Chapter Twenty Seven.

A Glad Surprise.

The weather continued so warm and sunny that Mr Bertrand and his party lingered in Thun, day after day, enjoying the Indian summer, and loath to tear themselves away from the lovely surroundings. Lettice remained silent and subdued, but there was no longer any coldness between her and her companions, and her face had lost the strained, despairing expression which had been so painful to behold. The news from London, moreover, was as satisfactory as could be hoped for under the circumstances. A friend of Arthur Newcome’s, who was also engaged to be married, had come forward and offered to take the house and furniture at a valuation, while his father had recalled his business manager in America and was sending Arthur to take his place for the next two or three years. Everyone felt that the change would be the best cure which the poor fellow could have, while it was an immense relief to know that there would be no danger of painful encounters in London. Even with this dread removed, Mr Bertrand was in ten minds about his plans for the coming winter. There seemed many reasons why it would be better to remain quietly in Westmoreland for another year. He puzzled over the question in private, and finally confided his difficulty to Mr Rayner, with startling and unexpected results.

“You see, the boys could go on as they are for some time to come; Norah is not over anxious for the change, and I cannot say I am willing to let Lettice go much into society just now. She is so very lovely that she is bound to attract attention, and after this painful business it would be in better taste to keep out of the way until it is forgotten. All things considered, I think I should be wise to give up the idea of coming to town until next winter.”

Mr Rayner’s face had clouded over while his friend was speaking, and his answer came in dry, irritated tones.

“When you say, ‘all things considered,’ you forget, of course, that you have entirely overlooked Miss Hilary’s feelings in the matter. As your eldest daughter, I should have thought that her wishes might have been consulted; but it appears that all the others are put before her!”

“Hallo, what’s this? And pray when did you constitute yourself Hilary’s champion?” cried Mr Bertrand, turning round in his seat with a laugh, and an amused expression on his face, which gave place to one of blankest astonishment as he met the flash in his companion’s eyes, and heard the firm tone of the answer—

“How long ago? I don’t know! But I am her champion, now and for ever, if she will have me!”

“Rayner! What is this? You cannot possibly be in earnest?”

Herbert Rayner laughed shortly. No one could look at him for a moment and doubt that he was deeply in earnest, but there was a bitter ring in his laughter which showed that he misunderstood the reason of his friend’s surprise.

“I don’t wonder that you are astonished! A fine lover I am—am I not, to dare to aspire to a bright young girl?”

“My dear fellow, you misunderstood me. I know to what you refer, but that never even entered my mind. What I can’t realise is that you can possibly entertain any feeling of the kind for Hilary. You! If I ever thought of your possible marriage it was always with some clever, charming woman of the world who would help you with your work, and enter into your plans. Hilary is a mere girl. She has no special ability of any kind—”

“No?”

“Not the slightest literary gift!”

“No.”

“Absolutely ignorant of your world.”

“Yes.”

“You are ten years older than she is.”

“Yes.”

“Well—well—well—”

“Well, Bertrand, we can’t argue about these things. There it is, and I can’t account for it. I want Hilary, and I don’t want the ‘clever, charming woman.’ She satisfies me, and—”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Certainly not! I don’t know that I should have ever summoned up courage to speak to you, if you had not taken me by surprise. It would be different if I were now as I was ten years ago, but I feared you might think my health an insuperable objection.”

“No—no! I can’t say that—if you have really set your heart on it. How long has this been going on?”

Mr Rayner smiled—a quick, whimsical smile, which was like a flash of sunshine.

“Well, you have heard the story of the scarlet slippers? That evening, after you left, I went to look for them behind the curtains, and smuggled them downstairs beneath my coat. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I did, and I have them still!”

Mr Bertrand threw back his head with a burst of laughter.

“Oh, after that! If you have got the length of treasuring worsted slippers, there is no more to be said. Rayner, my dear fellow, I suppose I ought to be distressed, but I believe I am—uncommonly pleased and proud! Little Hilary! It would be delightful to feel that you were one of us. And have you any idea as to whether she cares for you in return?”

“We have always been great friends. I cannot say more. And do you really give me permission to speak to her? Would you give her to me, in spite of my weakness and infirmity? How can I ever express my thanks?”

“If Hilary cares for you, I will put no hindrance in your way; but we must have no more mistakes. I will not allow an engagement until I have satisfied myself as to her feelings. There is one comfort: she knows her own mind uncommonly well, as a rule. You can speak to her when you will...”

Although the conversation lasted for some time longer, the same things were practically repeated over and over again, and when the two gentlemen came in to lunch, the girls and Miss Carr all noticed the unusual radiance of their expressions. The last few weeks had contained so much trouble and worry, that it was quite inspiriting to see

bright faces again, and to hear genuine laughter take the place of the forced “ha, ha!” which had done duty for so long. Even Lettice smiled once or twice in the course of that meal, and Norah’s eyes lost their dreamy, far-away look and twinkled with the old merry expression, while Hilary nodded gaily across the table in answer to her father’s searching look, and chattered away all unsuspecting of the great event which was so close at hand.

When Mr Rayner asked her to take her work to the seat overlooking the lake, in the afternoon, she said, “Won’t you come too, Lettice?” and tripped after him, humming a lively air.

