Chapter Nine.
Rob went back to The Larches next day, faithful to a decision expressed to Peggy at the reception.
“I have seen you now, Peg,” he said, “and have gratified my curiosity, so I shall go back to my work and the country, until such time as you deign to shed the light of your presence upon us. It’s no use staying here, for you will be up to your ears in engagements all day long, and I’m never fit to speak to in London, in any case. I hate and detest the place, and feel in an abominable rage the whole time I am here.”
“How strange—and I love it! I made father take me for a drive on the top of a City omnibus the other day, and it was just thrilling. I love the roar and rush and bustle, and the feeling that one is in the very centre of the world, and that inside those big bare buildings, and among those jostling crowds, the greatest men in the world are at work, making literature—making kingdoms—making history! I look at the different people as they pass, and wonder who they are, and what they are doing and feeling and thinking. It’s like a big, wonderful puzzle, which one will never, never be able to solve, but which keeps one enthralled and wondering all the same.”
Rob’s dark face softened tenderly as he looked at the little figure sitting so erect by his side, with the flush of excitement on her cheeks, and her young eyes aglow with enthusiasm.
“Or a story-book?” he said gently. “You used always to compare life to a story-book, Peggy, and comfort yourself in tribulation by the reflection that it would all work out right in the third volume. Well, you find your most interesting chapters in the City, and I find mine under the hedges in a country lane. It’s all a matter of taste, but you have as much right to your opinion as any one else.”
“Oh, but I love the country, too,” cried Peggy quickly. “You know I do! We want to have our home in the country, and I intend to have the most beautiful garden in the county. I have never yet seen a garden which came up to my ideal, and I mean to show how things should be managed, and to enjoy myself ever so much in planning it out. All the same, it must be near town, so that we can run up when we feel inclined. People first, and Nature second—them’s my sentiments! I could not be happy separated from my fellow-creatures.”
Rob smiled in a patient, forbearing manner.
“Women are by nature gregarious. They can’t help themselves, poor things! Whatever they do, they need an audience. It’s no satisfaction to them to possess anything, unless they can show it off to a so-called friend and make her green with envy. ‘What is the good of a nice house? No one sees it!’ That is Rosalind’s cry, when by any chance we are without visitors for a week at a time. ‘What is the use of wearing pretty clothes? Nobody sees them!’ The idea of enjoying a thing for itself alone is unattainable to the feminine mind.”
“Don’t be superior, please! It’s so easy to sneer and be sarcastic at other people’s expense. I could scorch you up at this moment if I chose, but I refrain. Snubbing is a form of wit which has never made any appeal to my imagination,” cried Peggy grandiloquently, and Rob chuckled to himself with delighted appreciation.
“Bravo, Mariquita! Score for you! I hide my diminished head. Look here, though, I’ve got an idea which I present as a peace-offering. If you don’t succeed in getting a house near town, what do you say to Yew Hedge, in our neighbourhood? It’s to be sold, and you used to admire it in the old days, I remember. It’s a quaint, old-fashioned place, with a drawing-room out of which you could make great things; six acres of land, and some fine trees. Altogether you might do worse, and although it is further in the country than you wish, there are several human creatures in the neighbourhood who would be delighted to welcome you!”
“Rob, you admirable person! You have the most delightful ideas! Yew Hedge! I have never been inside the house itself, but I remember peeping over the hedge and admiring the grounds, and it would be just scrumptious to be near you all. I’ll speak to father about it at once, and it will be a comfort to have something in the background, to keep up our spirits if our search continues to be as unsuccessful as it is at present.”
Another week’s house-hunting proved the truth of Peggy’s words, for if it had not been for the thought of Yew Hedge, the wanderers would have begun to think that there was no resting-place for them within their native land. House after house was visited, and house after house proved unsuitable or, in those rare instances when all requirements were fulfilled, so far beyond Colonel Saville’s purse as to transform perfection into aggravation, pure and simple. It seemed as though Fate were shutting every avenue in order to advocate the claim of Yew Hedge; but, though Peggy secretly rejoiced over the fact, she could not induce Arthur to share her feelings.
“It’s a charming old place, I grant you,” he said, on one of the precious, too rare occasions when brother and sister found an opportunity for a confidential chat, “and, personally, I think nothing of the distance. When you are once settled in the train, you might as well have an hour and a half’s journey as forty or fifty minutes’, but there are other considerations. For my own sake I wish the house had been situated anywhere in the kingdom but just where it is—within half a mile’s distance of the Darcys’.”
