CHAPTER XI
I do not know how I parted with Vernon Carbury. I cannot recall even to this day whether I shook hands with him or not, or even whether he walked with me as far as the gates of the Park. What I do remember vividly is this: that I went home to Hanbury Square like one walking in a dream. The whole world seemed to me to be filled with a wonderful new light. In the midst of this radiance was one figure, one face; out of the brightness one voice seemed to speak, and one pair of eyes to shine. I was certain I did not in the least love Captain Carbury, but I did know that our meeting had been full of keen excitement, and that I was altogether lifted out of myself into a new and wonderful world. I wanted to be quite alone, to think over what had happened. I was puzzled, too, at the fact that I was trembling, and that my cheeks were hot one minute and that I felt cold all over the next.
Morris walked discreetly behind me, and the beautiful smell of the violets came in wafts now and then to my nostrils. During our walk home Morris had not spoken to me. When I reached the house I went straight to my pretty bedroom; I wanted more badly than ever to be quite by myself, but Morris annoyed me. She followed me into my bedroom, carrying the violets.
"Shall I arrange these in your sitting-room for you, miss?" she asked.
"Please do," I answered; "and Morris, do not come near me for a time, for I wish to be quite alone."
"Certainly, miss. I was to say, please, that the Major and her ladyship have gone on the river, but that lunch will be ready for you whenever you wish for it in the smaller dining-room."
"I am not hungry, and I don't wish for lunch," I replied.
"Shall I bring you up some tea and a lightly boiled egg, miss?"
"Yes; that will do nicely," I answered.
She tripped away, and I shut and locked the door. I could not bear to encounter her face, for it was full of meaning. She treated me as though I were slightly ill, and as though she were my nurse. I hated beyond words the knowledge that she shared my secret with me; but then, of course, I had no secret, for although Vernon Carbury had said those wonderful, those amazing words, I did not love him back again. How was it possible that I, a girl who respected myself, could love a man who a few weeks before had been engaged to another?
I sat in my room, leaning back in my comfortable chair; then I started up and paced the floor impatiently; then I tried very hard to make myself angry with Captain Carbury – I wanted to force myself even to hate him a little bit – but I did not succeed. I could only remember the look in his eyes, and the smile on his lips, and the thrill in his voice, when he told me how he cared for me, and I could only recall the fact that I certainly would meet him at eleven o'clock on the following morning in Hyde Park.
Morris must share my secret. It was a terrible thing to reflect about, but I could not go to Hyde Park alone; she must, therefore, accompany me. Well, that would end the whole thing. I would tell dear, kind Vernon that all my life long I would remember his good words to me, and that I would ever and ever keep him in my gallery of heroes, but that, of course – and I knew that I must speak very steadily and firmly at this juncture of my conversation – I could never love him, nor, by any possibility, marry him. I should be quite pleased to be his friend, but beyond that anything else was impossible.
There came a tap at my door. It was Morris, bearing a tray with some delicately-prepared tea, some fragrant toast, some little pats of delicious butter, on a silver tray, and a nice, fresh, brown egg, lightly boiled. Morris carried the tray in one hand; in the other she held a great basket full of the most exquisite roses I had ever seen in my life.
"For you, Miss Dalrymple," she said, and she laid the basket of roses on the dressing-table.
"Oh! oh!" I said. I adored flowers, and I buried my face now in the fragrant blooms.
"Aren't they beautiful, miss?" remarked Morris. "They must have cost a small fortune."
My cheeks were very red indeed, nor did I look up from sniffing at the flowers until Morris had left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Then I rose slowly, and carrying the basket with me, laid it on the floor at my feet. I sat down by the table, where my small lunch awaited me, but I did not care to eat. I began carefully to take one beautiful blossom after another out of the basket. Of course, Vernon Carbury had sent these flowers to me; there was no doubt whatever on the subject. How reckless of him – how wrong of him! And yet, how splendidly nice and delightful of him! But I must speak to him on this very point to-morrow. He was, of course, far from rich, and he must on no account spend his money on me; I would not permit it for a moment. Still, it was delightful to sniff these roses, and to think of him, and to wonder, deep down in my heart, what he could find in a little, insignificant girl like me to love.
I had finished my tea and was standing by the window, when, to my amazement, I heard a firm and determined knock at the door. Whoever the person was who waited without, she did not linger long; she turned the handle of the door and entered.
It was my stepmother. Her eyes lighted up with pleasure as they fell on the beautiful basket of hothouse roses.
"Ah!" she said, "I might have guessed as much. This explains everything, and how lovely!"
"I thought you were on the river," I said.
