DANGER AHEAD.
Nan waited the return of Frank King with the deepest anxiety. She
would see nothing in these wild words of Madge's but an ebullition of
temper. She could not bring herself to believe that her own sister--a
girl with everything around her she could desire in the world--would
deliberately enter upon one of those hateful marriages of convenience.
It was true, Nan had to confess to herself, that Madge was not very
impressionable. There was no great depth in her nature. Then she was
a trifle vain, and liked admiration; and she was evidently pleased to
have a handsome and certainly eligible suitor. But no--it was
impossible that she had really meant what she said. When Captain King
came back, then the true state of affairs would be seen. Madge was not
going to marry for money or position--or even out of spite.
And when Frank King did come back, matters looked very well at first.
Madge received him in a very nice, friendly fashion, and was pleased by
certain messages from the old folks at Kingscourt. Nan's fears began
to fade away. Nothing more was heard of Jack Hanbury. So far as Madge
was concerned everything seemed right.
But Nan, who was very anxious, and on that account unusually sensitive,
seemed to detect something strange in Frank King's manner. He had
nothing of the gay audacity of an accepted suitor. When he paid Madge
any little attention, it appeared almost an effort. He was preoccupied
and thoughtful; sometimes, after regarding Madge in silence, he would
apparently wake up to the consciousness that he ought to be more
attentive to her; but there did not seem to be much joyousness in their
relationship. When these two happened to be together--during the
morning stroll down the pier, or on the way home from church, or seated
at a concert--they did not seem to have many things to speak about
Frank King grew more and more grave; and Nan saw it, and wondered, and
quite failed to guess at the reason.
The fact was that he had now discovered what terrible mistake he had
made. He could blind himself no longer. Madge was not Nan; nor
anything approaching to Nan; they were as different as day and night.
Face to face with this discovery, he asked himself what he ought to do.
Clearly, if he had made a mistake, it was his first duty that no one
else should suffer by it. Because he was disappointed in not finding
in Madge certain qualities and characteristics he had expected to find,
he was not going to withdraw from an engagement he had voluntarily
entered into. It was not Madge's fault. If the prospect of this
marriage pleased her, he was bound to fulfil his promise. After all,
Madge had her own qualities. Might they not wear as well through the
rough work of the world, even if they had not for him the fascination
he had hoped for? In any case, the disappointment should be his, not
hers. She should not suffer any slight. And then he would make
another desperate resolve to be very affectionate and attentive to her;
resolves which usually ended in his carrying to her some little present
of flowers, or something like that, having presented which, he would
turn and talk to Nan.
'I say, Beresford,' he suddenly observed, one night at dinner, 'I have
an invitation to go salmon-fishing in Ireland. Will you come?'
'Well, but----' Madge interposed with an injured air, as if she ought
to have been consulted first.
'I should like it tremendously!' said Mr. Tom, with a rush.
'I am told the scenery in the neighbourhood is very fine,' continued
Captain King; 'at all events we are sure to think so half a dozen years
hence. That is one of the grand points about one's memory; you forget
all the trivial details and discomforts, and only remember the best.'
He quite naturally turned to Nan.
'I am sure, Miss Nan,' he said, 'you have quite a series of beautiful
little pictures in your mind about that Splugen excursion. Don't you
remember the drive along the Via Mala, in the shut-up carriage--the
darkness outside--and the swish of the rain----'
'Well,' said Madge, somewhat spitefully, 'considering you were in a
closed carriage and driving through darkness, I don't see much of a
beautiful picture to remember!'
He did not seem to heed. It was Nan he was addressing; and there was a
pleased light in her eyes. Reminiscences are to some people very
delightful things.
'And you recollect the crowded saloon in the Splugen inn, and the snug
little corner we got near the stove, and the little table. That's
where you discovered the use of stupid people at dinner-parties----'
'What's that?' Mr. Tom demanded to know.
'It's a secret,' Captain King answered, with a laugh. 'And I think you
were rather down-hearted next morning--until we began to get up through
the clouds. That is a picture to remember at all events--a Christmas
picture in summer time. Do you remember how green the pines looked
above the snow? And how blue the sky was when the mist got driven
over? And how business-like you looked in your ulster--buttoned up to
the chin for resolute Alpine work. I fancy I can hear now the very
chirp of your boots on the wet snow--it was very silent away up there.'
'I know,' said Nan, somewhat shamefacedly, 'that when I saw
"_Ristoratore_" stuck up on the house near the top, I thought it was a
place for restoring people found in the snow, until I heard the driver
call out "_Du, hole Schnapps_."'
