A DISAPPOINTED BENEFACTOR
A DAY or two later, Miss Vandeleur came into the little parlour where
Marian, Frances, and Honora were sitting at work. It was too cold now
for the verandah.
"I want a little talk with you, Marian, on business. S. Canice is
getting too blusterous for me, and I think of going to London, if not
further, for the winter. Will you come to my rooms?"
"No," said Honora; "Frances and I are just going out. I have to see
Miss Webb, and Frances comes for the walk, and will come back at once.
I may have to stay for an hour or two. Marian is not up to walking
about to-day."
"I will take care of her till one of you returns, so do not hurry,"
replied Miss Vandeleur.
"I am sorry you are leaving us, Miss Vandeleur," said Marian, when they
were alone, "but it is wild here in winter. I do not think I shall see
you again, even if you come next year. And you have been very kind to
us all—to me particularly."
"I have been very happy here. Ah, Marian, if I had been so fortunate
as to be one of half-a-dozen sisters, I should never have been known
as 'the eccentric Miss Vandeleur.' But I was an only child, and my
father and mother were only children, so that I was singularly without
relations. I may say I had none but your father. And my guardians were
so afraid that my gold would go to re-establish his fortunes that they
were careful that I should never meet him."
"But he must have been married long before you were grown up," said
Marian.
"No, I am older than I look. Has Dr. Egerton told you anything of my
past life?"
"Nothing, but that you liked travelling."
"Ah, it is more than that! But first, let us settle our business. I
wish to keep my rooms permanently, and to come occasionally to see you.
I will send an old servant of mine to take care of them; and I should
be glad to think that I shall spend many summers here."
"Why not, if you wish it?"
"It depends on circumstances. Now, to get on. I know that you are
anxious about Violet and Daisy; do not be so any more. I mean to make
them independent, and to give them a chance like other girls. I have
not spoken to them yet, but I am pretty sure they will consent to go
with me."
"Oh dear!" cried Marian, nervously. "I wonder—Oh, ought I to let them
go?"
"My dear, I do not think it rests with you. I spoke to Mr. Wilkinson
and have his consent. I do not suppose you have any power in the
affair, unless they ask you to let them stay here; and that would mean
to refuse a life of ease and such things as girls love, and I do not
think they will do that, for they are quite fond of me."
"I know they are. You have been so kind to them, I don't know why I
feel anxious."
"Only because you are weak and ill. A very little care will make them
thoroughly presentable, and they will probably marry. Well, that is
settled. Now I come to what is nearer my heart. But first, do you know
what is meant by a globe-trotter, Marian?"
"Yes; like Miss Bird and Miss Cumming," said Marian.
"That is what I have been. Only I write no books, and I don't consider
myself a benefactor of my species because I amuse myself in my own way.
I get weary of the civilized world, and disappear. But the last time
I did so, I was very near not reappearing. I had fever, lost my head,
was robbed and neglected, and nearly died. It was in Africa, and I made
up my mind, first, that I would never go into the unknown wilds alone
again; secondly, that if I could find some one—some woman—for whom I
could really care, I would take her to me, go to my place in Surrey,
and give domestic life a chance. And I have met that person."
"Daisy?"
"No, Honora. If Honora will give herself to me, I will make her my
heir."
"Piers Egerton!" gasped Marian.
"Must wait. I spoke to him."
"And he consented?"
"Yes, he will not interfere. Honora is young, and she has no idea
of the wonderful charm she possesses. I don't suppose Dr. Egerton
could marry for years, and by that time, Honora will be a personage
in society. She can, of course, marry him then if she likes. But she
might, with her prospects, marry almost any one. However, I like Dr.
Egerton, though he will never quite satisfy me for Honora. Oh, he
understands; he will not interfere."
"But Honora—oh dear!—Honora would not like travelling in savage places."
"I shall not ask her to do so. I tell you, Marian, for the first time
in my life I shall have a home. I shall have some one to care for, to
be proud of. She suits me as no one else ever did. I lost my heart
to her the first time I saw her. I am never weary of looking at her,
watching the play of her countenance and her pretty gestures. Oh,
Marian, you must give me Honora! Frances will stay with you; you know
what a nurse she is. I shall promise to provide for her handsomely, but
I must have Honora."
