AT HOME.
All that night, as Frank King had feared, a heavy gale from the
south-west raged furiously; the wind shaking the houses with violent
gusts; the sea thundering along the beach. But in the morning, when
Brighton awoke, it found that the worst of the storm had passed over,
leaving only a disturbed and dangerous look about the elements, and
also a singular clearness in the air, so that the low hard colours of
water and land and sky were strangely intense and vivid. Near the
shore the sea had been beaten into a muddy brown; then that melted into
a cold green farther out; and that again deepened and deepened until it
was lost in a narrow line of ominous purple, black just where the sea
met the vague and vaporous gray sky. In fact, at this moment, the
seaward view from any Brighton window resembled nothing so much as an
attempt at water-colour that a schoolgirl has got into a hopeless mess
through washing and washing away at her skies, until she has got her
heaviest colour smudged over the horizon-line.
But then that was only temporary. Every few minutes another change
would steal over this strange, shifting, clear, dark world. Sometimes
a long streak of sunny green--as sharp as the edge of a knife--far out
at sea told that there was some unseen rift declaring itself overhead
in that watery sky. Then a pale grayness would come up from the
south-west and slowly cover over Worthing as with a veil; and then
again that could be seen to go trailing away inland, and the long spur
beyond the bay appear blacker than ever. Sometimes too, as if in
contrast with all these cold hard tones and colours, a wonder of light
would slowly concentrate on the far cliffs in the east, until Seaford
Head became a mass of glorified golden white, hung apparently between
sea and sky. Altogether, it was not a day to tempt fashionable folk to
go out for their accustomed promenade; and assuredly it was not a day,
supposing them bent on going out, to suggest that they should be too
elaborate about their costume.
Nevertheless, when Miss Madge Beresford came into the billiard-room,
where her brother was patiently practising the spot stroke, her
appearance seemed to produce a great effect.
'Well, we _have_ got on a swagger dress this time!' cried Mr. Tom, who,
though he had never been to Oxford, was a genuine free-trader in slang,
and was ready to import it from anywhere.
He stared at her--at her dark Indian-red hat and skirt, and her long
tight-fitting black sealskin coat--and she bore the scrutiny patiently.
'You are not going out on a morning like this?' he said, at length.
'There is no rain now; and the streets are quite dry,' pleaded Madge.
'I know it's going to be fine.'
'It's no use, Baby. There won't be a soul to admire your new dress.
Better go and finish those slippers for me.'
He proceeded with his billiards.
'Won't you come, Tom?' she said. 'I went to the bazaar with you, when
you wanted to see Kate Harman.'
'Wanted to see Kate Harman?' he said, contemptuously. 'Couldn't
anybody see Kate Harman who paid half-a-crown at the door?'
'But I took you up and introduced you to her.'
'Introduced me to her! What introduction do you need at a stall at a
bazaar, except to pay a couple of sovereigns for a shilling's worth of
scent? Who told you I wanted to speak to Kate Harman? I'll tell you
what it is, Baby; it's very unladylike to impute motives.'
'I never did anything of the kind,' said his sister, hotly. 'Never.'
She did not quite understand what accusation had been brought against
her; but she did not like the sound of the word 'unladylike.'
'Very well,' said he, laying down his cue, 'since you say I am
incapable of speaking the truth, I suppose I must go and walk up and
down the pier with you. There's one thing sure: I shan't be stared at.'
So he went and got his hat and cane and gloves, and when he had
buttoned himself all over into the smallest possible compass, he called
for his sister, and together they went out into the gusty, clear,
sea-scented morning.
They had the spacious thoroughfare nearly to themselves, though the
pavements were fairly dry now. For the day was wild-looking still, the
occasional gleam of sunlight was spectral and watery, and a black
shadow melting into a soft gray told of showers falling far away at
sea. At a great many drawing-room windows, coffee-room windows, club
windows, were people standing, their hands behind their back,
apparently uncertain whether or not to venture out. And no doubt some
of these, remarking Tom and Madge Beresford pass, must have thought
they formed a very handsome couple--the tall, well-built young fellow
who looked three-and-twenty, though he was not so much, and the pretty
girl of eighteen who also had a good figure and walked well. Their
features were much alike too; most would have guessed them to be
brother and sister.
'I observe,' remarked Mr. Tom, profoundly, as he gazed with admiration
at his own boots, 'that when I come out with you, Baby, I have to do
all the talking. When I go out with Nan, now, she does it all and I am
amused. It isn't that I am selfish; but a girl come to your time of
life--a woman indeed--ought to cultivate the art of amusing people.
There is a want of originality about you----'
'There is a want of politeness about you,' said Miss Madge, calmly.
