Chapter Sixteen.
It was an awkward moment for all three occupants of the room. The young man stood, flushed and silent, looking from one sister to the other, conscious of an increasing anger towards Maud, and a kindly and chivalrous sympathy for the confusion of her sister. Poor girl! She was too young, had too little experience of the world to carry off the situation with a laugh. A young woman of society would have seized the opportunity for cementing a friendship, would have swept gaily forward holding out her skirts, and laughingly demanding his approval, but Rowena could do none of these things, her utmost efforts could succeed only in hiding the signs of confusion beneath a frosty coldness of demeanour.
How unnatural was this manner was plainly demonstrated by the behaviour of the offender herself. At the first moment of Rowena’s appearance Maud had appeared embarrassed indeed, but with a fearful joy mingling with her shame, the joy of one who has greatly dared, and is prepared to endure the consequences; but when Rowena swept forward, calm and stately, when she seated herself and began to talk polite nothings, with never so much as a word or a glance in her own direction, then, visibly and unmistakably, terror fell upon Maud’s childish heart—she made a bee-line for the door, and slunk hastily out of sight.
“Little wretch!” soliloquised Guy Seton once more. “Lands me into this pleasant position, and then sneaks away, and leaves me to fight it out alone! Poor little girl!”—this last epithet obviously did not refer to Maud! “Hard lines to arrive at such an awkward moment. Furious, of course, with the whole three—the child for speaking, with me for hearing, with herself for having given the opportunity! Such a pretty frock, too; and she is ripping in it! Jolly good of her to have taken the trouble, but now I suppose she’ll hate the sight of me, and bear me a lasting grudge. Hope to goodness Golden-locks is not long in coming back!”
“Quite a chilly wind. We are so very exposed and open in this house!” Rowena was saying in high, artificial tones. She hailed the arrival of tea with evident relief, and the conversation flowed on a trifle more easily when there was something definite to do; nevertheless both heaved sighs of joy as the sound of Dreda’s high, cheery voice was heard from without, and she entered the room by her mother’s side.
Guy Seton privately expected Rowena to follow Maud’s example and quietly disappear, so he admired all the more the pretty little air of dignity with which she stuck to her post and forced herself to take her natural part in the conversation.
“Plucky little girl! Stands to her guns, and won’t allow herself to run away,” he told himself approvingly, as he proceeded to unfold the object of his visit.
“We are arranging a small frolic for Friday in the shape of a paper-chase. Everybody within five miles is coming on horseback or bicycles, as suits them best, and we ought to have a good run. We start at eleven prompt from our gates, and return for a scramble luncheon at about two. I hope you will all come!”
His glance wandered from Dreda to Rowena—the first he felt sure would accept with enthusiasm; the latter he feared would politely refuse; but Rowena smiled again, her set meaningless little smile, and allowed a subdued murmur of thanks to mingle with Dreda’s rhapsodies. It was cleverly done, for without being in any way committed she had escaped drawing attention upon herself by a refusal; nevertheless as he met her eye, and held her limp, unresponsive hand in his at parting, Guy Seton felt more convinced than ever that whoever else might honour his paper chase, Miss Rowena Saxon would not be among the number!
He walked down the drive twirling his stick in a threatening manner, his face grim and set. It was bad luck indeed to make such a bad beginning with one of the prettiest and most attractive-looking girls he had ever met, and a near neighbour into the bargain. He had a momentary vision of Rowena spinning along on a bicycle, her fair face flushed with exercise, her sweet eyes alight with interest and excitement; and of a sudden it seemed a dull, senseless thing to fly over the country-side, with ordinary everyday neighbours and friends. How ordinary and everyday they seemed, when contrasted with Rowena’s stately young grace! And now she was prejudiced against him for ever, and at this very moment was probably denouncing her sister’s stupidity, and vowing never willingly to meet him again!
Rowena, however, was doing nothing of the kind. Calm and composed, she sat on beside her mother and Dreda, and declared that the idea of a paper-chase failed to attract her, and that she had no intention of tiring herself out, and running needless risks by riding breathlessly across country on so stupid and frivolous an aim! Mrs Saxon was both puzzled and disappointed, while Dreda expostulated in her usual violent fashion.
“Rowena, how mad! How idiotic! What are you raving about! What’s the use of grumbling and growling because there’s nothing to do, and no one to see you, and then the moment anyone appears—such a dear, too, with such sweet, twinkly eyes!—to behave like a cold-blooded frog, mincing your words, and looking as if you were made of ice, and then saying you won’t go, when it’s a chance of no end of fun, and seeing everyone there is to be seen! Idiotic!”