Marian tried to speak, but only gasped. The next moment, she had
fainted.
Miss Vandeleur summoned her maid, and with her help recalled Marian to
consciousness, and persuaded her to take a glass of wine—"For you must
not look like a ghost when they come home, or they will be frightened."
"I am quite well now. But I should like to be alone a little, to think
what I shall say."
"Marian, if you say what would influence Honora to refuse, you will be
acting very selfishly, and she will think so in the days to come. I
offer her a place, a life, that any woman with her powers would find
delightful."
Marian looked at her with her sweet, dim gaze. "I do not think I am
selfish," she said; "I do not mean to be."
"If you say to Honora that you cannot—"
"I shall not say that. It will not be for long. I think I will do as
Piers did, say nothing, but let her decide for herself. Please leave me
now."
Miss Vandeleur dressed herself and went out. She presently met Frances
with Violet and Daisy. So utterly occupied was her mind with Honora
that she was abrupt in her manner to them, asking—
"Where is Honora?"
"She stayed with Miss Webb. But she will be home by the train."
"At five? And it is three now."
"Where are you going, Miss Vandeleur?" said little Daisy.
"Nowhere in particular."
"This will be our last term at the College," said Daisy, "and I'm
sorry, for though I don't like college, I—"
Miss Vandeleur looked at the child's pretty face and smiled.
"Don't look so sad, little one. You will not go to the College any
more—neither you nor Violet, unless you prefer it to coming with me.
I have settled it with Marian, and you belong to me for the future.
You will spend this winter in London, taking lessons and enjoying
yourselves. You will have no need to work for yourselves, for I shall
at once place you beyond want. What a pair of eyes, Daisy!"
"Miss Vandeleur," said Violet, with a strange sob, "do you mean that?"
"Why, of course, child. Do you consent?"
The girl seized Miss Vandeleur's hand and kissed it.
"If you knew how I have dreaded going away by myself. I know what it
is. Oh, Daisy, do you understand?"
"No," said Daisy, "I don't. Is it that she's going to give us money so
that we need not be clerks? Is it that we are to be with her as when we
were in London?"
"For a time, yes. And you will be quite independent, Daisy."
"That means you won't have to work," explained Violet.
Daisy rushed at Miss Vandeleur, and flung her arms round her, crying—
"I love you! Oh, I do love you! No one ever was so good as you!"
Miss Vandeleur was touched. She kissed the pretty, tearful face, and
accepted the thanks graciously. Yet, judged by the standard of the
widow's mite, perhaps Marian's and Honora's generosity exceeded hers.
When Honora came home, a pencilled note was handed to her by Miss
Vandeleur's maid.
"Come to me after dinner, dear Honora."
"What on earth am I wanted for?" Honora said, looking up from the note.
She looked at Marian, who only shook her head in reply.
"She wants you to tell Miss Webb about the girls and the classes, I
dare say," said Frances.
"Ah, I dare say that is it," said Honora. "But I need not go until
after 'her' dinner, I suppose? Violet, if you are to have lessons in
London, ask for singing lessons; I am sure you have a voice worth
training."
Having had dinner, the five sisters sat by the parlour fire and talked.
Marian so often was content to listen that no one observed how silent
she was. Even when Honora rose to depart, she did not speak, but caught
the girl's hand as she passed her, and kissed her. Honora looked keenly
at her, but Marian contrived to smile, and still said nothing.
A moment later, Honora was in the great dining-room, having found the
drawing-room empty. As she walked up the room to the round table near
the fire where Miss Vandeleur lingered over dessert, the latter looked
at her with keen appreciation.
"So graceful," she thought; "so free and quiet in every movement!
Frances may be the beauty of the family, but Honora is the
distinguished-looking one. I shall be able to make her very happy."
It must be said, in Miss Vandeleur's justification, that she had
from the first taken up the idea that Honora's very quiet and
undemonstrative manner meant that she did not feel any very warm love
for those among whom her lot was cast. She accounted for this by
remembering how completely the sisters had been separated—that they
were almost strangers to each other.
