CHAPTER I.
sharp ring at the door-bell made Mrs. Duncan start from her seat, with the exclamation, “I really believe I was nodding!” Slipping out of the room she said in a whisper to the maid who passed on her way to the hall door, “The doctor is out if it is anyone to see him, Janet, and Mr. Magnus will not be in for half an hour yet;” then quietly and quickly returned to her seat by the fire, and picked up her knitting, over which she had so nearly dozed off to sleep.
A cheery voice asking if Mrs. Duncan was at home made her look up with a pleased smile of expectation on her sweet face, and in another moment the door opened to admit a silver-haired old gentleman, with kindly blue eyes and a most benevolent expression.
“Mr. Mellis!” announced Janet, and withdrew.
“How good of you to come and see me, dear friend!” exclaimed Mrs. Duncan, as she shook hands with her visitor; “and on such a day too! I declare it makes me shiver to look out of the window even.”
“I suppose that is why you draw your curtains so early, then,” replied the Rector of St. Jude’s, as he settled himself in the comfortable chair his hostess pushed towards him. “Well, I must say you look cosy enough in here,” surveying the pretty lamp-lit room with its ‘homey’ look (if I may coin a word).
It was a most inviting room, pretty enough for anything, yet totally devoid of that stiff starchy look one so often sees in drawing-rooms which are scrupulously kept spotless, but not used.
Now Mrs. Duncan’s drawing-room was in daily use, and perhaps that was one reason why it always looked so comfortable. Her husband and big son Magnus, both doctors and now partners, used to say they found it more refreshing than anything after a long hard round of visits to drop into a chair beside “little mother” in the drawing-room, and just listen to the click of her knitting-needles as she chatted away until tea was brought in. And no tea, Dr. Duncan was wont to declare, ever tasted half so good as that brewed by his wife’s fair hands, for Mrs. Duncan would always have a small copper kettle brought in, so that she could make the tea herself.
I do not believe there is one man in a thousand who does not like the sight of a kettle steaming and hissing merrily on the fire, but whether this had anything to do with the flavour of the tea or not I leave my readers to decide for themselves.
“A charming picture,” was Mr. Mellis’s thought, as his gaze fell upon the pale-tinted walls with their choice engravings, the overmantel with its old china, the soft-hued furniture and draperies lit up by a pink-shaded standard lamp, and finally upon the little slight fair woman who rose to ring the bell for tea.
“And how are my medical friends?” asked Mr. Mellis.
“Very well, I am glad to say,” responded Mrs. Duncan, while a tender smile played round her lips. It was easy to see what a wealth of love was centred in the absent husband and son.
“It is not every household that can boast of two doctors,” went on Mr. Mellis, smiling. “You ought to be doubly secure against illness.”
“And yet the skill of all the medical men in the world could not save my Muriel for me,” sighed Mrs. Duncan; and her eyes grew dim as she thought of the dear sixteen-year-old daughter who had been laid to rest in the lovely “God’s Acre” a few miles outside the great city, just two years before.
“No, true. I forgot for the moment,” observed the Rector sympathetically, and a short pause ensued, which was broken by the entrance of Janet with the tea-things.
Outside the rain fell heavily in the dirty streets, which were, however, brilliantly lighted, for if there was one thing above another on which the great city of Manningham prided itself, and justly, it was upon its lighting arrangements in general.
Inside comfort reigned, but not even the shutters and closely-drawn curtains and the fact that Dr. Duncan’s house stood some yards back from the road could altogether drown the noise of the traffic in the street without, which was one of the principal thoroughfares of the city. As she handed him his tea, Mr. Mellis suddenly remembered what had been his special reason for calling on Mrs. Duncan that Friday afternoon.
“By the way,” he began, “I hope I shall see you at church on Sunday evening. I know the damp weather prevents your attendance at times, but come if you possibly can.”
“So far as I know,” answered Mrs. Duncan brightly, “I shall be there. But why specially next Sunday? Is there anything out of the common going to take place?”