Peggy looked up quickly, for this was the nearest approach to a confidence which Arthur had made, and though she did not wish to force him into speech, she was equally anxious not to miss an opportunity.
“You mean, Arthur, you mean because of—”
Arthur rose from his seat, and paced restlessly up and down the room.
“I mean, Peg, that I want to be with you dear people as much as possible, and at the same time to see as little as possible of—other people! When one is perfectly conscious of a temptation, the wisest plan is to keep out of its way. It is no use deliberately playing with fire, and then praying to be ‘delivered.’ I’ve thought out that subject for myself through some pretty hard times these last few years, and have come to a final conclusion. We must do our own share in keeping away from the danger, and not trifle away the strength we ask for. This is a little confidence for yourself alone, dear. I don’t care to worry the parents with my affairs, or to influence their choice, but I want you to know the reason if I don’t enter into your plans so heartily as you expect.”
“But, Arthur dear, it seemed—it struck me that ‘other people’ seemed to find it a temptation too! Surely if you both—”
“Then I must think for both, and be the more careful. The hardest temptation of all, Peg, is one that seems just within grasp, but of which conscience says one should not take advantage. Think what this means! I have a hundred or two a year from the dear old godfather, and a few more for my salary—in all about as much as a fashionable lady would spend on clothes and jewellery. Even with what my father and—hers might be willing to add, it would mean comparative poverty for years to come, and some people are not made for poverty, and could not be happy under such conditions.”
“There are things which are worth more than money!”
“To you and me, yes, Peg, a thousand times, but not to every one! The bent of a lifetime does not easily alter. One may think it does under the stress of strong feeling, but it is a very difficult matter when it comes to living a restricted life day after day, month after month, and to giving up the luxuries and pleasures to which one has been accustomed. It is better to face a definite sorrow, than life-long regret and repining.” Arthur’s face hardened into a determination which had in it a sadness which Peggy was quick to understand. The bitterest drop in the poor fellow’s cup was the consciousness that the girl whom he loved was neither strong nor unselfish enough to value happiness before worldly prosperity, and his sister’s heart grew hot with indignation at the thought that any one dared to think herself too good for Arthur Saville!
“I hope and pray, Arthur, that when the time comes for you to marry, your wife will realise that she is a most blessedly fortunate woman, and not harbour any delusions about making a martyr of herself! You are perfectly right in wishing to keep out of the way under the circumstances, and I will do the same. I never wish to see ‘other people’ again, or to speak to her, or to have anything whatever to do with her.”
“If you want to please me, you will see as much of her as you can, for you can help the poor girl more than any one else. She is fond of you, and knows that you return her affection.”
“I don’t! I won’t! How can I be fond of her when she makes you unhappy? If you are not grand enough for her, then neither am I; but I have yet to learn that the Savilles are unworthy of any alliance which they may choose to make. I can’t be a hypocrite even to please you, Arthur, and I’ll have nothing more to say to Rosalind Darcy from this hour!” protested Peggy violently, then suddenly melted into tears, and laying her head on Arthur’s shoulder, proceeded to contradict every word she had spoken. “Yes, I will! I’ll do anything you want, but, oh, why did you do it? Why did you fall in love at all? Why couldn’t you go on loving me best, and being happy and comfortable?”
Peggy wept and moaned, and Arthur shook her by the shoulder with all a man’s horror at the sight of tears.
“Hold hard, Peg! Hold hard! For pity’s sake don’t cry! Your eyes will be crimson in another moment, and the Rollos will be coming in to tea, and wondering what on earth is the matter. So unbecoming, too! What a funny little fright you do look, to be sure!” said Arthur shrewdly, and chuckled in triumph as Peggy stopped short in the middle of a sob, and, with two tears in the very act of rolling down her nose, rushed to the nearest mirror and began dabbing at her face with a minute pocket-handkerchief.
“Horrors! They do look red. I’ll go up to my room and stand in a draught, and you must keep the visitors occupied till I come down. Don’t let father get impatient. I’ll come back the moment I am respectable,” she cried, and flew breathlessly from the room, just in time to avoid Mrs and Miss Rollo, who entered by another door.
The “country cousin” sight-seeing had been carried on with much gusto in the intervals of house-hunting, and more than once Eunice Rollo had been included in the party, for, like many Londoners born and bred, she had neglected to visit places close at hand, and was delighted to have so pleasant an opportunity of making their acquaintance.