"I fear I have come too soon, Miss Vandeleur."
"No, not at all. Sit down, and let me give you some grapes; they are
really fine ones."
"Grapes are a temptation to one who grew up among vineyards," said
Honora, taking some. "Violet and Daisy are very happy to-night."
"And you are not much delighted, I perceive. Why, Honora?"
"If Marian was a healthy woman, I would tell you why; or if I were a
rich woman, I would tell you why. But as I cannot do much for them, and
know that they are ill-fitted to do much for themselves, I shall say
nothing."
"You do not doubt that I shall make them happy? In what way, Honora, do
I fall short of being a good guide for your sisters?"
"There is something that Marian has and you have not which would be
good for them, if they could learn it."
"Well, Honora, whatever good thing Marian has, I am sure you have it
too. I will not pretend not to understand you."
"I am not sure," Honora said thoughtfully. "My dear Lady Barker had
it, and she taught me carefully. I dare say I 'know' more than Marian
does, and I think Lady Barker was a larger-minded Christian than Mrs.
Elliott. But for all that, I have learned much from Marian, though, as
you know, she is no talker. I wish you would leave the two girls with
us—while Marian is here."
"I could not do that for two reasons: first, that it is bad for such
young creatures to be saddened; and secondly, because I want them to
spend the rest of this winter in lessons and attending lectures that
will be an advantage to them. And as to them, Honora, you have the
matter in your own hands. Come with me—not on the same terms, indeed,
for I will make you my heir. I have learned to love and admire you. You
shall have the girls in your own keeping; only give yourself to me."
"And Marian?" said Honora, indignantly. "And Piers Egerton? I think you
forget that I have promised to be his wife."
"But when? My dear, it will be years before Piers Egerton would be
justified in asking you to marry him, and I ask you to give those years
to me. If after all, you marry him, it shall make no difference in
what I offer you. But you are not a girl to be wasted on such a fate.
I spoke to him. I told him what I meant to do. I said plainly that I
could, of course, do for you as for the others, and enable you to marry
at once. But I also said that I would not, and that partly for your
own sake. You are a girl who could enjoy to the uttermost the position
and the power that money gives. All I ask is that you will be as my
daughter until you marry—Piers or another. He gave me his word that he
would not interfere. He said you should be free to do as you thought
best."
"Yes; he trusted me. And Marian? Did you make her promise not to
interfere?"
"She did promise. Of course, they saw that it would be very selfish
of either of them to say a word to prevent you from accepting; for I
do not hesitate to say that I offer you a career for which nature has
fitted you, and which will make you happy. You will one day look back
and thank them for having released you."
"But I understood that I was to marry Piers if I liked?" said Honora.
"Yes, if you liked."
"I understand. You have taken me by surprise, Miss Vandeleur, and I
hope you will believe me that I do not intend to vex you by anything I
say; for I am sure you mean kindly by me, and by my younger sisters.
But I cannot accept your offer, and I only wonder how you can have any
feeling of liking for a woman who seems to you capable of accepting it.
I will neither leave Marian nor be false to Piers."
For a few moments, Miss Vandeleur was silent. Then she said, speaking
very low—
"I will not ask you to leave Marian. I will wait—though, you know,
Frances—But I will wait. And as to Piers, that would be in your own
hands."
"I will not run into temptation. If I allowed myself to be made a fine
lady, he would not want me, nor perhaps should I want him. But," she
added, as Miss Vandeleur was about to speak, "I feel I ought to give
you a franker, truer answer than that. If I had never seen Piers, I
should still say no. We should not suit each other."
"Honora, you are mistaken, you suit me perfectly; no one ever suited
me, satisfied my taste and pleased my fancy, as you do. I do not want
a plaything; I want a woman with a mind and a will of her own—an
independent woman, who will contradict me when she differs from me.
I do not say I could bear that from every one, but I could from you.
Honora, I want you, I need you."