“Dreda! Dreda, dear, really is it necessary to be quite so violent?” Mrs Saxon shook her head in smiling reproach, and Rowena tilted her chin in air, but Dreda refused to be suppressed.
“Oh, mum, dear, let me speak as I like! We have to be so proper at school. You can’t say a word of slang while the govs. are about, and ordinary language is so tame. You can’t make a really good effect with ordinary words. Suppose I said to Rowena: ‘Your conduct, my dear, is inconsistent, with your sentiments as expressed in conversation,’ she wouldn’t mind a bit, but when I call her a frog she’s furious. Look how she’s wagging her head! You can always tell by that when she’s in a bait.”
“Really, Dreda!” cried Rowena in her turn. She rose from her seat, and sailed haughtily out of the room, disdaining to bandy words with so outspoken a combatant. In truth, she herself was bitterly disappointed in being forced—as she thought—to refuse Mr Seton’s invitation, the possibilities of which appealed to her even more strongly than to her sister. To meet a party of young people, to wheel gaily along in the brisk, keen air, laughing and jesting as in the old happy days; to return tired and hungry to the hospitable scramble luncheon—to sit around the fire rested and refreshed, feeling as if those few hours of intimate association had been more successful in cementing friendships than many months of ordinary association. Oh, how tempting it sounded! What a blessed change from the level monotony of the last few months! And she needs must give it up, and stay quietly at home, darning stockings, or writing orders to the “Stores,” because Maud’s blundering tongue has laid her dignity so low, that everything else must needs be sacrificed to its preservation! Rowena is putting on her best dress—she had on a flannel blouse, and she ran to change it because you were here! One would need to be nineteen once more to realise the shame, the horror, the distress with which poor Rowena recalled those thoughtless words! She pressed her hands against her cheeks, and gave a little groan of distress. It was characteristic of her that the one thing she now asked was that no one else should know of her humiliation; her mother might remonstrate, and Dreda declaim to her heart’s content, but nothing on earth should induce her to disclose the real reason of her refusal. As for Maud, having done the mischief, she might be trusted to keep quiet for her own sake; and even with her, Rowena would have kept silence if she had been allowed. Beyond an added touch of dignity, there was no change in her manner towards her younger sister, but, strange to say, the culprit was by no means satisfied to escape so easily. Maud suffered from an insatiable desire to be observed, and—so to speak—live in the public eye. If she could be observed with admiration, so much the better, but given a choice between being disgraced or ignored, she would not have hesitated for the fraction of a moment. Better a hundred times to be scolded and denounced than to be passed by in silence as if one were a stick or a stone. So it happened that when Rowena treated her with stately indifference, Maud found it impossible to keep silent.
“You might as well say it out!” she declared, wriggling about in her seat, and pouting her lips with an air of offence. “I hate people who bottle things up when all the time you see them fizzling inside. I suppose you’re furious with me about what I said.”
Rowena drooped her eyelids, and smiled a smile of haughty detachment.
“It is a matter of perfect indifference to me what you say.”
“It was quite true!”
“Perfectly true. I should be the last person in the world to accuse you of imagination.”
“You were furious. You went white with rage, and he saw it as well as me. Now, I suppose you’ll tell mother, and stop me going to the chase.”
“I should not dream of interfering with your plans. It is a matter of perfect indifference to me whether you go or stay.”
“But,”—Maud’s eyes positively bulged with excitement—“I might say something else. You never know.”
“Possibly you might. What then? Do you really imagine, my dear Maud, that anyone notices what you say!”
Maud wriggled and spluttered, trying in vain to think of something scathing to say in return. Compared with this lofty indifference the most violent denunciations would have been enjoyable. “Nobody noticed what she said!” Rowena could not have launched an arrow which would have rankled more bitterly. For the remaining hours of that day Maud crept about with a melancholy hang-dog expression, taking little or no part in the general conversation.
The next morning Rowena held firmly to her decision, and the two younger girls were obliged to start without her, Maud unfeignedly relieved, Dreda irritated and perplexed. Something must have happened to account for so unreasonable a change of front, something that had been said or done during that quarter of an hour during which she herself had been absent from the drawing-room. So much was certain, but what could it be? Rowena refused to be questioned, and Dreda was all unsuspicious of the fact that Maud had ventured to interview the visitor on her own account, and so had no suspicions in her direction. The first doubt arose when Guy Seton shook hands with both sisters as with old friends; this fact, combined with Maud’s blushing discomfiture, gave Dreda a flash of insight, but for the moment she was more occupied with the young man’s very evident disappointment at Rowena’s absence.
