A REVELATION
It was a winter evening and Sylvia was standing near the hearth in Mrs.
Kettering's hall, where the lamps were burning, though a little pale
daylight still filtered through the drizzle outside. Sylvia was fond
of warmth and brightness, but she was alone except for Ethel West, who
sat writing at a table in a recess, although her hostess had other
guests, including a few men who were out shooting. After a while Ethel
looked up.
"Have you or Herbert heard anything from George during the last few
weeks?" she asked.
Sylvia turned languidly. Her thoughts had been fixed on Captain Bland,
whom she was expecting every moment. Indeed, she was anxious to get
rid of Ethel before he came in.
"No," she said with indifference. "I think his last letter came a
month ago. It was optimistic."
"They seem to have had a good harvest from what Edgar wrote; he hinted
that he might make a trip across."
"It's rather an expensive journey."
"That wouldn't trouble Edgar, and there's a reason for the visit. He
has made up his mind to start farming and wants to talk over his plans.
In fact, he thinks of getting married."
Sylvia showed some interest.
"To whom? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I only arrived this morning, and I wrote some time ago, asking if you
could meet Stephen and me. You were with the Graysons then, but you
didn't answer."
"I forgot; I don't always answer letters. But who is the girl? Not
Miss Grant?"
"Helen Taunton. Do you know her?"
Sylvia laughed.
"The storekeeper's daughter! She's passably good-looking and her
father's not badly off, but that's about all one could say for her."
"Do you know anything against the girl?"
"Oh, no!" said Sylvia languidly. "She's quite respectable--in fact,
they're rather a straight-laced people; and she doesn't talk badly.
For all that, I think you'll get a shock if Edgar brings her home."
"That is not George's opinion. We wrote to him."
Sylvia laughed.
"He would believe in anybody who looked innocent and pretty."
Ethel's expression hardened; Sylvia had not been considerate.
"I don't think that's true. He's generous, and though he has made
mistakes, it was only because his confidence was misled with a highly
finished skill. One wouldn't look for the same ability in a girl
brought up in a primitive western town."
"After all," said Sylvia tranquilly, "she is a girl, and no doubt Edgar
is worth powder and shot from her point of view."
"It doesn't seem to be a commercial one," Ethel retorted. "Stephen had
a very straightforward letter from this storekeeper. But I'm inclined
to think I had better go on with my writing."
Sylvia moved away. She had no reason for being gracious to Ethel, and
she took some pleasure in irritating her.
In a few minutes Bland came in. The hall was large, and Ethel was
hidden from him in the recess. He strode toward Sylvia eagerly, but
she checked him with a gesture.
"You have come back early," she said. "Wasn't the sport good? What
has become of Kettering and the others?"
The man looked a little surprised. This was hardly the greeting he had
expected, after having been promised a quiet half-hour with Sylvia;
but, looking round, he saw the skirt of Ethel's dress and understood.
Had it been George she wished to warn, she would have used different
means; but Bland, she was thankful, was not hypercritical.
"The sport was poor," he told her. "The pheasants aren't very strong
yet, and it was hard to drive them out of the covers. As I'd only a
light water-proof, I got rather wet outside the last wood and I left
the others. Kettering wanted to see the keeper about to-morrow's beat,
but I didn't wait."
"Since you have been in the rain all day, you had better have some
tea," said Sylvia. "They'll bring it here, if you ring."
He followed her to a small table across the hall, and after a tray had
been set before them they sat talking in low voices. Presently Bland
laid his hand on Sylvia's arm.
"You know why I came down," he said. "I must go back to-morrow and I
want the announcement made before I leave."
Sylvia blushed and lowered her eyes.
"Oh, well," she conceded, "you have really been very patient, and
perhaps it would be hardly fair to make you wait any longer."
Bland took her hand and held it fast.
"You are worth waiting for! But there were times when it was very hard
not to rebel. I'd have done so, only I was afraid."
"You did rebel."
"Not to much purpose. Though no one would suspect it from your looks,
you're a very determined person, Sylvia. Now I don't know how to
express my feelings; I want to do something dramatic, even if it's
absurd, and I can't even speak aloud. Couldn't you have got rid of
Miss West by some means?"
"How could I tell what you wished to say?" Sylvia asked with a shy
smile. "Besides, Ethel wouldn't go. She stuck there in the most
determined fashion!"
"Then we'll have to disregard her. It must be early next year, Sylvia.
I'll see Lansing to-morrow."
He continued in a quietly exultant strain, and Sylvia felt relieved
that her fate was decided. She had some time ago led him to believe
she would marry him; but she had, with vague misgivings and prompted by
half-understood reasons, put off a definite engagement. Now she had
given her pledge, and though she thought of George with faint regret,
she was on the whole conscious of satisfaction. Bland, she believed,
had a good deal to offer her which she could not have enjoyed with his
rival.