"I am sorry; I should be more sorry, but for your heartless treatment
of Marian. You know what she is, you know how she clings to me, yet
you try to take me from her, and you bound her by a promise not to
interfere. As to Piers and 'his' promise, I wonder that he did not
laugh."
Now, as Piers 'had' laughed, this was annoying.
"I think you need not have said that."
"Forgive me. I only meant that he knew very well what I should say. He
trusts me."
"To be a fool," said Miss Vandeleur, with a flash in her eyes; "and it
seems that he was right. Oh, Honora, I cannot give you up! I cannot
believe that I shall fail!"
"I think," said Honora, rising, "that I will leave you now. And I hope
that we shall not talk on this subject again."
"Stay one moment. I will ask you to consider all this as strictly
between ourselves."
"I cannot do that. I must tell Marian and Piers, and I will tell
Frances, but no one else. Good-night."
Honora escaped, and Miss Vandeleur, to whom disappointment was new, and
who generally found her will accepted as law, went off to bed feeling
dazed and wretched.
Next day, she had a violent headache, and would see no one. But on the
second day, she came among them as usual, allowing no difference to be
visible in her demeanour. Before night, she asked Frances to come with
her, promising to provide for her as for the two younger girls. Frances
accepted with alacrity. Having expressed her delight, she added—
"I cannot understand Honora."
"You quite understand that I am not offering you what I offered her?"
said Miss Vandeleur. "It is better to be quite plain."
"Oh, much better. Yes; I quite understand," Frances replied. Mentally
she added, "It will be a duel between me and Daisy, but I shall
conquer!"
But this part of the conversation she did not repeat to her sisters.
"She has asked me in your place," she said to Honora, "and I am very
glad to accept."
"So I perceive," said Honora. "Well, I hope you will never repent,
Frances. I shall not, in any case."
"But I wish I was sure you did not refuse on my account," said Marian,
not for the first time.
"No, Marian. If I did not know you, and had Piers, I should refuse.
Indeed, if I had neither you nor Piers, I should most likely have
still refused. I am not—as Frances has left us, I may say it—I am not
a tame cat. Nor even a cat who wishes to be tamed. Poor Frances! I
see now that she 'can' control her temper, but it will be a life of
self-repression. I must write to Piers that my prophecy has come to
pass."
"Your prophecy?"
"Yes; I prophesied when he was here in September that before long you
and I would be alone at S. Canice, just as we were at first. You will
miss them, Marian, I fear."
Stasy came into the room with the tea-tray, but neither of them noticed
her. Marian was speaking, and Honora watching her face.
"I shall miss the two girls, for they have been so much on my mind, and
I was teaching them a little. But to tell you the truth, I am a little
afraid of Frances, remembering things that happened long ago, and about
your ring."
"But that was the only thing, and long ago she was a child. Children
outgrow being so passionate. I think she does her best, for when any
one annoys her now, she goes away to her room. But you and I and Stasy
will get on very well. Stasy is very kind and careful."
"Miss Honora, who would I care for, if not my own missy?"
"Oh, Stasy, we did not hear you come in! Do not think of what we were
saying."
"I needn't, Miss Honora, nor you needn't mind that I heard. But as
to what you said, I'll tell you a story. Once a fine young gentleman
wanted a wife, and he knew two sisters that he liked so well that he
couldn't choose between them. Well, he bought two big skeins of soft
silk, and he tangled both of 'em very careful till he couldn't find the
ends. And he gave one to each of the sisters, and they were to wind
them for him.
"And one worked away cheerful, and she'd say, 'Such a tangle!' and 'It
will never be done!' But she went on and got it done somehow.
"The other said never a word, but sometimes she laid the silk down and
went away.
"Well, he married her because she was so quiet and patient, and before
they was a week married, she boxed his ears for him.
"Says he, 'When you wound that silk for me, I thought you was very
patient.'
"'No,' says she; 'I went away and gnawed the bed-post.'"
And with a nod, Stasy departed.
Honora laughed, and said, "'The meaning of this lays in the application
of it,' as Cap'en Cuttle remarked."
Miss Vandeleur and her party left for London the next day.
[Illustration]