'There is not that flow of ideas that helps one to pass the time. Now
that ought to be the business of women. Men who have the hard work of
the world to get through require to be entertained, and women should
make a study of it, and learn to be amusing----'
'You won't talk like that to your rich widow,' said his sister, 'when
you have to go to her for a cheque.'
'Now, there's what I would call a sort of vacuity in your mind,' he
continued, bending his cane from time to time on the pavement, 'that
might be filled up with something. You might read the newspapers. You
might get to know that a Conservative Government and a Liberal
Government are not in office at the same time--not generally, at least.'
'Tom,' she said, 'do you think you could get Captain King to come to
the Hunt ball?'
He glanced at her suspiciously.
'Captain King?' said he. 'How do you know I am going to see Captain
King again? How do you know that he did not go back to town this
morning?'
'Because,' she answered, with her eyes fixed on some distant object,
'because I can see him on the pier.'
Tom Beresford had a quick, dark suspicion that he had been made a fool
of, even while he was lecturing his sister on her ignorance; but he was
not going to admit anything of the kind.
'Yes,' he said, carelessly, 'I fancy that is King coming along. I hope
he won't be gone before we get there; I want him to tell me where he
gets his boots. Mine aren't bad, you know,' he said, glancing
approvingly at these important objects, 'but there's a style about his
that I rather fancy.'
'Don't forget about the ball, Tom,' said his sister; 'it would be very
nice if we could get up a little party amongst ourselves.'
But Tom, as he walked along, continued to glance down at his glazed
boots in a thoughtful and preoccupied manner; it was clear that his
mind was charged concerning them.
Frank King was on the pier, and very few others besides, except the
musicians in their box. He threw away a cigar, and came forward
quickly. His face expressed much pleasure, though he regarded Madge
Beresford with something of timidity.
'I was afraid you would not venture out on such a morning,' he said,
looking at the clear blue-gray eyes that were immediately turned away.
Her manner was civil, but that was all. She shook hands with him, of
course, and regarded him for half a second; but then she turned aside
somewhat, so that he and Tom might talk together. For he was Mr. Tom's
friend, and no doubt they might have something to say to each other
about boots or cigars, or such things.
However, the three of them very soon found themselves walking together,
up towards the end of the empty pier, and Tom was in an amazingly good
humour, and did his best to amuse this new friend. They sat down where
they were sheltered from the gusts of wind, and listened a little to
the music, and talked a great deal--though Madge chiefly listened.
Madge pretended to be mostly interested in the music, and in the few
more people who had now been tempted to come down the pier; but she
knew that while her brother and Captain King were very busy talking,
the latter was very frequently regarding her. What she did not know
was that he was trying to make himself believe that that was Nan who
was sitting there.
Then they went for a stroll again, and they looked at the kiosques, and
they took refuge from a few passing drops of rain; and they hurried to
see a heavy fishing-smack go by the end of the pier, beating out
against the south-westerly wind. And although Frank King again and
again addressed her, as was demanded of him, she did not enter much
into conversation with him. He was Tom's friend, she let it be
understood. Nevertheless, she met his eyes once or twice, and she had
a pleasant and amiable look.
She began to think that there must be something very striking and
attractive about this young sailor, when even her brother Tom--who
seemed to consider that the whole world should wait upon his
highness--so clearly went out of his way to make himself agreeable.
Not only that, but when they had had enough of the pier, and had taken
a stroll or two along the King's Road, bringing the time to nearly one
o'clock, what must Mr. Tom do but insist that Frank King should come in
and lunch with them?
'Well, I will,' said he, 'if you will dine with me at the hotel in the
evening. Dining by yourself at a hotel is not exhilarating.'
'But you'd far better dine with us too,' said Mr. Tom, boldly.
'Oh, I can't do that,' said Frank King--but with a slight increase of
colour, which showed that he wished he could. 'Even as it is, I am
afraid Lady Beresford will think it rather cool if I turn up again now.'
'Oh, you don't know what Brighton is at this time of year,' said Mr.
Tom. 'All the resident people like ourselves keep open house, don't
you know? and very glad to. We never know how many are coming in to
lunch; but then they put up with anything; and it's great fun; it's an
occupation for idle people. Then, when you've got a billiard-table,
they can turn to that on wet days. Or Edith can give them some music;
they say she's rather a swell at it. You see, everybody is in Brighton
in December, with friends or in hotels; and, as I say, it's a case of
open house and take your chance.'
'We are more formal, and a little duller, in Wiltshire,' said Frank
King. 'I wish you'd come to Kingscourt for a few days. We haven't
shot the best of the covers yet.'
Those who thought that Tom Beresford was a foolish youth knew nothing
about him. Without a hum or a ha he said--
'Yes, I will. When?'
