A MEETING
Sydney saw considerably less of her cousin after the arrival of Sir
Algernon.
He announced that he had come to spend Christmas, much to the relief of
Lady Frederica, who declared it would be “such a comfort to have somebody
to amuse St. Quentin.” He himself acquiesced in the arrangement without
saying much, or expressing pleasure or the reverse.
The new inmate of the Castle was distinctly an addition to its
liveliness. He and Lady Frederica had several acquaintances in common,
and Sydney and Miss Osric, sitting quietly at the dinner-table, found
their ideas of various distinguished persons most uncomfortably
disarranged. Sir Algernon had a knack, however, of suiting his
conversation to his company. When he overtook Sydney and her governess
returning from taking soup to a sick child in the village, he walked
between them, talking very pleasantly of the historical associations and
romantic stories connected with St. Quentin Castle—a subject particularly
interesting to Sydney, who was beginning to feel a certain pride in the
past of the grand old house to which she belonged.
It may be presumed that his conversation pleased St. Quentin also, for
his guest was shut up with him a good deal in the library, smoking and
talking.
In other ways besides amusing conversation, Sir Algernon’s presence was a
boon to the ladies. He was a first-rate whip, and the four-in-hand which
St. Quentin used to drive was had out from the stables—where it and his
shattered motor-car had stood so long idle together—for the benefit of
Sir Algernon. He took Lady Frederica and Sydney out in it: one day they
even went as far as Donisbro’ and lunched at the principal hotel there.
Sydney wished to lunch at the Deanery, that she might return a book Miss
Morrell had lent her, but this Lady Frederica would not allow.
“If you will solemnly swear not to go into the Deanery drawing-room on
any excuse whatsoever, I shall be delighted to escort you to the door,
Miss Lisle,” Sir Algernon suggested good-naturedly, noticing the way her
face fell at Lady Frederica’s refusal. “We shouldn’t take above twenty
minutes getting there and back, if you only leave the book at the door.
If Lady Frederica will allow us, we will go directly after lunch, while
she is choosing those cards she spoke of.”
Lady Frederica agreed readily enough to this arrangement, and the two set
out together when their lunch was over, with a parting direction on her
part, “Be sure you hurry, for the afternoons are so short, and we must
start early on our homeward drive.”
They left the parcel with the Deanery footman, and retraced their steps
through the Close and up the steep High Street of Donisbro’.
The shops were very gay with Christmas cards and presents: Sir
Algernon inquired if Miss Lisle still retained a taste for turkey and
plum-pudding? She answered absently, for the Christmas preparations
brought back home with a painful clearness. She thought of the shopping
expeditions which became so many as Christmas Eve drew on, and the
numberless secrets with which the tall old house seemed packed from
garret to cellar, and the wild excitement of Christmas Eve; when all the
boys and girls who might be trusted to be quite conformable, went out to
see the brilliant show of Christmas shops under the guardianship of Hugh
and Mildred.
“What’s the girl thinking of?” Sir Algernon asked himself, a little
piqued, for he was not used to having his remarks received with
inattention or indifference.
Then suddenly a light dawned on him, for Sydney’s eyes, which had been
fixed rather absently upon the sloppy pavement before her, grew bright
with recognition. She broke into a cry of joy, and in a second had sprung
forward to seize both the outstretched hands of a young man, who was
hurrying down the street towards her. “Oh, Hugh! Hugh!”
“By Jove!” Sir Algernon let out between his teeth, as he stood aside,
forgotten by both.
“Hugh! what _are_ you doing at Donisbro’?”
“Sir Anthony had an operation to perform here,” Hugh explained, “and,
like the brick he is, took me as his anæsthetist. I never thought of this
luck!”
“Oh, Hugh! how are they all? How is mother? Oh, dear! there are such
hundreds of things I want to ask you!”