“Is Miss Saxon not coming?”
“No. I’m so sorry. She sent apologies.”
“Is she quite well?”
“Oh, yes, thanks.” Dreda was too honest to plead the conventional headache. “She said two were enough. She is going to bicycle to Smitton this morning for some stupid messages. I did my best to make her come.”
“I’m sure you did,” said the young man kindly. Dreda, looking at him, saw him murmur “Smitton” below his breath, and knit his brows in thought. A minute later he walked away to speak a few farewell words to the hares, who were mounted on horseback, bearing fat bags of paper fragments on their saddles, after which he returned with a smiling face to keep Dreda entertained until “The Meet” had begun to assemble. Excitement and anxiety not to be late had caused the sisters to arrive before their time, but Dreda could not regret the fact, for it was so interesting to watch the new arrivals on horseback and bicycles; to greet old acquaintances, be introduced to new, and finally to meet a beam of welcome from Susan’s brown eyes as the Currant Buns wheeled up in a line. Even the sober Mary had condescended to join the chase.
“Fresh air is a tonic. With so much mental exercise on hand I considered it would be a saving of time to spend a day in the open,” she said confidentially to Dreda, as she polished her glasses on a large pocket-handkerchief, and replaced them over the red rim on her nose. Dreda sidled carefully away from her side, and when the moment came for the start, was delighted to find Guy Seton riding determinedly by her side.
“I thought you would be on horseback,” she said, then looking at him with faintly curious eyes: “Why aren’t you, when you have a horse all ready? It’s so much more interesting than bicycling.”
“Sometimes,” said Guy, smiling. He waited a moment or two, and then added tentatively: “If you are fond of riding, and would accept a mount sometimes, I’d be delighted to give you one. Our horses have not half enough exercise. I’ve a nice quiet mare—”
“Oh, thanks, but give me spirit! None of your quiet mares for me. But I am at school; there’s no chance for a free day for another three months. This is only the exeat; we go back to-morrow, worse luck!”
“To-morrow! That’s very soon. I’m glad I arranged the chase for to-day. You are at Horsham, aren’t you?”
Dreda turned her head quickly.
“Yes! Who told you?”
“Your sister. The young one—the one who is here to-day.”
“Oh, Maud! Did she come into the drawing-room with Rowena yesterday?”
“Before then. She amused me after you left until Miss Saxon arrived.”
“Oh–h!” Dreda’s face clouded uneasily. How had Maud amused him? What had she said? In what fashion had she managed to prejudice Rowena against so amiable and kindly a neighbour, for she had now not a moment’s doubt that Maud was the cause of the trouble. She determined to put a few leading questions.
“What else did she tell you? She’s a dreadful child. We never know what she is going to say next. I don’t believe she knows herself. What did she say?”
“Oh, nothing particular! G–general information—don’t you know—general information,” stammered Guy Seton uncomfortably. But Dreda was not to be put off the scent. She stared at him fixedly, noted his rising colour, and nodded in quiet conviction.
“I know! I can guess one thing at least. She told you we were rejuiced.”
“I—I—” he began to stammer again, but the corners of his mouth twitched, and the next moment they were laughing together in hearty, youthful enjoyment.
“Too bad of you! Why are you so abnormally sharp? Have pity on my embarrassment,” he pleaded, while Dreda shook her yellow mane in derision.
“You are not embarrassed a bit! You laughed before I did! It’s easy to guess, because that’s Maud’s favourite subject at present. She overheard the servants talking, and took a fancy to the word, and now she drags it in on every possible occasion. What else did she say? Anything about me?”
“Er—er—”
“She did! I know she did. Don’t try to deny it. Was it—nice?”
“Er—” stammered Guy Seton once more, whereupon Dreda drew herself up with sudden dignity.
“You shouldn’t have allowed it! She is only a child; you should not have allowed her to talk personalities—”
“But I tried to stop her—I did, indeed! I was most uncomfortable. I tried to change the conversation, but it was no good. Please don’t scold me, I’ve suffered enough as it is!”