Presently a servant brought Ethel something on a salver, and a few
moments later she approached the other two with a telegram in her hand.
"I thought I had better tell you, Sylvia," she explained. "Stephen has
just got a letter from Edgar, written a day or two before he sailed.
He should arrive on Saturday, and George is with him."
Sylvia had not expected this and she was off her guard. She started,
and sat looking at Ethel incredulously, with something like
consternation.
"It's quite true," said Ethel bluntly. "He'll be here in three more
days."
Then Sylvia recovered her composure.
"In that case, I'll have to let Muriel know at once; he'll go straight
there, and she's staying with Lucy. Perhaps I had better telegraph."
She rose and left them; and Bland sought Mrs. Kettering and acquainted
her of his engagement, and begged her to make it known, which she
promised to do. He failed to find Sylvia until she was coming down to
dinner, when she beckoned him.
"Have you told Susan yet?" she asked.
"Yes," Bland beamed; "I told her at once. I should have liked to go
about proclaiming the delightful news!"
Sylvia looked disturbed; Bland could almost have fancied she was angry.
As a matter of fact, troubled thoughts were flying through her mind.
It was obvious that she would shortly be called upon to face a crisis.
"After all," she said, with an air of resignation which struck him as
out of place, "I suppose you had to do so; but you lost no time."
"Not a moment!" he assured her. "I felt I couldn't neglect anything
that brought you nearer to me."
Then they went on, and meeting the other guests in the hall, Sylvia
acknowledged the shower of congratulations with a smiling face. She
escaped after dinner, however, without a sign to Bland, and did not
reappear. During the evening, he found Ethel West sitting alone in a
quiet nook.
"Mrs. Marston seemed a little disturbed at the news you gave her," he
remarked.
"So I thought," said Ethel.
"I suppose the George you mentioned is her trustee, who went to Canada
and took your brother? You once told me something about him."
"Yes," said Ethel. "You seem to have the gift of arriving at correct
conclusions."
"He's an elderly man--a business man of his cousin's stamp--I presume?"
Ethel laughed.
"Oh, no; they're of very different type. I should imagine that he's
younger than you are. He was at Herbert's one afternoon when you
called."
"Ah!" said Bland. "I shall, no doubt, get to know him when next I come
down."
Then he talked about other matters until he left her, and after a while
he found Kettering alone.
"Did you ever meet George Lansing?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," said his host. "I know his cousin better."
"He has been out in Canada, hasn't he?"
"Yes; went out to look after Mrs. Marston's property. I understand he
has been more or less successful."
"When did he leave England?"
Kettering told him, and Bland considered.
"So Lansing has been out, and no doubt going to a good deal of trouble,
for two years," he said. "That's something beyond an ordinary
executor's duty. What made him undertake it?"
Kettering smiled.
"It's an open secret--you're bound to hear it--that he had an
admiration for Sylvia. Still, there's no ground for jealousy. Lansing
hadn't a chance from the beginning."
Bland concealed his feelings.
"How is that? He must be an unusually good fellow if he stayed out
there to look after things so long."
"For one reason, he's not Sylvia's kind. It was quite out of the
question that she should ever have married him."
Feeling that he had, perhaps, said too much, Kettering began to talk of
the next day's sport; and soon afterward Bland left him and went out on
the terrace to smoke and ponder. Putting what he had learned together,
he thought he understood the situation, and it was not a pleasant one,
though he was not very indignant with Sylvia. It looked as if she made
an unfair use of Lansing's regard for her, unless, in spite of
Kettering's opinion, she had until lately been undecided how to choose
between them. Nevertheless, Bland could not feel that he had now been
rudely undeceived, for he had always recognized some of Sylvia's
failings. He did not expect perfection; and he could be generous, when
he had won.
He asked Sylvia no injudicious questions when they met the next
morning, and during the day he called on Herbert Lansing, who was back
in his office. The latter heard him explain his errand with somewhat
mixed feelings, for there were certain rather troublesome facts that
must be mentioned.
"Well," he said, "I have, of course, no objections to make; but, as one
of her trustees, it's my duty to look after Sylvia's interests. As you
know, she is not rich."
"I suppose these points must he talked over," Bland said, with
indifference.
"It's usual, and in the present case, necessary. What provision are
you able to make?"
Bland looked a little uncomfortable. "As a matter of fact, I'd find it
difficult to make any provision. I get along fairly well, as it is,
but I've only about four hundred a year besides my pay."
"How far does your pay go?" Herbert asked dryly.
"It covers my mess bills and a few expenses of that nature."
Herbert leaned back in his chair with a smile.
"Hasn't it struck you that you should have chosen a wife with money?"
"Now," said Bland rather sternly, "I don't want to lie open to any
misconception, but I understood that Mrs. Marston had some means. I'm
quite prepared to hear they're small."
"That's fortunate, because it may save you a shock. Sylvia owns a farm
in Canada, which did not repay the cost of working it last year.
