But of all this Ideala knew little or nothing when she went there,
except that the Great Hospital existed for some learned purpose. She
felt the power of the place, however, preoccupied as she was, and
stopped involuntarily when she saw the building, ceasing for a moment
to be conscious of anything but the awe and admiration it inspired.
Then she passed up the broad steps, beneath the massive pillars of the
portico, and entered the hall. A man-servant took her card to Mr.
Lorrimer, and, returning presently, requested her to follow him. They
left the great hall by a flight of low steps at the end of it, and,
turning to the right, passed through glass doors into quite another
part of the building. A long, dimly-lighted gallery led away into the
distance. A few doors opened on to it, and at one of these the servant
stopped and knocked. A tall gentleman opened the door himself, and,
begging Ideala to enter, bade her be seated at a writing-table which
stood in the middle of the room, and himself took the chair in front of
it, and looked at Ideala's card which lay before him. Another
gentleman, whom Lorrimer introduced as "My brother Julian," lounged on
a high-backed chair at the other side of the table. The room was a good
size, but so crowded with things that there was scarcely space to turn
round. The light fell full upon Lorrimer as he sat facing the window,
and Ideala saw a fair man of about thirty, not at all the sort of man
she had imagined, and quite impossible for her purpose.
An awkward pause followed her entrance. She was unable to tell him the
real reason of her visit, and at a loss to invent a fictitious one.
"I don't suppose you know in the least who I am," she said, seeing that
he glanced at her card again, and then she explained, telling him what
his cousin had written to her.
"And you would like to see the Hospital?" he asked.
"Please."
He rose, took down a bunch of keys, and requested her to follow him.
She felt no interest in the place, and knew it was a bore to him to
show it to her; but the thing had to be done. He led her through halls
and lecture-rooms, places of recreation and places for work; he showed
her picture galleries, statuary, the library, and a museum, and told
her the plan of it all clearly, like one reciting a lesson, and
indifferently, like one performing a task that must be got through
somehow, but making it all most interesting, nevertheless.
Ideala began to be taken out of herself.
"What a delightful place!" she said, when they came to the library.
"And there is a whole row of books I want to consult. How I should like
to come and read them."
"Oh, pray do," he answered, "whenever you like. Ladies frequently do
so. You have only to write and tell me when you wish to come, and I
will see that you are properly attended to."
"Thank you," Ideala rejoined. "It is just the very thing for me, for I
am writing a little book, and cannot get on till I have consulted some
authorities on the subject." In the museum they stopped to look at a
mummy.
"Oh, happy mummy!" burst from Ideala, involuntarily.
"Why?" asked Lorrimer, aroused from his apathy.
"It has done with it all, you know," she answered.
Then he turned and looked at her, and she saw that he was something
more than cold, pale-faced, and indifferent, which had been her first
idea of him. His eyes were large, dark grey, and penetrating. She would
have called his face fine, rather than handsome; but the upper part was
certainly beautiful, in spite of some hard lines on it. There was
something in the expression, more than in the formation, of the mouth
and chin, however, that did not satisfy. His head and throat were
splendid; the former narrowed a little at the back, but the forehead
made up for the defect, which was not striking. He made Ideala think of
Tito Melema and of Bayard.
That remark of hers having broken the ice, they began to talk like
human beings with something in common. But Ideala's mood was not
calculated to produce a good impression. The failure of her enterprise
brought on a fit of recklessness such as we understood, and she said
some things which must have made a stranger think her peculiar.
Lorrimer had begun to be amused before they returned to the great
entrance hall. Once or twice he looked at her curiously. "What sort of
a person are you, I wonder?" he was thinking,
"I was dying of dulness," she said, telling him about the place she
came from, "and so I came to see you."
He left her for a moment, but presently returned with his brother.
"You had better come and have some luncheon before you go back," he
said.
And she went.
As they left the building Lorrimer asked her: "Where on earth did my
cousin meet _you?"_--with the slightest possible emphasis. Ideala
understood him, and laughed.
"Upon my word I don't know who introduced her," she answered, standing
on her dignity nevertheless. "I can't remember."
They went to the refreshment-room at the station. It was crowded, but
they managed to get a table to themselves. There was a vacant seat at
it, and an old gentleman begged to be allowed to occupy it as there was
no other in the room. The three chatted while they waited, each hiding
him, or her, self beneath the light froth of easy conversation; and
people, not accustomed to look on the surface for signs of what is
working beneath, would have thought them merry enough. As she began to
know her companions better, Ideala was more and more drawn to Lorrimer.
His brother, who was a dark man, and very different in character, did
not attract her.
The old gentleman, meanwhile, was absorbed in his newspaper, and he
marked his enjoyment of it by inhaling his breath and exhaling it again
in that particular way which is called "blowing like a porpoise."
Lorrimer, by an intelligent glance, expressed what he thought of the
peculiarity to Ideala, who remarked: "It is the next gale developing
dangerous energy on its way to the North British and Norwegian coasts."
