CHAPTER IV.—LAURA BROUGHT TO TASK.
The Admiral says 'good-night' to the last of his guests; then he turns to his daughter, who is evidently preparing for a speedy retreat.
'Don't run away yet, Laura; we keep early hours at Government House, but it is not very late yet.'
Rather reluctantly, Mrs Best obeys. She knows perfectly well why her father wishes her to remain, and she shrewdly suspects what subject of conversation he is likely to introduce. Now that she has had her triumph, by carrying out a pet plan with regard to Katie, that very success makes her uneasy, for she knows she will be called to account. However, she resolves to be brave, and at once leads the way to the music-room. The servants have already put out most of the lights, but here the wax-candles are throwing lustre over scattered music and deserted seats. Laura gathers up some of the songs, wondering when her father will begin, and how the attack will open. She knows it is coming, for he is restlessly pacing to and fro the room with that quarter-deck march of his, that betokens an uneasy mind.
'Why were the Greys not here this evening, Laura?'
She smooths out the leaves of an Italian duet, lays it on the music-stand, and replies with apparent indifference: 'Because they were not invited, papa.'
'Why not? I gave you the list, and I'm certain their names were down. Why did you omit them?'
'Is it always necessary to invite the same people over and over again? The Greys have been at every party that has taken place since I came here to stay.'
'Had you any particular reason for leaving them out, Laura?' asks the Admiral, turning round quickly, as he notes his daughter's slightly scornful tone of voice.
For a moment Mrs Best is undecided. Perhaps a slight meaningless excuse will do. But only for a passing second does she think thus. Her frank loyal nature asserts itself, and she says in a quick earnest manner, with her eyes a little lowered, her cheeks a little flushed: 'I had a good reason, papa. Kate Grey makes herself far too much at home here. One would imagine she has some special privilege in this house.'
'Well, and I am always glad to see her.'
'She knows that, and presumes on the knowledge. People seeing her so much at home at Government House, are beginning to talk in a most unpleasant manner.'
'What do they say, Laura?'
'They say you mean to make her your second wife. O papa, surely, surely you will never do that! A girl so selfish, so ambitious, so fond of admiration, so, so'——
'Stop, Laura! The category of faults you lay to poor Katie's charge is surely long enough. So people say I mean to make her my second wife, do they?'
A flush passes over the Admiral's face, and mounts to his brow. A quick throb rises at his heart, as for the first time he hears Katie's name coupled with his own. Till this moment, his thoughts about her have been vague and unsettled. He admires her very much—more than any other lady he knows; but the idea of making her an offer of marriage has never seriously entered his head. But now, his daughter's very cautions, her very reports of the world's gossip, shadow forth to him that a marriage between him and Miss Grey may not be so very preposterous after all, not such utter madness as he himself would have called it a few months ago.
Laura, seated on a music-stool, her hands clasped before her, and her eyes fixed on her father's face, reads its meaning at once; and as a brave, a loving, and a fearless daughter, she will not shrink from the duty she believes is required of her now. 'Dear papa,' she exclaims, 'let me entreat you not to risk your future happiness! Kate Grey would never make you a good wife. She cares far too much for herself ever to study the true interests of any other person.'
'Why are you so bitter against Miss Grey?'
'I am not bitter. I only tell the real sad truth. Don't let her come to rule in your house; don't let her rob me of my father's love.'
Sir Herbert draws near his daughter, and looks tenderly down at her flushed face and moistened eyes. 'Be reasonable, my child! No one can ever rob you of my love; but' (here he pauses, as though hesitating how to word his meaning—adding composedly enough) 'should I ever marry Miss Grey or any other lady, you must not be prejudiced against my choice, Laura. My marriage can never injure you in the least. Remember, your poor mother's fortune was all settled on you before you married Robert Best.'
'I am not thinking of money, papa. Mere money considerations do not influence me in the least.'
'Possibly not. But let me allude to the subject once more while we are talking. Robert has left you mistress of his fine estate. You have duties and responsibilities that separate you almost entirely from me now. Is not that the case?'
'Yes. I wish I could be more with you.'
'You cannot, Laura, without neglecting your own interests. Therefore I am at times lonely—very lonely in the midst of surrounding society and occupation. My house needs a head. My heart yearns sometimes for congenial companionship. Don't grudge me happiness, Laura, if I can see my way towards gaining it.'
'I hope and pray every possible happiness may be yours, papa; but don't look to Katie Grey for such a thing. She would marry any one to obtain position and wealth.'
Sir Herbert turns away, and walks to the end of the room; but he soon comes back again, and sees his daughter watching him with eyes that are misty and tearful.
'I am thinking of my own precious mother. Oh, how different she was from this girl! Miss Grey is all unworthy to take her place.'
In her earnestness, Mrs Best has risen from the music-stool, and stands before her father with great tears coursing down her cheeks. She raises her clasped hands to him in the most imploring of all attitudes. The snowy crispy dress with its white folds gives her a shadowy, almost ghost-like look; and as her pathetic entreating face turns to the Admiral, it almost seems to him as though the soul of her mother is appealing to him through Laura's eyes. Never has the likeness struck him so much. It is as though his beloved Bess had come from the grave to bid him beware.
The daughter sees the impression she has made, and like many another, presumes too much on her success, and goes a step too far. Had she stopped at this point, perhaps her father would have given her the promise she requires, that he will not marry Kate Grey. But Laura wipes away her tears, and exclaims: 'You are coming round to my views, papa! You are beginning to see how unfit this Katie is to be your wife. Miss Grimshaw quite agrees with me about her true character.'
Sir Herbert steps back—draws himself up to his full height. 'And what in the world does Miss Grimshaw know about the matter?'
'She has great powers of discernment. Indeed it was she who first raised my suspicions, and set me to watch Katie's manœuvres.'
'Very kind of her! I ought to be particularly grateful for her surveillance!'
A cloud gathers on the Admiral's brow; but Laura, unwarned, goes on: 'Adelaide Grimshaw is all kindness. O papa, I wish you would fix on her! She would fill the position of mistress to your household with tact and taste, and would make you an excellent wife.'
'Thank you for your suggestion, Laura; but be assured if ever I do marry, Miss Grimshaw will not be my choice.'
He shudders as memory recalls to his mind the lank figure of the very elderly lady his daughter commends to his notice. He recalls the faded face, the thin wiry curls, the lymphatic eyes, the bleating plausible voice, with which, in the calmest manner, she is wont to gossip over the frailties of her neighbours, and pass hard judgments on those who are younger and more attractive than herself. Then his thoughts revert to Katherine Grey. Whatever her faults may be, fortunately they are all the very opposite of Miss Grimshaw's: mind and body are altogether formed in a very different mould. After this, the conversation comes to a close, and father and daughter separate—she to lament over the Admiral's infatuation; he to wander for an hour or two more through the dimly lighted empty suite of rooms.
Laura's words have moved him strangely. His pulse quickens as he remembers that what has been to him a half-formed purpose, a whispered secret, is already the town's talk, and that everybody is watching to see what will come next.
Has Katie herself heard of these reports, and begun to trace out the shadow of possible coming events? Would she be very much surprised if he tried to give these airy rumours a solid foundation?
Such is the train of thought which floats through Sir Herbert's mind long after the great house is closed for the night, and left apparently to sleep and silence. He hears the measured tramp of the sentry on the cold damp pavement outside; the distant sound of the ships' bells in the harbour, as it is borne in by the wintry blast; and the musical peals from the church steeples that chime the small morning hours; but the question still rings its changes in his mind and finds no satisfactory answer.