POST-TIME.
Sunday at The Lilies was far pleasanter to everybody concerned. Indeed,
notwithstanding the proverbial dulness of the day that succeeds a
festival, the female inmates of that charming little retreat were more
inclined to be frolicsome than usual. Their hilarity might partly be
accounted for by that principle of contradiction which prompts us all to
merriment on such occasions as demand unusual sobriety of demeanour. You
will observe children invariably predisposed to a romp on Sunday
morning. I think also that each lady had reason to be satisfied in
reviewing her afternoon's work of the day before. Mrs. Lascelles, if she
did not succeed in adding one single brick to the superstructure of her
castle in the air, believed she had, at least, consolidated its
foundations, and that Sir Henry became day by day more malleable, though
she felt constrained to admit the process of softening was exceedingly
gradual, and perceptible only to herself. Miss Ross had sundry topics
for reflection, all tending to self-gratulation. With Uncle Joseph, whom
we may call her "bird-in-the-hand," she had effected a thorough
reconciliation. She could perceive, by the unusual splendour of his
Sunday plumage, that he was more than ever enchanted with his captivity,
and meditated, at no distant period, some decided effort to render it
irrevocable. She felt confidence enough in her own tact to be sure she
could postpone such a catastrophe till it suited her convenience to
bring it about, and this delay, she decided, should depend entirely on
her progress in bagging her "bird-in-the-bush." That Frank Vanguard was
hit severely, and "under the wing," she did not doubt, nor, though
visited by painful misgivings, while she dwelt on the value of her prey,
was she without strong hopes that by watching a timely opportunity, and
making a brilliant "snapshot," she might prove too quick for her rival,
and pull him down like "a rocketer" over Miss Hallaton's head. This was
a pleasant dream for the future. She had, besides, a keen enjoyment to
look forward to in the immediate present. She was about to see her
boy--that alone would be happiness enough for a week! Nothing could be
easier than to steal away, as if for afternoon church, and speed to Mrs.
Mole's. From that garrulous old woman, too, she hoped to learn something
definite about Achille. Why he was in England? what were his relations
with the child? whether--and her heart bounded at the thought--it might
not be possible, through the agency of this humble old peasant-woman, to
obtain uncontrolled possession of her treasure? For such an object she
felt she would willingly forego the patronage of Mrs. Lascelles, the
vassalage of Uncle Joseph, home, position, prospects! Even Frank
Vanguard himself? On the last point she could not quite make up her
mind, so left it for future consideration.
With all these interests and occupations, Jin had yet found time to knit
a tiny pair of socks for her Gustave. Tears filled her eyes while she
pictured the delight of fitting them to his chubby little feet, that
very afternoon as he sat on her knee. Though she had many faults she was
yet a mother, and in mothers, even the most depraved, a well-spring of
natural affection is to be found as surely as milk in a cow.
Helen, too, returning radiant from morning church, looked, to use Sir
Henry's expression, "seven pound better" than the day before. Something
seemed to have infused fresh vitality into the girl's existence; but of
Helen's sentiments I cannot take upon me to furnish an analysis. In the
pure unsullied heart of a young and loving woman there are depths it is
desecration to fathom, feelings it is impossible to describe, and it
would be sacrilege to caricature. None are so thoroughly aware of this
as those who know what the bad can be in that sex, of which the good are
so excellent. Well for him, whose experience has lain amongst these
last, and who goes to his grave with trust unshaken in the most
elevating of earthly creeds--a belief in woman's love and woman's
truth--whose worship of her outward beauty is founded on implicit
confidence in the purity and fidelity of her heart! Such privileged
spirits walk lightly over the troubles of their journey through life, as
if they were indeed borne up by angels, "lest at any time they dash
their foot against a stone."
Sunday luncheon, then, at The Lilies was a pleasant and sociable meal
enough. Mrs. Lascelles, though surprised to find she _did_ miss
Goldthred a little, seemed in exuberant spirits, perhaps for that very
reason. The rest took their tone from her whom they considered their
hostess, and the repast, which differed only from dinner in the absence
of soup and fish, being excellent and elaborate, no wonder everybody was
in high good humour, and more disposed to talk than to listen.
The conversation at first turned upon yesterday's doings, and it is not
to be supposed that the dress, manners, looks, character, and
presumptive age of every other woman at the pic-nic escaped comment,
criticism, or final condemnation. Sir Henry, indeed, true to his
traditions, made a gallant stand in favour of one lady, the youngest of
the party, "a miss in her teens," as she was contemptuously designated
by his listeners, but found himself coughed down with great severity and
contempt. He couldn't mean that odious girl in green ribbons! She was
forward--she was noisy--she had freckles--she romped with Captain
Roe--she flirted with Mr. Driver--she was ugly, unlady-like, bad style.
Even Helen wondered quietly, "What papa could see in her? Though, to be
sure, he always admired red hair!"
Their friends thus summarily disposed of, with the first course, they
began talking about what they called "their plans." It seemed there was
to be an unavoidable break up on the morrow, mitigated, however, by
faithful promises from the absentees to return before the end of the
week.
