” cried the visitor eagerly; and, before Nan could protest, out came a superfine hemstitched handkerchief, and Gervase began rubbing the damaged skirt with such vigour, that the stains grew larger and larger, and increased their borders so rapidly that they met and blended in one great whole. His face lengthened with horror as he withdrew his handkerchief, and gazed upon the results of his labour; and Nan said dismally—
“Thank you so much! It’s much worse now! Wish I were old enough to wear black always, and not be bothered. My life’s a burden to me because of my clothes!”
“For the mother’s pride the child must suffer pain!” cried Mr Rendell, laughing. “That is what Kitty said, isn’t it, when her mother insisted on pinning down the end of her collar? Better confess at once, Mops, and get it over! Tell your mother she can send it to the cleaner’s, and I’ll stand the racket.”
“Come and tell her yourself. D–oo, ducky darling! Sweetest father in all the world, come and plead for me!” coaxed Nan, hanging on to his arm, and rubbing his face with her soft cool cheek, while he affected to push her away, and in reality allowed himself to be led where she would take him.
Mr Vanburgh followed, stroking his moustache to conceal his smile, and Mrs Rendell’s quick eyes saw their approach, and fixed themselves sternly upon Nan’s ruined skirt.
“Another accident, Edith, worse luck! The grass would get damp, and Mops and I were so interested in looking at our plant that we forgot everything else, and—”
“So I observe! It is a pity, but I am not surprised. What can one expect from Nan, but destruction!” Mrs Rendell spoke with melancholy resignation, while the assembled sisters looked on with solemn eyes. Dainty Lilias, pensive Elsie, kindly Agatha, Christabel the immaculate, they stood gazing in a solid phalanx of disapproval, while Nan the culprit hung her head and flushed with embarrassment. A moment later Mrs Rendell had turned the conversation into another channel, unwilling to prolong the present discussion in the presence of a stranger, and Nan seized the opportunity to escape to the far end of the garden. Gervase Vanburgh stood in her path, and spied the glimmer of tears on the dark eyelashes as she passed by. Then she disappeared, and Elsie’s chin dropped with amazement as she saw the elegant stranger deliberately mark a stone on the path, and kick it savagely with the toe of his patent leather shoe.
“Bland of exterior, but concealing beneath the surface secret and violent impulses!” Such was the character given to Gervase Vanburgh in Miss Elsie Rendell’s diary that evening; and perhaps for once the youthful author was not far wrong in her conclusions!