"A tiresome thing happened," she replied, "and I have come back. Aren't those flowers lovely?"
"Yes," I said. I felt quite pleased and surprised at her sympathy. Was it possible that I had been mistaken in her all the time? Was she really the sort of woman who would wish me to care about a man like Captain Carbury?
She came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder.
"Heather," she said, "you are one of the lucky people of the world. I knew that, from the moment I laid my eyes on you; I told your father so, and for some time we both have seen what was coming. Yes; you are of the fortunate ones of the earth. Remember, Heather, in your days of prosperity, that you will always have to thank me for this."
"But nothing is coming," I answered, for although I was surprised and liked her for her sympathy, I would not even pretend that I cared for Vernon Carbury. Then I continued:
"It was impossible for you to know it, whatever you mean by 'it,' for any length of time, for he has only just broken off – "
"He – he has only just broken off!" exclaimed my stepmother. "What are you talking of, child? Really, Heather, you are the most tiresome girl I ever met. What you want, my dear, is an early engagement, and a quick marriage."
"Oh, just what – what – "
"Now again you interrupt – I cannot understand you in the very least. What do you mean by 'just what – what'?"
"Nothing, mother," I said. It hurt me awfully to say the word, but I forced myself to do it, for father's sake.
"I don't believe you know yourself," remarked Lady Helen. "Now, get into your prettiest dress. We are going to motor in the Park, you and I, all by ourselves."
"But Where's Daddy?" I asked. "I want Daddy to come with us."
"Your father won't be in until dinner-time; he is very busy. By the way, two gentlemen, special friends of mine – and, indeed, I think one of them is a special friend of yours – are coming to dine here to-night."
"Oh!" I said. I felt myself changing colour.
My stepmother gazed at me, and a curious smile, which I did not like, flitted across her face.
"Come," she said; "you are a good girl; you are not quite as silly as you seem, and I perceive that you are taking kindly to my arrangements."
"Please tell me the names of the gentlemen who are dining here to-night?" I asked.
"I shall do nothing of the kind. I never give away my pet secrets. You will see them when they come, and I wish you to look your very sweetest and best. That new feathery sort of dress, with the silver embroidery, will exactly suit you. You can wear a great bunch of these roses just here" – she indicated the front of my dress – "and Morris will arrange a few on the skirt. I assure you, with those additions to your white and silver dress, you will, my dear daughter, be irresistible. It isn't every girl who does so well in her first season; but then, it isn't every girl who has the advantage of a mother like me. Now I mustn't waste any more time. Ring for Morris. Tell her that she is to put you into your dark blue costume, with the blue hat to match, and the silver fox fur. Get ready as fast as you can. Ah! here you are, Morris. Attend to Miss Dalrymple, please."
CHAPTER XII
Lady Helen swept out of the room, and Morris began to dress me.
"It's strange, her ladyship coming back," she remarked. But I was in no mood to exchange confidences with my maid. I said at once:
"I suppose Lady Helen can change her mind."
"Oh, of course, miss; but all the same it is strange. It means – yes, miss, I know what it means."
"Please, Morris, don't talk now; my head aches."
"Poor young lady!" said Morris. She gave me a significant look. "If I was you I'd be firm," she said. "It means courage, but you have plenty of spirit. We remark on it in the servants' hall. We say that it would take a great deal to knock Miss Heather's spirit out of her."
There was no use in finding fault with Morris. I remained silent.
"Those roses are superb," she said again, as she arranged my dark blue cloth dress, and got me ready for my drive in the Park with my stepmother.
I made no response, but my heart throbbed when she mentioned the roses. I wondered if Captain Carbury were coming to dinner. I forgot altogether the fact that Captain Carbury and my father, for some extraordinary reason, did not wish to meet. As I considered the possibility of the Captain's dining with us that evening, something else happened. I began to long inexpressibly for him. I earnestly hoped he would come, that he would be the person allotted to take me in to dinner, that I should sit by his side, and that I should have an opportunity of scolding him – of course, very gently – with regard to the roses. I made up my mind to tell him that he was foolishly extravagant, and to implore of him not to do such a thing again. It would be impossible for me to be too severe when I was wearing his roses, for I determined just when Morris was arranging my hat at the most becoming angle not to wear the silver thing in my hair, but a bunch of the softest roses, exactly where he would like to see them, nestling behind my ear.
Morris was very quick in getting me into my afternoon costume, and a few minutes later my stepmother and I were bowling away in the direction of Hyde Park. There we joined a long procession of carriages and motors. It was a beautiful day, and we both looked around us, enjoying the gay and brilliant scene.