“I’m just the same. How are you, dear? Your letters are jolly, but they
don’t tell a quarter that we want to know. You’re looking well.” The
old brotherly approval in his eyes was replaced, the girl saw, by a new
expression. “Who are you with? Are you driving, or what? Can I walk with
you? You mustn’t stand in this cold.”
“No, I am sure Miss Lisle should not,” Sir Algernon interpolated suavely.
“Mr. Chichester, I suppose?”
Hugh bowed and apologised. Sydney introduced the two in form, with a
loving pride in speaking Hugh’s name which did not escape the baronet.
“We ought to be rejoining Lady Frederica, don’t you think?” he said to
her; “we were ordered not to linger.”
“I forgot,” said Sydney. “Yes, we must go. Hugh, come too. I want to show
you to Lady Frederica.”
And Hugh, against his better judgment, came. It was hard to refuse Sydney
anything when the sweet face looked at him so earnestly. Besides, at home
they would be hungry for news; how could he help saying yes.
He walked beside her, but confidences were impossible in the presence of
Sir Algernon, although that gentleman made himself exceedingly agreeable
according to his wont. Still, Hugh could look at Sydney and hear her
speak, and that was something.
They reached the hotel all too soon. Lady Frederica was looking out
for them and the introduction was made. She was civil, but by no means
cordial, and conveyed an accent of disapproval into her polite surprise
at seeing Mr. Chichester so far from town.
Sydney explained eagerly, but Lady Frederica’s “Indeed!” was
discouraging, and there was a pause. Hugh felt he was expected to take
his leave, and took it.
“Good-bye, Sydney, I’m—awfully glad to have seen you.”
“Good-bye! Good-bye, Hugh—my love to them at home, a great _deal_ of
love, you know, Hugh. Good-bye!”
Oh, dear! how much there was that Sydney wanted to say to him! If only
Lady Frederica would have left them for a little time alone! If only Sir
Algernon had not been there when they met! She wanted—oh, so much!—to
hear the little things that letters never tell; those little items of
everyday home news for which she felt so sick with longing suddenly.
Why hadn’t she asked this, that, and the other? She seemed to have said
nothing but good-bye. She was very quiet upon the homeward drive, so
quiet that Sir Algernon looked curiously at her more than once. And when
they reached the castle, and the girl had gone up to the school-room, he
went into the library to St. Quentin.
“Got any views for that little girl, Quin?” he asked carelessly, when he
had answered his host’s inquiries as to the conditions of the roads, the
“pace of the greys,” and other details of their day.
“Possibly, but none that I need your advice upon, thanks,” was the answer.
“Don’t get riled, old man, I wasn’t offering it.” Sir Algernon lit a
cigarette with great care and sat down by the fire. “It strikes me that
she has views of her own, as well,” he concluded.
“Suppose we leave Sydney out of the conversation, altogether!” said St.
Quentin.
“Oh, just as you please, of course. Do you want the people who brought
her up—the Chichesters—to be a tabooed subject as well?”
“What of them?”
“Oh, a son is at Donisbro’, that’s all.”
“One of the Chichesters?”
“Yes; she called him Hugh.”
Sir Algernon leaned back luxuriously in his chair, stretching out his
feet to the cheerful blaze.
“You don’t mean to say that my aunt allowed the child to enter into
conversation with him?” St. Quentin’s tone was very sharp; Sir Algernon
laughed lightly.
“Don’t look so fierce, old chap. I was the guilty party, I’m afraid. I
was escorting her back to Lady Frederica after leaving a parcel with
some girl or other, when we ran across this young chemist’s assistant,
or whatever he is. They fairly rushed into each other’s arms. I couldn’t
interfere very well, you see, though I did venture to suggest, after
a lengthy period of patient freezing, that there _was_ a limit to the
time he ought to keep her standing in the street. He walked with us to
the hotel, and there Lady Frederica choked him off. You needn’t look so
furious, Quin, there wasn’t much harm done; only I fancy Miss Sydney
isn’t quite the pliable little wax saint you think her, she——”
“Leave her name alone, please!”