The three girls spent an afternoon in the British Museum, and discussed Mollusks and Lepidoptera with surreptitious pauses to yawn behind the glass cases, until the first barriers of formality were broken down by the fascination of Egyptian mummies, and the thrilling, imaginary histories which Peggy wove concerning their life on earth. They went over the Tower, and enlivened the tedium of a Beefeater’s life by discussing in his presence how best to steal the treasured Koh-i-nor; and finally, they visited the National Gallery, and on their return Mellicent and Eunice sat on Peggy’s bed, while that young person represented some of the celebrated portraits for their benefit, with the aid of such properties as the room afforded.
“Portrait of a young girl, by Sir Peter Lely,” announced the clear voice; and the audience turned their heads, to behold a demure visage framed by braided hairy a white towel pinned severely across the shoulders, and a milk-white blossom held in a mittened hand. The chintz curtain with its bouquets of flowers made an admirable background for the youthful figure, and the lamb-like innocence of expression was touching to behold. Eunice gripped her companion’s arm and pointed breathlessly to the feet peeping out beneath the short white skirt. The flat black shoes with the sandal-like crossings were the exact counterpart of those in the picture; but how in the name of mystery had Peggy managed to produce them? Eunice discussed the question with Mellicent in the pause during which they were requested to “look the other way,” and had reached the solution of goloshes and ribbon, when “Gloriana, by Rubens!” was introduced to their notice.
Miss Peggy reclined against a background of cushions, beamingly conscious of a transformation so complete as to be positively startling to behold. A trio of sponges pinned round the head gave the effect of an elaborate coiffure, above which was perched a scarlet turban decorated by half-a-dozen brooches, holding in position as many feathers; a blue dressing-gown opened over an underskirt composed of an eiderdown quilt, which gave an appropriately portly air to the figure, and by some mysterious process a double chin had been produced for the occasion! Gasps of delight from the bed greeted this masterpiece; but the third impersonation was most successful of all, when the audience shrieked aloud to behold Lady Macbeth glaring upon them from a yard’s distance, enveloped in bath sheets, and wearing such an expression of horror on her face as chilled the blood to behold!
“Not all the spices of Arabia can sweeten this little hand!” hissed Peggy, shaking her little paw in the air, while Mellicent screamed with delight and pounded the ground with her heels, and Eunice lay prone against the bedpost in a silent paroxysm of laughter. To see Eunice Rollo laugh was a delightful experience, and one which was worth some trouble to enjoy. Not a sound issued from her lips, not an exclamation marked her enjoyment; like a helpless image she sat, and shook, and trembled, and quivered from head to foot, while her face grew pink, and the tears rose in her eyes, and streamed unheeded down her cheeks. The sight of her, dumb, shaking, weeping—roused the other girls to uncontrollable mirth, and the louder they laughed, the more did Eunice weep; the more violently did they gesticulate and prance about the room, the closer did she hug her bedpost, the more motionless she appeared.
To be forced into laughter, real, honest, uncontrollable laughter, as opposed to the forced guffaw of society, seemed a new experience to this only child of busy and pre-occupied parents; and it needed only Arthur’s assurance that he had never seen the girl so bright and animated to put the final touch to Peggy’s growing liking.
On the present occasion Eunice and her mother had come to tea at the hotel, and as Rosalind and Hector were also expected within the next half-hour, it was quite necessary that Peggy should get her eyes in order without delay. She was not in a mood to give a cordial welcome to the destroyer of her brother’s happiness, and, despite her efforts to the contrary, there was a chill in her manner which Rosalind was quick to note. It worried her, as it had worried her in the old girlish days when Peggy Saville had refused to pay the homage which she expected from her companions, and now, as then, she put forth all her fascinations in order to subdue the unruly spirit. The princess in the fairy-tale seemed again the only creature to whom to compare her as she sat enthroned on the sofa, her lovely face alight with smiles and dimples. Eunice Rollo looked like a little grey mouse beside her, the very colour seeming to be absorbed from her face by the brilliancy of the contrast, while bonnie Mellicent appeared of a sudden awkward and blousy.
“Rosalind makes every one else look a fright, the moment she comes into a room. I shudder to think of the guy I must appear. Poor dear Arthur! I don’t wonder at his devotion. She is so lovely that she fascinates one in spite of oneself!” sighed Peggy, trying to harden herself against the glances of the sweet caressing eyes, and feeling her heart softening with every moment that passed.