"I won't ask you to stay here and lose your ball to-morrow night," said
Uncle Joseph, filling Helen's glass, with a kindly, half-protective air
affected by an elderly gentleman towards a young lady when he is not
fool enough to be in love with her. "I know what these things are at
your time of life, my dear. I used to like them myself, and danced, too,
I can tell you! We danced much harder in my day. But why shouldn't you
come back on Tuesday or Wednesday? See now, I'll arrange it all. You're
obliged to go to London to-morrow, you said, Rose, didn't you?"
"No help for it!" Mrs. Lascelles admitted. "I shall take my maid, sleep
at No. 40, and come down again next day."
"Then why shouldn't you take care of Miss Hallaton, and bring her back
with you?"
"Delightful!" assented his kinswoman. "And she can sleep at my house.
It's the next street to Lady Shuttlecock's, and Helen's chaperon can
drop her there after the ball. Sir Henry, will you trust her with me?"
Helen looked from Mrs. Lascelles to her father; the latter gave a joyful
affirmative.
"It will save me a fifty-miles journey," said he. "Helen goes to the
ball with her aunt, and if you bring her down again, I needn't travel
all the way to London to fetch her."
"But are you quite sure I shall not be troublesome?" asked Helen,
meekly, willing enough, however, to accept any arrangement that should
facilitate her attendance at a ball she seemed very loth to miss.
"Troublesome! my dear," repeated Mrs. Lascelles. "You don't know what a
pleasure it is to have you! I quite look forward to showing you my
pretty little house; and you shall sleep in Jin's room--unless you're
coming too?" she added, turning to Miss Ross.
The latter, glancing at Uncle Joseph, who tried hard to look
unconcerned, declined, with a bright smile. "She had nothing to tempt
her in London," she said, "unless she could be of use to Rose. She would
much rather stay in the pleasant country, and--and take care of Mr.
Groves!"
Uncle Joseph coloured with delight, and Jin felt that the cards were all
playing themselves into her hand. It was even possible that Frank
Vanguard might call to-morrow or the next day, whilst Helen was in
London. She was sure of one, if not two, interviews with her child.
Lastly, she would have a golden opportunity of showing Uncle Joseph how
pleasant she could make his house while entertaining himself and his
friends.
"You'll come back to dinner now, Hallaton," said the host, "as you're
not due in town? I've asked one or two neighbours and their wives.
What's more to the purpose, there's a haunch of venison."
Even that gastronomic temptation, however, was insufficient to affix
certainty to any of Sir Henry's movements. "He was going to see some
yearlings sold," he said--"the trains were all at variance. He should
hope to get back the same day, but hadn't an idea whether he could.
Helen, who understood 'Bradshaw,' said _not_. All he knew was, he had to
meet Mr. Weights, the trainer, at Ascot to-morrow at ten. He should be
obliged to get up in the middle of the night!"
"_Must_ you go so early?" asked Mrs. Lascelles, with a sympathising
smile.
"No help for it," answered Sir Henry resignedly. "Shall have to
breakfast at nine. Such is life!"
So Mrs. Lascelles managed to rise early the following morning, and come
down to pour out Sir Henry's coffee, looking exceedingly fresh and
handsome the while; but it is probable she might have saved herself the
trouble, and enjoyed at least two hours' more beauty-sleep, had she
foreseen that Helen would also be in the breakfast-room to keep papa
company, as was her custom during his morning meal.
So Sir Henry, after an exceedingly hasty repast, started off, with a
cigar in his mouth, of course, for the congenial society of a trainer,
and the delightful occupation of looking at untried thorough-bred stock
that he could not afford to buy, leaving the ladies to such devices of
their own as might while away their morning till the welcome hour of
post-time.
"Letters! letters!" exclaimed Jin, who always took upon herself to
superintend its arrival, departure, and, indeed, all arrangements
connected with the correspondence at The Lilies; "two for Helen, one for
Rose, one for me, and five for Mr. Groves,"--while she dealt from a
packet in her hand these several missives to their respective owners,
each of whom received the boon with gratitude, except Uncle Joseph.
Women, I believe, always like to get letters. To their craving
dispositions, I imagine bad news is better than none; and they prefer
the excitement of sorrow to the stagnation of no excitement at all. Even
towards Christmas, when the majority of written communications tend to
disturb our enjoyment of the season, only from male lips is heard the
fervent thanksgiving, "No letters? What a blessing!" The ladies, I am
persuaded, would rather receive reminders from their dress-makers, than
feel themselves cut off from all interest in the daily mail.
Uncle Joseph, who expected but little gratification from his epistles,
and under the most favourable conditions reflected they would mostly
require answers, retired with a growl to peruse them in his own den.
Where we may leave him to their full enjoyment, preferring to remain in
the bright and cheerful morning-room with the ladies.
Miss Ross read her letter with a smile of considerable amusement, and a
mischievous glance at Mrs. Lascelles.