During the present one there has been an improvement, and we expect a
small surplus on the two years' operations. The place has been valued
at--but perhaps I had better give you a few figures, showing you how
matters stand."
Opening a drawer, he handed a paper to Bland, who studied it with a
sense of dismay.
"I'll confess that this is an unpleasant surprise," he said at length;
and then, while Herbert waited, he pulled himself together with a
laugh. "After that admission, I must add that the mistake is the
result of my having a sanguine imagination; Sylvia scarcely mentioned
her Canadian property. Now, however, there's only one thing to be
done--to face the situation as cheerfully as possible."
"It can't be an altogether attractive one." Herbert admired his courage
and the attitude he had adopted.
"I shall certainly have to economize," Bland admitted; "and that is a
thing I'm not accustomed to; but I may get some appointment, and by and
by a small share in some family property will revert to me. Though I
must go straight back to my garrison duties now, I'll come down for an
hour or two and explain things to Sylvia, as soon as I can." He paused
and broke into a faint smile. "I dare say the surprise will be mutual;
she may have believed my means to be larger than they are."
"I should consider it very possible," replied Herbert dryly. "As I
must see Sylvia, I'll give her an idea how matters stand and clear the
ground for you."
Bland said that he would be glad of this; and after some further
conversation he took his leave and walked to the station, disturbed in
mind, but conscious of a little ironical amusement. There was no doubt
that Sylvia had cleverly deluded him, but he admitted that he had done
much the same thing to her. Had he realized the true state of her
affairs at the beginning he would have withdrawn; but he had no thought
of doing so now. It was obvious that Sylvia's principles were not very
high, and he regretted it, although he could not claim much superiority
in this respect. He was tolerant and, after all, she had a charm that
atoned for many failings.
It was three or four days later when he arrived at Mrs. Kettering's
house one evening and found Sylvia awaiting him in a room reserved for
her hostess's use. She was very becomingly dressed and looked, he
thought, even more attractive than usual. She submitted to his caress
with an air of resignation, but he augured a good deal from the fact
that she did not repulse him. As it happened, Sylvia had carefully
thought over the situation.
"Sit down," she said; "I want to talk with you."
"I think I'll stand. It's more difficult to feel penitent in a
comfortable position. It looks as if you had seen Herbert Lansing."
"I have." Sylvia's tone was harsh. "What have you to say for yourself?"
"Not a great deal, which is fortunate, because I haven't much time to
say it in," Bland told her with a smile. "To begin with, I'll state
the unflattering truth--it strikes me that, in one way, we're each as
bad as the other. I suppose it's one of my privileges to mention such
facts to you, though I'd never think of admitting them to anybody else."
"It's a husband's privilege," Sylvia rejoined pointedly. "Don't be
premature."
"Well," said Bland, "I can only make one defense, but I think you ought
to realize how strong it is. We were thrown into each other's society,
and it isn't in the least surprising that I lost my head and was
carried away. My power of reasoning went when I fell in love with you."
"That sounds pretty, but it's unfortunate you didn't think of me a
little more," pouted Sylvia.
"Think of you?" Bland broke out. "I thought of nothing else!"
"Then it wasn't to much purpose. Don't you see what you want to bring
me to? Can't you realize what I should have to give up? How could we
ever manage on the little we have?"
The man frowned. He was sorry for her and somewhat ashamed, but she
jarred on him in her present mood.
"I believe people who were sufficiently fond of each other have often
got along pretty satisfactorily on less, even in the Service. It's a
matter of keen regret to me that you will have to make a sacrifice, but
things are not quite so bad as they look, and there's reason for
believing they may get better. You will have as pleasant society as
you enjoy now; my friends will stand by my wife." A look of pride
crept into his face. "I dare say they have their failings, but they'll
only expect charm from you, and you can give it to them. They won't
value you by the display you make or your possessions. We're free from
that taint."
"But have you considered what you must give up?"
Bland had hardly expected this, but he smiled.
"Oh, yes. I spent an evening over it and I was a little surprised to
find how many things there were I could readily do without. In fact,
it was a most instructive evening. The next day I wrote a bundle of
letters, resigning from clubs I rarely went to, and canceling orders
for odds and ends I hadn't the least real use for. But I'll confess
that I've derived a good deal more pleasure from thinking of how much I
shall get."
Sylvia was touched, but she did not mean to yield too readily.
"It would be dreadfully imprudent."
"Just so; one has often to take a risk. It's rather exciting to fling
prudence overboard. I want to fix my whole attention on the fact that
we love each other!" Bland glanced at his watch. "Now it strikes me
that we have been sufficiently practical, and as I must start back
to-night, I haven't much time left. Don't you think it would be a pity
to waste it?"
He drew her down beside him on a lounge and Sylvia surrendered. After
all, the man had made a good defense and, as far as her nature
permitted, she had grown fond of him.