All her thoughts were centred on Rosalind and Arthur, and she presided over the tea-tray with a sublime absence of mind which afforded Hector Darcy much amusement. His own cup was filled last of all, and seating himself beside her he gravely extracted from it six separate lumps of sugar, which he ranged in a neat little row on a plate.
“Seeing that you asked me twice over if I took sugar, and on hearing that I did not, immediately ladled in the largest pieces you could find, I conclude that there is something weighing on your mind,” he said markedly. “What is it? Nothing unpleasant, I hope—nothing serious?”
“A bad habit of thinking of several things at the same time, coupled with the fatigues of a London season. That is the explanation!” sighed Peggy, patting the discarded lumps into a pulp with her spoon, and moulding them into pyramid shape with as earnest an air as if her life depended on the operation. “We have been terribly energetic—flying about all day long and living in a perfect whirl of excitement.”
“And yet I never meet you. I look out for you every day, but in vain. We never seem to go to the same places.”
“Ah, you are among the rank and fashion, you see, and we are country cousins doing the sights. You visit the real people, and we stare at the images at Madame Tussaud’s. You attend private views, and we go in with the rabble. You go to luncheon parties at The Star and Garter, and we have buns and tea in an ABC shop, and pay an extra penny for cream. We move in different circles, Major Darcy,” cried Peggy, with a toss of the head which contradicted the humility of her words. “It is not to be expected that we should meet. To-morrow morning we are going to the Zoo.”
The big officer looked down at her with admiring eyes, paused just long enough to give added effect to his words, and then said deliberately:
“May I go with you?”
“Certainly not!” replied Peggy promptly; and when Hector demanded her reason, “You would be too great a strain upon us,” she explained. “We should have to behave properly if you were there, and that would spoil the fun. You would be shocked at our behaviour, or if you were not shocked, you would be bored, and that would be even more disastrous.”
“Try me and see. There is no fear of my being bored, and I promise faithfully to be so far from shocked that I will do every single thing that you do yourself.”
“Go round with the crowd and see the animals feed?”
“Certainly, if you wish it.”
“Give biscuits to the elephants?”
“With pleasure! I’d do anything for an elephant. Finest beast you can find.”
“And nuts to the monkeys?”
“Er—is that a necessary condition? I really cannot face the monkey-house in this weather.”
“Walk round the parrot-house and examine every cage, and offer your finger to be bitten?”
“I would wait outside until you came back.”
“That’s shirking. If I let you off the monkeys, I should insist upon the parrots; but the most important of all is the dromedary. Will you have a penny ride with us round the grounds on the back of a dromedary?”
“My dear Peggy! Anything in reason to enjoy the pleasure of your society, but really—”
“Nobody shall come with us to the Zoo who is too proud to ride on the dromedary,” said Peggy firmly. “I told you you would be shocked, and you see I was right; but Mellicent and I have no pride at all where animals are concerned, and we intend to do every possible thing that can be done. We will have to defer our next meeting for another occasion, Major Darcy.”
“Not longer than Fwiday, I hope, Peggy,” interrupted Rosalind sweetly. “I want you to keep Fwiday afternoon disengaged, and come with us to Lady B’s garden-party, which will be one of the things of the season. The Pwince and Pwincess will be there, and everybody who is in town, and there is to be a pastowal play beneath the trees, so that altogether it will be worth seeing. You will come, won’t you, Peggy? You really must pwomise to come.”
“The Prince and Princess! Oh, how lovely! I’m simply dying to see the Princess! Only yesterday I said that I could not bear to go away without seeing her. If she were at a garden-party, we could get quite near, and see her face, and her clothes, and hear her speak. How simply lovely!” ejaculated Mellicent rapturously. “Oh, we must go, we must manage it! We have no engagement for Friday, Peggy, have we? Nothing that could not be put off?”
The idea that she herself might not have been included in Rosalind’s invitation had never occurred to Mellicent’s innocent mind. Since her arrival in town she had been treated as an honoured guest, and if on any occasion it had been impossible for both girls to enjoy a pleasure, it had been Peggy who stayed at home and gave place to her friend. Mellicent had wondered more than once when Rosalind Darcy intended to do her share towards the entertainment of her vicar’s daughter, and now was aglow with delight on receiving the invitation which of all others she had most desired. She was too much excited to notice Rosalind’s discomfited surprise, but awakening came all too soon.