"From Goldie," said she, "and tolerably coherent, considering the poor
thing's state of mind. Do you hear, Rose? I have actually got a letter
from _your_ Mr. Goldthred!"
"So have I," said Mrs. Lascelles quietly.
"So have I," echoed Helen; "I had no idea he wrote so nice a hand."
Comparing their several communications, the three ladies discovered that
this painstaking correspondent had written in precisely the same terms
to each, requesting, with no little formality, the pleasure of their
company at his proposed pic-nic. To so polite a circular all admitted it
was a thousand pities a refusal must be sent; but, alas! Goldthred had
selected for his party a day fixed for one of those breakfasts in the
vicinity of London at which everybody asked thinks it necessary to
appear, while the uninvited decline other engagements, partly in hopes
of a card at the last moment, partly that they may not publish their
exclusion from this suburban paradise, to their friends.
It cost Helen some minutes' study to frame her refusal of Mr.
Goldthred's invitation.
She was little in the habit of writing to gentlemen, and entertained
grave doubts as to the manner in which a young lady ought to address her
correspondents of the other sex. To begin "Sir" she considered decidedly
too formal. "Dear Mr. Goldthred" would be too familiar. After spoiling
two sheets of note-paper, she resolved that "Dear Sir" was the correct
thing, and sat down to write her note accordingly, with a beating heart
and an exceedingly good pen.
It was not Mr. Goldthred's invitation, however, that caused this
derangement of Helen's circulation, that brought the light to her eyes,
the colour to her cheeks. She had received Frank Vanguard's letter by
the same post, and reading it, as she was forced to do, in the presence
of the others, could scarce keep down a little cry of rapture and
surprise at its contents. She walked away, indeed, to the window, so as
to hide her face from her companions, and took the earliest opportunity
of escaping to her own room, that she might devour it over and over
again in solitude, but was presently drawn from that refuge by certain
energetic housemaids, and compelled to return to the drawing-room
without delay, inasmuch as the post left The Lilies again before
luncheon. Such a letter as Frank's required an immediate answer, however
short it might be, and Helen's was indeed of the shortest. She felt that
until she had consulted her father, it was better not to pour out on
paper the feelings thrilling at her heart. A very few words would serve
to convey her sentiments in the mean time, so a couple of lines were
considered enough to let Frank know that, as far as the young lady
herself was concerned, his proposals should be favourably entertained.
It was very provoking, to be sure, that papa was out of the way, and
that his absence was of such doubtful duration; still he would surely
approve when he learned all particulars, and a day or two did not seem
long to wait after weeks of uncertainty and anxiety. All at once Helen
felt as if she had known Captain Vanguard her whole life, and never
cared a straw for any other creature on earth. Her heart leaped to think
there was a chance of meeting him to-night at Lady Shuttlecock's. He
would be sure to guess she was going. Of course he would be there!
So, with a quickened pulse, as I have said, but affecting much outward
composure, Miss Hallaton daintily folded two neat little packets, and
addressed them, notwithstanding her agitation, in a perfectly steady
handwriting, to William Goldthred, Esq., and Captain F. Vanguard,
respectively, each at the Cauliflower Club, St. James's, S.W. Then she
dropped them in a letter-box that stood under the clock in the front
hall, and felt so happy she could have sung aloud for joy.
But a pair of lynx-eyes had been watching Helen's movements; a keen and
busy brain was working eagerly to account for every change in the girl's
demeanour, from the first flush of pleasure with which she read her
letters to the buoyant step and joyous air with which she re-entered the
drawing-room after depositing their answers in the box. Miss Ross knew
well enough that a communication from Goldthred was insufficient to
produce this unusual agitation, and a keen instinct of jealousy
whispered that Helen's other letter must be from Frank Vanguard.
Jin's pale face turned paler at the thought, but it was her nature to
confront a difficulty as soon as suspected; to overcome it
unscrupulously and without regard to the means employed, if it really
stood in her way.
She would have given a great deal to see the letter Helen read over half
a dozen times under her very eyes, but how was that possible when it lay
safely stowed away in the breast of a morning gown? No; the letter was
doubtless out of reach, but she could get some information surely from
its answer!
A walk before luncheon had been agreed on, at the instigation indeed of
Miss Ross, who wanted her afternoon clear for a visit to Mrs. Mole. She
was ready before the others; and while they were putting their bonnets
on, ran down-stairs with a jug of warm water, to the astonishment of the
housemaid, who heard her say she was going to water some plants in the
library. Then she fidgeted backwards and forwards from the hall to the
drawing-room, and Mrs. Lascelles, coming out of the latter apartment,
found her bending over the letter-box.
"What are you about, Jin?" said her friend. "Helen and I have been
looking for you in the conservatory."
"Only posting my answer to Goldie," replied Miss Ross with a laugh.
"Don't be jealous, Rose. He'll show it to you, I'm sure, if you ask
him."
But she seemed absent and pre-occupied during their walk, though more
cordial and affectionate in her manner to Helen than she had ever been
before.