There was much talk and much scandal among all the English colonies along the Riviera, and the misdeeds of the two last Haredales were whispered in drawing-rooms and discussed in clubs in all quarters. Nevertheless, the subjects of the scandal had been the possessor of, and the heir to, an English peerage, and various gentlemen presented themselves to follow the funeral; while every one looked with pity on the four tall girls, so young and so handsome, whose condition was all the more forlorn, because they could not really regret the loss either of father or brother.
Miss Haredale wept as much for the fall of her family as for the loss of her brother and nephew; and the white wreath, which Carrie Carisbrooke laid on Charles Haredale’s coffin, symbolised the kindliest feeling he had ever inspired. Mr Riddell arrived in time to conduct the funeral, and, by Lucian’s express desire, both his mother and Sylvester left his side to follow it.
Two of the nearest were absent. Lady Haredale would not go, she shut herself into her room overpowered by a real passion, of what kind her daughters could hardly tell,—whether of grief for her husband, nervous fright at the shock of the two sudden deaths, or of chagrin at her changed position.
“You see, I always liked my poor dear lord so much better than any one else, at bottom,” she said, with tears, to Amethyst; and then she added, “He was such a protection, I shall have to be so careful in future.”
Lady Clyste had fled from the scene of death the moment the watching of that awful night was over. She would not stay, she cried, as if passionately repenting the impulse that had brought her to the spot, and went away from Monte Carlo back to whence she came, so that the brief hours of the night when they had watched together seemed to Amethyst like a vision. They did not know where she lived, or the manner of her life, and she evidently meant to take no part in theirs.
It was not an occasion when plans and intentions could be put off or left untouched upon, and when the funeral was over, the four sisters went out, and sat under the olive trees together and talked over the future that lay before them,—not without a certain renewal of courage, for was it not far more in their own hands than it had ever been before?
“I suppose we shall be very poor,” said Kattern dolefully.
“But we shall know what we have got,” said Una, “and then I suppose we can manage accordingly.”
“I have quite made up my mind,” said Tory. “I don’t mean to be a poor swell, with every one afraid of being let in for marrying me. I shall be a teacher. They let me try to take the little ones at Saint Etheldred’s, and I was no end of a success. You see I always knew what the worst were up to. They couldn’t astonish me. I shall go back there. It won’t cost much, and I’ll just grind. I should like to go to college if I could afford it, and by and by I’ll get a teachership. Then I will live in a lodging, and go on the top of omnibuses, and—owe no man a penny.”
“I think Saint Etheldred’s is very strict and very dull,” said Kattern.