“Dear Mellicent, I am sowwy, but I cannot take more than one fwiend,” she murmured caressingly. “Evewybody is asking for invitations, and it would not do to encroach too far on Lady B’s hospitality. Another time, when Peggy is not going, I should be delighted to take you with me—”
“But, Rosalind, I can’t go on Friday. I am dreadfully disappointed, for it is just the sort of thing I should love, and if I had only an ordinary engagement I would put it off, but it is not. An old school-friend of mother’s is coming up from the country especially to see us, and we could not possibly put her off, as we have already had no end of difficulty to fix a day. Letters and telegrams have been flying to and fro, and if we altered the date there is no saying when we should meet. I am very, very sorry, but it is impossible to go with you.”
“But surely you could be spared for the afternoon! You would see your fwiend in the morning, and at dinner—”
“She won’t arrive until lunch-time, and must leave again at six o’clock. She will travel four hours in the train just to spend the afternoon with us, so I could not possibly go out; but there is no reason why Mellicent should stay in too. She could go instead of me.”
Peggy would not have ventured to make such a suggestion had not Rosalind’s own protestations opened the way, but as it was she felt no diffidence in making it, and the change from despair to rapture on her friend’s expressive face went far to console her for her own disappointment. But if Mellicent’s expression was significant, Rosalind’s was even more so. Her lips tightened, the colour deepened in her cheeks, and her eyes sent forth an unmistakable gleam of vexation. She hated being forced into an unpleasant position, but there was one thing which she would hate even more—to be obliged to take a dowdily dressed, countrified-looking visitor to one of the social events of the season, and at all risks this must be avoided. Mellicent would probably be offended, Peggy furious, Arthur pained and disappointed—she knew it beforehand, and lamented the knowledge; but, as Arthur had said, the bent of a lifetime is too strong to be overcome in a moment. Rosalind would have been ready to protest that she cared a hundred times more for her friends’ feelings than for her own dignity, but when it came to the test she sacrificed them without hesitation in the interest of selfish pride.
“I am sowwy, but if you cannot go, Peggy, I think we had better leave it alone for the pwesent. Some day we may all be able to arrange to go together, but Lady B’s will be a gweat cwush, and I shall meet many fwiends, and be so much engrossed. Mellicent would not enjoy herself without you. She would know nobody.”
There was a dead silence. Hector stared at his shoes; Peggy gave a short, staccato cough; and Arthur looked swiftly across the room, to see how Mellicent bore herself beneath this unmerited snub. She was seated on the sofa beside Eunice Rollo, slightly in advance of himself, so that only a crimson cheek was visible, and a neck reddened to the roots of the hair, but Arthur saw something else, which touched him even more than his old friend’s distress—a little grey-gloved hand which shot out from its owner’s side and gripped the broad waist; a little hand that stroked, and patted, and pressed close in sympathetic embrace. Arthur’s lips twitched beneath his moustache, but he said no word; and presently Rosalind rose and took her departure, feeling the atmosphere too charged with electricity to be agreeable.
Contrary to his usual custom, Arthur did not accompany her downstairs, so that he returned from the door in time to hear the explosion of indignation which followed her departure. Mellicent stamped up and down the floor, breathless and tearful; Eunice stared at the floor; and Peggy sat erect as a poker, with a bright spots of colour on either cheek, and lips screwed into a tight little button of scorn.
“Don’t speak to me!” she was saying. “Don’t ask my opinion. I am bereft of speech. Never, in all my existence, have I ever beheld such an exhibition of snobbish disloyalty—”
“Mellicent, my mother has a ticket,” put in Eunice. “You can go with her and take my place. I have seen the Princess scores of times. Oh, please don’t cry, it isn’t worth it, indeed it isn’t!”
“I’d scorn to cry. I wouldn’t condescend to shed a tear for the nasty horrid thing!” cried Mellicent, mopping with her handkerchief at the continuous stream which rolled down her cheeks. “It is she who should cry, not I. If I am poor and shabby, I know how to behave. I’m a lady, and Rosalind Darcy is a c–cad. She is, and I don’t care who hears me say it! I’ve known her all my life, and she’s ashamed to be seen with me. I’ll go home to-morrow, I will! I’ll stay at home where people love me, and don’t choose their friends for the cl–clothes they wear!”
Mellicent burst into fresh tears, and Peggy looked anxiously into Arthur’s face. It was drawn and fixed, and his lips were set, as if in endurance of actual physical pain.