'Wasn't that a wild whirl down the other side!' he continued,
delightedly. 'But you should have come into the Customs-house with me
when I went to declare my cigars. You see it wouldn't do for me, who
might one day get a coastguard appointment, to try on any smuggling.
But I did remonstrate. I said I had already paid at Paris and at
Basel; and that it was hard to have to pay three import dues on my
cigars. Well, they were very civil. They said they couldn't help it.
"Why not buy your cigars in the country where you smoke them?" asked an
old gentleman in spectacles. "Because, Monsieur," I answered him, with
the usual cheek of the English, "I prefer to smoke cigars made of
tobacco." But he was quite polite. After charging me eighteen francs,
he bowed me out, and said "a rivederla;" to which I responded "Oh no,
thank you;" and then I found you and your sisters all laughing at me,
as if I had been before a police-magistrate to be admonished.'
'You don't forget all the disagreeable details, then?' said Nan, with a
smile.
But the smile vanished from her face when he began to talk about
Bellagio. He did so without any covert intention. It was always a joy
to him to think or talk about the time that he and the three sisters
spent together far away there in the south. And it was only about the
Serenata and the procession of illuminated boats that he was thinking
at this moment.
'I suppose they will sooner or later have all our ships and steamers
lit with the electric light; and everything will be ghastly white and
ghastly black. But do you remember how soft and beautiful the masses
of yellow stars were when the boats came along the lake in the
darkness? It was indeed a lovely night. And I think we had the best
of it--sitting there in the garden. I know I for one didn't miss the
music a bit. And then it was still more lovely when the moon rose; and
you could see the water, and the mountains on the other side, and even
the houses by the shore. I remember there was a bush somewhere near us
that scented all the air----'
Madge had been regarding her sister closely.
'It must have been a magical night,' she said quickly, 'for Nan's face
has got quite white just thinking of it.'
He started. A quick glance at the girl beside him showed him that she
was indeed pale; her eyes cast down; her hand trembling. Instantly he
said, in a confused hurry,--
'You see, Miss Anne, there was some delay about the concert. One
steamer did really come back to Bellagio. We had our serenade all the
same--that is to say, any who were awake. You see, they did not intend
to swindle you----'
'Oh, no! oh, no!' said Nan; and then, conscious that Madge was still
regarding her, she added with a desperate effort at composure,--
'We heard some pretty music on the water at Venice. Edith picked up
some of the airs. She will play them to you after dinner.'
That same night, as usual, Madge came into Nan's room, just before
going off.
'Nan,' she said, looking straight at her, 'what was it upset you about
Frank's reminding you of Bellagio?'
'Bellagio?' repeated Nan, with an effort to appear unconscious, but
with her eyes turned away.
'Yes; you know very well.'
'I know that I was thinking of something quite different from anything
that Captain King was saying,' Nan said, at length. 'And--and it is of
no consequence to you, Madge, believe me.'
Madge regarded her suspiciously for a second, and then said, with an
air of triumph,
'At all events, he isn't going to Ireland.'
'Oh, indeed,' Nan answered, gently. 'Well I'm glad; I suppose you
prefer his not going?'
'It nearly came to a quarrel, I know,' said Madge, frankly. 'I thought
it just a bit too cool. At all events, he ought to pretend to care a
little for me.'
'Oh, Madge, how can you say such things? Care for you--and he has
asked you to be his wife? Could he care for you more than that?'
'He has never even thanked me for not going to the Kenyons' ball,' said
Madge, who appeared to imagine that Nan was responsible for everything
Captain King did or did not do.
'Surely he would take it for granted you would not go!' remonstrated
the elder sister.
'But he takes everything for granted. And he scarcely ever thinks it
worth while to speak to me. And I know it will be a regular bore when
we go to Kingscourt, with the old people still there, and me not
mistress at all; and what am I to do?'
She poured out this string of wild complaints rapidly and angrily.
'Good-night, Madge,' said Nan; 'I am rather tired to-night.'
'Good-night. But I can tell you if he hadn't given up Ireland, there
would have been a row.'