It was a very different Hilary who returned to the hotel two hours later, and went to join her father on the verandah. Her face was pale and serious; she looked older and more womanlike; but there was a steady light of happiness in her eyes which told its own tale.

“Well, Hilary,” he asked gravely, “and what is it to be?”

“There is no doubt about that, father! It is to be as he wants—now and always!”

“I thought as much. But you must realise what you are doing, dear. When most girls are married they look forward to having a strong man’s arm between them and the world; they expect to be shielded from trouble; but if you marry Rayner, this will not be your lot. You will have to watch over him, to spare him fatigue and anxiety, and take the burden on your own shoulders, for he is a man who will require constant care.”

“I know that. It is what I long to do. I should be so happy looking after him.”

“And perhaps—it seems brutal to mention it, but the possibility must be faced—he might not be spared to you for many years! A delicate fellow like that—”

“Strong men die unexpectedly, father, as well as weakly ones. Everyone has to run that risk. I would rather be his wife even for two or three years than marry any other man. And I will nurse him so well—take such good care—”

“Ah, I see your mind is made up! Well, dear, some people would think I was doing a foolish thing in consenting to this engagement, but I do consent. I do more than that, I rejoice with all my heart in your happiness, and in my own happiness, for it will be a joy to every one of us. Rayner will be a son-in-law worth having, and a husband of whom any woman might be proud. Ah, well! this is something like an engagement! That other unhappy affair was nothing but trouble from first to last. You know your mind, my dear, and are not likely to change.”

“Never!” said Hilary. And her eyes flashed with a bright, determined look, at which her father smiled.

“That’s good hearing! Well, dear, we will have another talk later on, but now we had better go and join the others. They are curious to know what we are whispering about over here.”

Miss Carr had come out of the hotel after her afternoon nap, and was seated on the verandah beside the two younger girls. Mr Rayner had joined them, and was listening with mischievous enjoyment to their speculations about Hilary’s conference with her father.

“How interested they seem! Now he is kissing her. Why don’t they come over here and tell us all about it?” cried Norah; and, as if anxious to gratify her curiosity, Mr Bertrand came towards the verandah at that very moment, and presenting Hilary to them with a flourishing hand, cried roguishly—

“Allow me to introduce to you the future Mrs Herbert Rayner!”

The excitement, joy, and astonishment of the next few minutes can be better imagined than described. Miss Carr shed tears into her teacup; the girls repeated incoherently that they had always expected it, and that they had never expected it; and Mr Bertrand was as mischievous in his teasing ways as Raymond himself could have been under the circumstances; but the lovers were too happy to be disturbed by his sallies. It was both beautiful and touching to see Mr Rayner’s quiet radiance, and to watch how his eyes lightened whenever they lit on Hilary’s face, while to see that self-possessed young lady looking shy and embarrassed was something new indeed in the annals of the family! Shy she was, however, beyond possibility of doubt, hardly daring to look in Mr Rayner’s direction, and refusing outright to address him by his Christian name for the edification of the listeners.

“What is there to be frightened at? I am not frightened! Herbert, do you take sugar, Herbert? Will you have two lumps, Herbert?” cried Lettice saucily, and everyone smiled, pleased to see the lovely face lighted up by the old merry smile, and to hear a joke from the lips which had drooped so sadly.

“Will you put me in a story, Herbert, if I’m very good, and promise not to tease?” said Norah, determined not to be outdone; and the new brother looked at her with admiring eyes.

“I think I rather enjoy being teased, do you know; it is so very new and satisfactory! But I shall certainly make a heroine of you some fine day, Norah, when I have manufactured a hero worthy of the occasion!”

Norah’s laugh rang out merrily, but as she turned her head to look at the distant mountains, a little film of moisture dimmed her eyes. Impossible to see two people so happy together as Herbert and Hilary, and not think of the long years which must pass before such a joy came to herself. But Rex was true—he would not change; he was worth all the waiting—

“Well, Helen,” said Mr Bertrand to his faithful old friend as the young people moved off at last and left them alone together. “Well, Helen, and what do you think of this latest development? Are you satisfied? Have I been wise?—Do you think he is the right man for her?”

Miss Carr looked at him with a little flash of disdain.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that Hilary has improved so wonderfully during the last few years, that there is now some chance of her being almost good enough for him! My dear Austin, he is a king among men! Hilary may be a proud woman that his choice has fallen upon her. They will be very happy.”

“I trust, I think they will! It seems strange that it should be Hilary, who was always so careful of her own interests, who should have chosen to marry a delicate, crippled fellow who must be more or less of a care all his days; but I believe it will make a splendid woman of her, draw out all the tenderness of her nature, and soften her as nothing else could have done. Yes! I am thoroughly happy about it, more especially as it has the honour of your distinguished approval. These engagements come thick and fast upon us, Helen. Let us hope there will be a breathing time now for some time to come. Lettice is bound to marry sooner or later, but we will pray for ‘later,’ and as for Norah, I suppose her future is practically settled. Poor child! it will be a long waiting, but Rex is a fine lad, and is bound to succeed. He knows his own mind, too, and will not be likely to change; while Norah—”

“Yes, she is one of the steadfast ones, but she is only a child, Austin, and will be none the worse for the time of waiting.”

“And I cannot regret it, since through it I shall be able to keep one of my little lasses with me for some years at least. I shall be a lonely man when they all take flight! ... Come, it is getting chilly. Let us go into the house.”