“Oh, very well! You’ve grown uncommonly stand-offish of late, my dear
chap; you’ll be showing me the door next, eh?” His laugh was not
particularly pleasant.
St. Quentin was frowning heavily. “You might leave me quiet a bit,” he
said. “I’m not in the best of humours, to-night.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Sir Algernon, rising and flinging his cigarette
away; “it’s quite unnecessary, I assure you.” And he went to Lady
Frederica in the drawing-room.
“Would you go to his lordship in the library, please, ma’am, if quite
convenient,” a footman said, a little later, coming to the school-room,
where Sydney and Miss Osric, undeterred by the approach of dinner, were
thoroughly enjoying a very late tea.
Sydney put down her cup and got up at once.
“Are you quite rested now, dear?” asked Miss Osric. “You looked tired
when you came in, and I am sure, if you are tired still, Lord St. Quentin
would excuse you.”
“I don’t think I’m tired,” Sydney said, and went down the wide stairs and
across the hall to the library.
St. Quentin was alone, but she knew Sir Algernon had been there by the
smell of smoke. Her cousin’s eyebrows were drawn close together, and
there was a look upon his face which was new to her. He seemed to have
forgotten to smile at her entrance to-day.
“Come here, Sydney,” he said sharply. “I have something to say to you. I
hear you met that young Chichester this afternoon.” His contemptuous tone
made the colour flame into her face.
“Yes, I did,” she said a little bit defiantly; “of course I was going to
tell you about it.”
“Were you?” said St. Quentin. “Now, Sydney, we had better understand each
other. The Chichesters brought you up, and of course you owe a debt of
gratitude to them in consequence. I have no objection whatsoever to your
paying it—in any reasonable way. I spoke to Braemuir on the subject when
he was staying here, and he promised me to use his influence towards
getting some of those boys a start in life. I don’t suppose you know
that, though the estate is by no means as unencumbered as I could wish,
I offered to refund your doctor what he spent on you in your childhood,
and——”
“He said ‘No,’ of course!” Sydney cried, with flashing eyes. “Why, I was
father’s child—of course he wouldn’t be paid for keeping me!”
“Don’t indulge in heroics, please; they bore me,” St. Quentin observed
drily. “Yes, Dr. Chichester—try to drop the expression ‘father,’ please,
in speaking of him; it only makes you sound ridiculous—Dr. Chichester, I
say, refused my offer with some heat. Like you, he appeared to consider
it insulting. Tastes differ; mine is, as you know, for common sense. Now,
I should be obliged if you would kindly give me your attention for five
minutes. You are going to occupy a great position, and I do _not_ intend
to have those Chichesters hanging round you. Those brother-and-sister
friendships are charming in theory, but they don’t work. I know what they
lead to. I should be obliged if you would correspond less frequently
with the doctor’s family, and shall request Aunt Rica to see to it. And
I distinctly forbid you to have anything to do with that young man when
next he _happens_ to be staying in these parts. Do you understand me?”
“Do you mean you want me to _forget_ mother and father, and all the
rest of them at home?” Sydney cried. There was an odd expression on St.
Quentin’s face, as he watched the growing indignation upon hers.
“Well, something like it—you won’t find it very difficult in time, I
assure you,” was his answer.
“I don’t mean to do it!” she said with a trembling voice. “I shall have
to obey you about not writing so often, or speaking to Hugh if I meet
him, but I can’t and I won’t forget them! I hate this place! I wish I had
never come, and when you talk like that I hate you!... I was beginning to
care about you, but I don’t now at all!” She was fighting to keep back
her sobs. “Do _you_ forget the people you have cared for, that you want
me to?” she asked him fiercely, and went quickly out.
St. Quentin turned his head and looked after her.
“Do I forget?” he muttered; “no, I wish I did!”