Lady Helen was dressed in her usual extravagant style, and her face was covered with a thick veil. She managed by this means to keep all appearance of age at bay, and looked quite an elegant woman of the world as she leaned back in her expensive motor-car with her wonderful sables round her shoulders. By and by a look of excitement flashed from her dark eyes. She desired the chauffeur to stop. We pulled up at the kerb, and a fine, aristocratic-looking man with a slightly withered face and tired grey eyes came forward. I had met him several times at different balls and assemblies. I liked him, and felt that there was even a possibility of our being friends. I regarded him in the light of an uncle.
"How do you do, Lord Hawtrey?" said Lady Helen.
Lord Hawtrey bowed to Lady Helen. Then he bowed to me. His tired eyes lit up with a smile, and he began to talk eagerly. While he talked he looked at me, and each moment it seemed to me that his eyes grew less tired, and the wrinkles seemed to leave his face. He certainly had a very fatherly manner towards me, and I smiled back at him in return, and felt very happy. I noticed on that special occasion, however, that there was a great deal of sadness behind his outward suavity of manner. I pitied him for this, as it was my nature to pity all creatures in the world who were not perfectly happy.
"I am so glad you are coming to dine to-night," said Lady Helen.
So he was one of the guests! Well, that did not matter. Captain Carbury must, of course, be the other. As the motor-car started forward again Lord Hawtrey gave me a long, penetrating, observant glance. It seemed to me afterwards that it was a peculiar glance.
Lady Helen was now in the highest spirits, and loud in the praises of his lordship.
"It is a feather in your cap, my dear," she said, "to be noticed so kindly by a man like Hawtrey. Perhaps you are unaware of the fact that he is one of the most sought-after men in London, because he is one of the best catches of the season."
"What do you mean by a catch?" I asked.
"Oh, you ignorant little thing! But I suppose some people would find a charm in all that. Doubtless he does."
"Please do tell me what you mean by a good catch?" I repeated.
She laughed disagreeably.
"A good catch," she said, "is – is – well, let me think – the best fish in the sea, the best trout in the stream, the best – the best – oh, the best of everything; that is, if money means anything, and birth anything, and – charm anything, and the finest house in England anything. That is what a good catch means. Now, perhaps, you understand."
"You think, perhaps, that some girl may like to marry Lord Hawtrey?" I said, after a long pause.
"Some girl will," she exclaimed. "Any girl who is not previously engaged would give her eyes for such a connection."
She looked at me intently.
"But surely," I said, "he is old enough to be a young girl's father?"
"Your childishness oppresses me," said Lady Helen. "I thought he'd be in the Park; that is the true reason why I came out. I wanted to be certain of him to-night. I think we'll go home now. I am anxious for my tea, and the air is turning chilly."
We returned to the house. I was still feeling happy. And this, I had to own to myself, was because of Captain Carbury. I accepted the certain fact, and with a joyful beating of my heart, that he stood between me and my stepmother, that he had placed himself deliberately as a shield between her and me. I remembered, too, that chivalrous, beautiful light in his eyes when he told me that morning that he loved me. Oh, of course, I would not marry for years and years, but it was nice to know that one like Vernon Carbury loved me.
Morris was very fidgety about my dress that evening. She was really a splendid maid, and performed her duties deftly and quietly. As a rule, she never made a fuss. She seemed to know what was the right dress for me to wear, and I put it on at her bidding. But to-night she was quite excited. I felt almost sure, as I glanced at her face, that she shared my secret, and once or twice, while I was going through the long and tedious process of the toilet, I longed to ask her if she knew that Captain Carbury was coming to dinner. But something kept me back from uttering the words. I knew I should blush if I asked her that question, and then Morris would be sure. Morris was not sure yet; she could only guess.
By and by I was fully dressed. Had Aunt Penelope seen me, she would not have recognised in the radiant girl to whose cheeks excitement had given a passing tinge of colour, to whose eyes excitement had lent the glow which comes straight from the heart, the Heather she had counselled to live the simple life, and walk worthy of her God. Nevertheless, I said to myself, "I should love to kiss the dear old thing to-night."
Just then Morris entered the room with a wreath of roses, which she had skilfully twined together. These she fastened with the deftest of deft fingers across the front of my dress. She put another spray of roses on one shoulder, and a little bunch in my hair.
"Now, if I was you, miss," she said, "I wouldn't wear one jewel. I wouldn't have the string of pearls round my neck, nor anything. I'd just wear these real roses on that silver white dress. Oh, Miss Dalrymple, you do look lovely!"
"By the way, Morris," I said, suddenly, "where are the violets we bought to-day?"