“How have you suffered?” Dreda’s eyes widened eagerly. Now she was on the track of the mystery, and determined to push her inquiries until all was made plain. “Who made you suffer?”
“Miss Sax—,” said Guy involuntarily, and then quickly drew himself up. “I mean—it’s rather awkward for a fellow, don’t you know, to listen to things that he ought not to hear—that are not his business—that would annoy other people if they happened to overhear.”
He flushed as he spoke, and Dreda beamed at him with undisguised approval. He was so boyish and honest, so blunderingly transparent, that she felt quite elderly in comparison—a very Sherlock Holmes of diplomacy!
“And what was it that Rowena did overhear? Oh, I guessed there was something! She would never have refused to come to-day unless something had happened to offend her. She has such a dull time of it, poor dear, and she loves a change. What did Maud say?”
“Miss Dreda, if your sister didn’t tell you herself, do you think I ought to repeat a thing that has already annoyed her?”
“Certainly you ought. It’s my business to know, so that I can make things right. I could easily explain—”
Guy gave a short, irritated laugh.
“There’s nothing to explain! Your young sister made an indiscreet remark which Miss Saxon overheard as she came into the room. It is only human nature, I suppose, to vent her annoyance upon me, but it’s hard luck all the same, for I could not help myself, and it was horribly embarrassing for me too!”
“But what did she say?”
Then with another twitch of the lips Guy repeated Maud’s betrayal, at which Dreda was at once horrified and amused.
“The little wretch! I shouldn’t have minded a bit myself, but when you are grown up it’s different! Poor old Ro! It was my fault, for I made her do it. I wanted you to see her in that jolly blue.”
“Thanks, so much! It was worth seeing; but it’s a pretty big price to pay if your sister is prejudiced against me for life. Perhaps you had better not refer to the subject directly. If I read her aright the less that is said about it the better she will be pleased; but if you get a chance you might speak a good word for me sometimes. I’m not such a conceited fool as to imagine that she took any more trouble for me than she would have done for any other caller who happened to come along, and I’ve a wretched sort of memory. If I choose to forget a thing, it’s surprising how easily I can do it. It would be so jolly if she could manage to forget it too, and start afresh.”
“Leave it to me!” cried Dreda, with the air of a young oracle. She had not the slightest idea what she was about to do, but, as ever, had not the slightest doubt of success in tackling a difficult situation. For the moment, however, she felt that she had devoted enough attention to Rowena’s affairs, for the excitement of the paper-chase increased with every mile as the track was discovered, only to be lost again and again, forcing the cavalcade to wheel about in all directions searching for the little snow-like flakes of paper which were again to guide them forward.
When a couple of hours had passed Dreda was quite oblivious that the circling paths had led the chase to the little village of Smitton, and was therefore overcome with surprise to come face to face with no less a person than Rowena herself at the corner of the high road. Rowena would have passed by with a bow, but she was instantly surrounded by a little party of friends, all eager to greet her, and to inquire why she had not joined the chase. Guy Seton dismounted with the rest, and stood silently in the background until the first rush of inquiries were over, when, meeting Rowena’s eye, he made a simple straightforward request.
“As you have finished your messages, Miss Saxon, won’t you join us for the rest of the morning? We could send a wire from the post office if you think Mrs Saxon would be anxious. Please say yes!”
There was nothing extravagant about the manner of his invitation, perhaps in courtesy he could hardly have said less, but there was a transparent sincerity about those last three words which it was impossible to ignore. Rowena hesitated. Poor Rowena! What a morning of heartache and disappointment it had been. Ten minutes ago, five minutes ago, she had been wheeling along her solitary way, all melancholy and dejection, and behold, one turn of the road and she was in the midst of a merry cavalcade, and the chance which she had thrown away was once more within her grasp.
She hesitated, and half a dozen voices answered in her stead. Of course, she must come! Of course! After this fortunate meeting she could not be allowed to escape. She could not be so cruel as to refuse, and then once again Guy Seton’s voice repeated those three quiet words: “Please say yes!”
Well, she was only longing to accept, and having been duly entreated, gave way with a blush and a smile which made her look as pretty as a picture. The cavalcade carried her off in triumph, and Guy Seton kept discreetly in the background, waiting until time should give him his opportunity. His acquaintance with this charming girl had had an unfortunate beginning; he was determined that no haste or imprudence on his own part should give it a second check, but that afternoon Master Leonard Merrick, the hare, went home, made happy by a tip the amount of which was truly princely in his schoolboy estimation!