'I'm going back for Christmas. Of course you'll have to stay here with
your sisters. As soon after that as you can manage.'
'I could come to you on the 27th or 28th.'
'That's settled then. I will write and let you know about trains and
things.'
As luck, good or ill, would have it, there was no other visitor at
lunch; the party consisting of Lady Beresford, her two daughters, Mr.
Tom, and Captain Frank King. But Mr. Tom was in high spirits over this
prospective visit to Kingscourt, and was most amiable to everybody and
everything; he even said that he himself would go through to Lewes and
fetch Nan home for Christmas.
Now this was odd: that, whenever Nan's name was mentioned, Frank King
always glanced up with a quick look, as if he were surprised. Was he
beginning to believe, then, as he had tried to make himself believe,
that this was the real Nan Beresford now on the other side of the
table? Was he surprised to be reminded of the other Nan far away--and
now no doubt greatly altered from her former self? Madge Beresford was
aware that her neighbour opposite regarded her very frequently--and she
pretended not to be conscious of it; but once or twice when she looked
up and her eyes met his, she thought there was an oddly wistful or even
puzzled expression in those dark blue eyes that Edith was always
talking about.
After luncheon Lady Beresford retired to her room, as was her wont; the
two young ladies went upstairs to the drawing-room, and Captain King
accompanied them, for Madge had asked him to advise her about the
rigging of some boats she had been sketching. Mr. Tom remained below
to practise the spot stroke.
In the drawing-room Miss Edith hoped that her playing a little would
not interfere with their artistic pursuits; and Madge went and got her
sketch-book and water-colours, and carried them to a small table at one
of the windows, and sat down. Captain King remained standing.
The sketches, to tell the truth, were as bad as bad could be. They
were all experimental things, done out of her own head, aiming at a
land of the beautiful, unknown to anybody on earth but the
chromo-lithographer. The actual sea was out there, staring her in the
face, and there were boats on the beach and boats on the water; but
instead of trying her hand at anything before her, she must needs
imagine lovely pictures, mostly of blue and pink, with goats perched on
brown crags, and an ill-drawn eagle soaring over an Alpine peak. There
were, however, one or two sketches of mist or moonlight or thunderstorm
that had certainly a weird and eerie effect; but it was not necessary
to tell the spectator that these had been got in moments of impatience
when, after laborious trials at brilliant-hued scenes, the angry artist
had taken up a big brush and washed the whole thing into
chaos--thereby, to her astonishment, reaching something, she did not
know exactly what, that was at all events mysterious and harmonious in
tone.
But it was the shipping about which she had sought his advice. The
little white dots on blue lakes that were supposed to be feluccas or
barchettas he passed; but when it came to a big sailing-boat lying on a
beach, and that beach presumably Cornish, from the colour of the rocks,
he made a civil and even timid remonstrance.
'I don't think I would have the mast quite in the middle of the boat,
if I were you,' said he, gently.
'I thought it always was,' she said--and yet if she had gone to the
window she might have seen.
'If it is a lugger, you see,' he continued, giving her all sorts of
chances of escape, 'the mast would be at the bow. And if it is a
cutter, you would still have to put the mast farther forward, and give
her a boom and a bowsprit. Or if it is a yawl, then you would have a
little jigger-mast astern--about there----'
'Oh, I can't be expected to know things like that,' she said.
'Scientific accuracy isn't wanted. They're only sketches.'
'Yes; oh yes,' he said.
'Won't that boat do?' she demanded.
'Oh yes, it will do,' he said, fearful of offending her. 'It isn't
exactly where they put masts, you know; but then few people know about
boats or care about them.'
She was not very well pleased; but she continued to show him more
sketches, until Mr. Tom came up to see when they were coming to
billiards.
'I shouldn't have shown you these at all,' she said, 'I don't take
interest in them myself. I would far rather draw and paint flowers;
but we never have any flowers now except those waxen-looking heaths and
that flaming pointsettia over there.'
'What did you call it, Madge?' said Mr. Tom.
'I called it pointsettia,' she said, with dignity.
'Gamekeeper's Greek, I should say,' he remarked, with his hands in his
pockets. 'A cross between a pointer and a setter. You shouldn't use
long words, Madge. Come along down.'
But this mention of flowers put a new idea into the head of Captain
Frank King. That very morning he had passed a window where he had seen
all sorts of beautiful blossoms, many of them lying in cotton
wool--pink and white camellias, white hyacinths, scarlet geraniums,
lilies of the valley, and what not. Now might he not be permitted to
send Miss Margaret a selection of these rare blossoms--not as a formal
bouquet at all, but merely for the purposes of painting? They would
simply be materials for an artist; and they would look well in a pretty
basket, on a soft cushion of wool.