“Only this,” replied the Rector, stirring his tea, “that a newly-come member of our congregation has promised to sing for us. She, for it is a lady, is a professional vocalist, and when I called on her mother some weeks ago, Miss Heritage told me that if ever she could help me by singing in the church at any time, she would most gladly do so. I thought it so kind of her, for indeed I should not have liked to ask such a thing. It seems like imposing on people’s good nature.”
“I agree with you there, Mr. Mellis, and it was a graceful thing in this lady to place herself at your disposal. What did you say her name was?”
“Heritage—Marielle Heritage.”
“What a pretty name!” exclaimed Mrs. Duncan.
“Yes, and a pretty girl too, you will say when you see her,” added the Rector.
“Hallo, little mother, and who is this pretty girl you are discussing?” said someone who had quietly entered the room.
“Dear me, Magnus, what a start you gave me!” said his mother, stooping to pick up a tea-spoon which, in her fright, she had let fall.
“Here, let me do that for you, dear. There it is. How d’ye do, Mr. Mellis? Wet day, isn’t it?”
Magnus shook hands with the old man, then turning to his mother, gave her a bear-like hug and hearty kiss, making her face flush with pleasure and her sweet eyes shine brighter than ever as she surveyed the tall, handsome figure of her son. Clean-shaven, with crisp, curly, dark hair, cut very short, and with steady deep blue eyes, Magnus Duncan, though not exactly good-looking, had a face that inspired confidence at once. He was more like his father than his mother, yet he had the latter’s sweet expression and smile, which lit up his otherwise rather sombre features, giving a rare charm to his clever face.
“Now for some tea, little mother, please, and then tell me what all the talk was about when I came in and interrupted you.”
Just then entered Dr. Duncan, senior, and it was some few minutes before Magnus gained the desired information.
“Oh! I see. How nice of her! And what is she going to sing?” asked Magnus, who was passionately fond of music.
“I really did not ask her. She said she would sing some solo in place of the anthem, and I left it to her to choose what, and to arrange for a rehearsal with the organist,” replied Mr. Mellis.
“Oh! well, we’ll go, won’t we, dad?” said Magnus, turning to his father.
“Yes, my boy, if only we are not called off to see a patient, which is our usual luck if ever we specially want to go anywhere,” laughed Dr. Duncan.
“Before I take my leave,” said Mr. Mellis, rising and addressing his hostess, “I want to say that it would be a kindness if you would call upon the Heritages. They have not been long in this neighbourhood, and are rather lonely. Their old friends live a good way off, and they themselves used to have a big place out near Huntsford; but six months ago Mr. Heritage died suddenly, a great deal poorer than was anticipated; in fact, it became evident that he had been living beyond his income for some years past, so that instead of being well off, his widow and daughter have only a tiny income on which to subsist. So Miss Marielle Heritage decided to make a practical use of the fine vocal training she had received. She has already appeared at the ‘Thursday Classical Concerts,’ and her appearance was followed, fortunately, by a fair number of pupils. She meets them at Forman’s, she tells me” (naming a large music-shop in the city), “and it is in order to be handy for the trams to town that they have taken up their abode in York Road. Number twenty-seven is the house. There now, I really must go!” wound up the Rector, and a few minutes later the hall door closed behind his retreating footsteps.
When all the paraphernalia of afternoon tea had been removed, Magnus recounted to his mother any little incidents in the day’s work which he thought would interest her. Dr. Duncan, senior, had been called away into the surgery to see an old friend and patient, so mother and son were alone.
Time passed quickly away, and it was a surprise to both when the clock chimed the half-hour after six. Mrs. Duncan bustled away to change her toilet, leaving Magnus still lying back in his easy-chair, gazing into the fire with his hands clasped behind his head.
The subject of his meditations might have been guessed from the following words, had anyone been there to hear them.
“Marielle Heritage! What a pretty name!” said he softly to himself. Then rousing himself with an impatient shake, he rose out of his chair, and in his turn went upstairs to get ready for dinner.
(To be continued.)