"The violets, miss? What have they to do with your toilet?"
"I want just a very few to pin into the front of my dress," I said. "Fetch me a bowl of them from my sitting-room, and be quick, Morris."
"They'll spoil the effect; it's a dreadful pity," said Morris.
"I must have them," I replied.
Morris went and fetched them. I chose a big bunch, and fastening it in a heap, pinned it next the roses at my left side. Then I picked up my fan and gloves and ran downstairs.
Lady Helen and my father were both in the big drawing-room. My father's cheeks were blazing with excitement. I had not seen his face look so red for a long time. Lady Helen had evidently been whispering something to him, because when I appeared they started asunder, and looked almost guiltily one at the other. Then my father came up to me, made a low bow, and, taking my hand, raised it to his lips.
"Nonsense, Daddy!" I said. "I am not going to have you treating me in this formal fashion," and I flung my arms round his neck and kissed him several times.
"For goodness' sake, Gordon, don't crush her roses!" cried Lady Helen.
We started apart, for the first visitor, Lord Hawtrey, was announced. He was greeted by Lady Helen and my father, and then he turned to me. I noticed that he looked me all over, and that his eyes shone with pleasure when he observed my lovely roses. I had never felt shy with Lord Hawtrey, and was not shy now.
"Do you like my roses?" I said, going to his side.
"They suit you," was his answer.
"They were sent to me by a very great friend. I am sure you cannot guess his name," I said.
The footman flung the door open again, and a man entered who was called Sir Francis Dolby. He was a tall, very thin man. I knew him slightly. I also disliked him. My heart sank low, very low, within me, when he entered the room. So Captain Carbury was not dining in my stepmother's house that evening.
Lady Helen came and whispered something to Lord Hawtrey. The result of this was that he took me in to dinner. He talked charmingly during the meal. He took no notice of the fact that I was a little distraite – that my heart was very low within me. Whether he guessed any of my thoughts or not I can never tell, but he certainly did his best to restore my flagging spirits. By and by, when he saw that the kindest thing was to leave me alone, he devoted himself to the rest of the party, and soon had my father in roars of laughter over his good stories.
At last, the weary dinner came to an end. The smell of the roses was so strong that I felt almost faint. My head was aching. What could be the matter with me? I began, however, to centre my thoughts on one bright beacon star of hope. I should meet Captain Carbury at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning in the Park.
Lady Helen gave the signal, and we went into the drawing-room; there she said, eagerly:
"My child, you look pale. Are you tired?"
"No," I answered; "I am not the least tired." But then I added, rather petulantly, "I have too many flowers on my dress; the smell of the roses in these hot rooms makes me almost faint. May I not take some of them off?"
"By no means," she answered, and she stepped back a few paces and looked at me attentively.
"Really, Heather," she said, "you are, I believe, intended by Providence to look pale; that pallor in your cheeks, joined to the darkness of your big eyes, gives you a wonderfully interesting, almost spiritual, look."
"If you but knew," I answered, "how very, very little I care for how I look!"
I said these words defiantly. I was certain she would scold me for uttering them. She paused, however, as though she were listening, then she said:
"In future, my dear child, you may look as you like, and act as you like; for the present, just please me. Reward me for my good services to you by being my good little Heather on this one evening."
I was surprised at her words, and at the sort of affectionate admiration in her manner. She made me sit next to her on the sofa.
"You are not a bit fit to go to the theatre," she said. "I shall go with Frank Dolby; nothing will induce him to miss a play."
"And father?" I remarked.
"I doubt if your father will care to go, Heather; he'll probably amuse himself in the smoking-room."
"He and Lord Hawtrey together in the smoking-room," I answered.
"I did not say that." She smiled, glanced at me, and looked away. "Lie back on the sofa and rest, dear," she said.
Voices were heard in the hall; she bustled out of the room; I wondered at her manner. But I was really tired now – she was right about that; my head ached; I was suffering from cruel disappointment. The day had been most exciting, the day had been brimful of hope, and now night brought disappointment. People were talking eagerly in the hall. I felt indifferent. Then there was silence. The next minute the drawing-room door was opened, and my father came in.
"God bless you, my Heather!" he said. "And now, child, listen to me. You must do whatever you think right. Her ladyship's away, Heather, 'hey! nonny, nonny!' – her ladyship's away, and I won't be bullied about my own little girl. You do just what you think right."