It was altogether a strange condition of affairs; and next day it was
apparently made worse. There had been a stiffish gale blowing all
night from the south; and in the morning, though the sky was cloudless,
there was a heavy sea running, so that from the windows they saw white
masses of foam springing into the air--hurled back by the sea-wall at
the end of Medina Terrace. When Captain King came along Mr. Tom at
once proposed they should all of them take a stroll as far as the
Terrace; for now the tide was full up and the foam was springing into
the blue sky to a most unusual height. And, indeed, when they arrived
they found a pretty big crowd collected; a good many of whom had
obviously been caught unawares by the shifting and swirling masses of
spray. It was a curious sight. First the great wave came rolling on
with but little beyond an ominous hissing noise; then there was a heavy
shock that made the earth tremble, and at the same moment a roar as of
thunder; then into the clear sky rose a huge wall of gray, illuminated
by the sunlight, and showing clearly and blackly the big stones and
smaller shingle that had been caught and whirled up in the seething
mass. Occasionally a plank of drift timber was similarly whirled
up--some thirty or forty feet; disappearing altogether again as it fell
crashing into the roar of the retreating wave. It was a spectacle,
moreover, that changed every few seconds, as the heavy volumes of the
sea hit the breakwater at different angles. The air was thick with the
salt spray; and hot with the sunlight--even on this March morning.
Then it became time for Mr. Tom and Captain Frank to go and witness a
challenge game of rackets that had been much talked of; and the girls
walked back with them as far as Brunswick Terrace, Madge being with
Frank King.
'Why is it one never sees Mr. Jacomb now?' he asked of his companion.
'I saw him only the other day,' she said evasively.
'But he does not come to the house, does he?'
'N--no,' said Madge.
'Has he left Brighton?'
'Oh no,' answered Madge, and she drew his attention to a brig that was
making up Channel under very scant sail indeed.
'I daresay he has a good deal of work to do,' said Frank King absently.
'When are they going to be married?'
Madge saw that the revelation could be put off no longer.
'Oh, but they are not going to be married. Nan isn't going to be
married at all.'
He stared at her, as if he had scarcely heard her aright; and then he
said slowly--
'Nan isn't going to be married? Why have you never told me before?'
'Oh, it is a private family matter,' said Madge, petulantly. 'It is
not to be talked about. Besides, how could I know it would interest
you?'
He remained perfectly silent and thoughtful. They walked along. Madge
began to think she had been too ungracious.
'I suppose she tried to bring herself to it for a time,' she said, more
gently. 'She has wonderful ideas, Nan has; and I suppose she thought
she could do a deal of good as a clergyman's wife. For my part, I
don't see what she could do more than she does at present. It's just
what she's fit for. Poor people don't resent her going into their
houses as they would if it was you or I. She manages it somehow.
That's how she gets to know all about out-of-the-way sort of things;
she's practical; and people think it strange that a young lady like her
should know the ways and habits of common people; and that's why she
interests them when she talks. There's nothing wonderful in it.
Anybody can find out what the profit is on selling oranges, if you like
to go and talk to a hideous old wretch who is smelling of gin. But I
don't say anything against Nan. It's her way. It's what she was
intended for by Providence, I do believe. But she was sold that time
she wanted to get up a little committee to send a constant supply of
books and magazines to the lighthouses--circulating you know. She
wrote to Sir George about it; and found the Admiralty did that already.'
There was a strange, hopeless, tired look on this man's face. He did
not seem to hear her. He appeared to know nothing of what was going on
around him.
When they reached the door of the house, he said,--
'Good-bye!'
'Good-bye?' she repeated, inquiringly. 'I thought we were all going to
see the Exhibition of Paintings this afternoon.'
'I think I must go up to London for a few days,' he said, with some
hesitation. 'There--is some business----'
She said no more; but turned and went indoors without a word. He bade
good-bye to Edith and to Nan--not looking into Nan's face at all. Then
he left with the brother, and Mr. Tom was silent, for his friend King
seemed much disturbed about something, and he did not wish to worry him.
As for Madge, she chose to work herself into a pretty passion, though
she said nothing. That she should have been boasting of her triumph in
inducing, or forcing, him to give up that visit to Ireland only to find
him going off to London without warning or explanation, was altogether
insufferable. She was gloomy and morose all the afternoon; would not
go to see the pictures; refused to come in and speak to certain
callers; and at dinner made a little show of sarcasm that did not hurt
anybody very much.
The evening brought her a letter. Thus it ran:--
'Dear Madge--I thought you looked angry when you went indoors this
morning. Don't quarrel about such a trifle as my going to London. I
shall be back in two or three days; and hope to bring with me the big
photograph of Kingscourt, if they have got any copies printed yet.
'Your FRANK.'
'From whom is your letter, Madge?' Lady Beresford said, incidentally.
'From Frank, mamma,' said the young lady, as she quietly and
determinedly walked across the room and--thrust it into the fire!
That same night Miss Madge also wrote a note; but the odd thing was
that the writing of both note and address was in a disguised hand. And
when, some little time thereafter, the others were in the
billiard-room, it was Madge herself who slipped out from the house and
went and dropped that missive into the nearest pillar letter-box.