The laugh that followed caused the old gentleman to fold up his paper,
and look benignly at the young people over his pince-nez.
It was early in the season, and peas were a rare and forced vegetable.
A small dish of them was brought, and handed to the dangerous gale, who
absently took them all.
"You have taken all the peas, sir; allow me to give you all the
pepper," said Lorrimer, dexterously suiting the action to the word.
The dangerous gale, though disconcerted at first, was finally moved to
mirth.
"Ah, young people! young people!" he said, and sighed--and being a
merry and wise old gentleman, he found pleasure in their pleasure, and
entered into their mood, little suspecting that Black Care was one of
the party, or that a black bruise which would have aroused all the pity
and indignation of his honest old heart, had he seen it, was almost
under his eyes.
And they all loved him.
Presently he rose to go; but before he departed, he observed, looking
kindly at Ideala and Lorrimer; "You're a handsome pair, my dears! Let
me congratulate you; and may your children have the mother's sweetness
and the father's strength, and may the love you have for each other
last for ever--there's nothing like it. Thank God for it, and remember
Him always--and keep yourselves unspotted from the world." And so
saying, he went his way in peace.
"Dear embarrassing old man!" said Lorrimer, regretfully. "I wish I
hadn't spilt the pepper on his plate.
"Is there a chance for Lorrimer?" his brother asked.
But Ideala only stared at him. There was something in his tone that
made her feel ill at ease, and brought back the recollection of her
misery in a moment. Then all at once she became depressed, and both the
young men noticed it.
"I'm afraid you're rather down about something," Julian said. "You'd
better tell us what it is. Perhaps we could cheer you up. And I'm a
lawyer, you know. I might be able to help you."
Lorrimer was looking at her, and seemed to wait for her to speak; but
she only showed by a change of expression that the fact of his brother
being a lawyer possessed a special interest for her.
"If you will trust us," he said at last, "perhaps we _can_ help
you."
"I wish I could," she answered, wistfully; "I came to tell you."
"This sounds serious," Julian said, lightly. "You will have to begin at
the beginning, you know. Come, Lorrimer, we'll go down the river. And,"
to Ideala, "you might tell us all about it on the way, you know."
"Yes, come," said Lorrimer. Ideala rose to accompany them without a
thought. It all came about so easily that no question of propriety
suggested itself--and if any had occurred to her she would probably
have considered it an insult to these gentlemen to suppose they would
allow her to put herself in a questionable position; and when Julian
lit a cigarette without asking her permission, she was surprised.
On the way to the river Ideala's spirits rose again, and they all
talked lightly, making a jest of everything; but while they were
waiting for a boat, Julian took up a bunch of charms that were attached
to Ideala's watch-chain and began to examine them coolly, and the
unwonted familiarity startled her. With a sudden revulsion of feeling
she turned to Lorrimer. She was annoyed by the slight indignity, and
also a little frightened. Whatever Lorrimer may have thought of her
before, he understood her look now, and his whole manner changed.
Julian left them for a moment. "I _am_ so ashamed of myself," Ideala
said. "I have made some dreadful mistake. I have done something
wrong."
"I am very sorry for you," he answered, gravely--and then, to his
brother, who had returned--"You can go on if you like. I am going
back."
"Oh, we can't go on without you," Ideala inter-posed; "and I would
rather go back too."
They began to retrace their steps, and Lorrimer, as they walked,
managed, with a few adroit questions, to learn from Ideala that the
trouble had something to do with her husband.
"Regy Beaumont is coming to me this afternoon," he said to his brother.
"Would you mind being there to receive him?"
They exchanged glances, and Julian took his leave.
"Now, tell me," Lorrimer said to Ideala.
But an unconquerable fit of shyness came over her the moment they were
left alone together. "I cannot tell you," she answered. "It is too
dreadful to speak of."
"Your husband has done you some great wrong?" he said.
"Yes."
"Something for which you can get legal redress?"
"Yes."
"And that made you desperate?"
"Yes."
"And what did you do?" He put the question abruptly, startling Ideala,
as he had intended.
"_I_? Oh, I--did nothing," she stammered. There was a pause.
"My ideal of marriage is a high one," he said at last, "and I should be
very hard on any short-comings of that kind."
Ideala longed to confide in him, but her shyness continued, and she
walked by his side like one in a dream.
He took her to the station, and when they parted he said, "You will
write and tell me?"
Ideala looked up. There were no hard lines in his face now; he was
slightly flushed.
"Yes, I will write," she answered, almost in a whisper.
And then the train, "with rush and ring," bore her away through the
spring-country; but she neither saw the young green of the hedgerows,
nor "the young lambs bleating in the meadows," nor the broad river as
she passed it, nor the fleecy clouds that flecked the blue. She was not
really conscious of anything for the moment, but that sudden great
unspeakable uplifting of the spirit, which is joy.