He knelt down as he spoke, bent over me, put his arm round my neck, pressed his lips to mine, and then hurried out of the room. I was just intending to go up to bed; I was longing for the quiet of my own chamber; I wanted intensely to put my treasured roses into water; I wanted to creep into bed and dream about Captain Carbury. I pined for the shelter of my little room, for the darkness, the peace. I should fall asleep presently, but until then I could think and think of the man who had said good words to me that day, of the man whom I should meet to-morrow. Of course, I would not marry him – no, not for the wide world; but I might think of him, I might – I made up my mind that I would.
The house was quite silent. I raised myself from the sofa, and walked as far as the fireplace; I bent down over the fire, then, raising myself, I caught my own reflection in the glass. The vision of a girl looked back at me from its mirrored depths – a girl with eyes like stars, lips slightly parted, a radiant face. Somebody came in quickly – who was it? I turned. Lord Hawtrey was at my side.
"I won't stay long, unless you give me leave," he said. "Lady Helen thought you would not mind seeing me, and your father is in the house – he is in the smoking-room; Lady Helen thinks you won't mind."
"Sit down, won't you?" I said.
"Oh, no. I cannot sit while you stand."
"But I am a young girl, and you are an old man," I said. "Do, please, sit down. You look very tired, too," I added, and I gave him an affectionate glance, for I really quite liked him.
His face flushed uncomfortably when I called him an old man; but I could not by any possibility think of him in any other light.
"I cannot sit," he said. "Old or young, I must stand at the present moment. I thought to write to you, but her ladyship said, 'Better speak.' Have I your leave, Miss Grayson, to say a few words? Do you greatly mind?"
"They call me Dalrymple here," I answered, speaking in a weary voice.
"I know that, but your real name is Grayson, and I mean to call you by it. Whatever the rest of the world may feel, I am not ashamed of your real name."
"Is anyone?" I asked. I was sitting on the sofa now; my cheeks were blazing hotly, and my eyes were very bright.
"Of course not," he answered, and he fixed his tired eyes for a minute on my face.
"My child," he said – and surely no voice in all the world could be kinder – "it is my firm intention not to allow you to be forced in any way. I will lay a proposition before you, and you are to accept or decline it, just exactly as you like. If you accept it, Miss – Miss Heather, you will make one man almost too happy for this earth; if you decline it, he will still love and respect you. Now, may I speak?"
He paused, and I had time to observe that he was anxious, and that whatever he wished to say was troubling him; also that he wanted to get it over, that he was desirous to know the worst or the best as quickly as possible. I wondered if he was a relation of Captain Carbury's, and if he was going to speak about him; but I did not think it would be like Captain Carbury to put his own affairs into the hands of anyone else. Still, I had always liked Lord Hawtrey, although quite in a daughterly fashion.
"What is it?" I said, gently. "Are you related to – to him?"
"I have hardly any relations, little Heather Grayson," was his next remark. "I am a very lonely man."
"I did not know that rich people were ever lonely," I said.
He laughed.
"Rich people are the loneliest of all," he said.
"I cannot understand that," I answered.
"Why, you see, it is this way," he answered, bending slightly forward, and looking at me – oh! so respectfully, and with, as far as I could guess, such a very fatherly glance; "rich people, who live on unearned incomes, have neither to work nor to beg; they just go on day after day, getting every single thing they wish for. Not one desire enters their minds that they cannot satisfy. Thus, little Miss Grayson, it is the law of life, desire itself ever gratified, fades away and is not, and the people I speak of are utterly miserable."
"I do not understand," I replied.
"I am rich, and yet I am one of the most lonely and, in some respects, one of the most miserable men in London."
I sprang to my feet and confronted him.
"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," I said. "If you are rich, rich like that, think what good you ought to do with your money; think what grand use you ought to make of it; think of the people who are out of employment, and the poor young people – girls especially – who are so shamefully underpaid, and think of the hospitals that need more funds, and the big, great charities that are crying aloud for more help! If you want to be happy, to use your money right, you ought to give to all of these, and you ought to learn to give with discrimination and judgment. When I lived in the country Aunt Penelope taught me a lot about the right giving of charity, so I can understand. You need not be quite so frightfully rich if you give of your abundance to those who have much less; and if you not only give of your money, but of yourself, of your life, of all, or a greater part of your time, you'll be just awfully happy. People who do that sort of thing invariably are. Aunt Penelope says so, and she ought to know."
"Your Aunt Penelope must be a very wise woman. I should like to meet her; and that is a most brilliant idea. I wonder if it could be carried into effect?"
"Surely there is nothing to prevent it."
"Then, little Heather Grayson, will you help me to carry it into effect?"
"I wish I could; but how can I? I am such a very young girl."
I began to find him less interesting than I had done a minute ago. I pushed a big sofa-pillow between my back and the edge of