'Eight, saire; de American leddy sits dere.'
'Eight; very well, waiter. I sit with them in future, and the American
lady goes to another table. Do you understand? There is no place for
her at the table where I sit.'
Presently Philip heard the clear, pleasant voices of the girls and the
ladies outside, and their feet on the gravel. He started up and
hastened down the hall; but before he could reach the door he heard
Salome's voice, partly raised in cry as of pain, partly in extremity of
joy.
'It is! It is! It can be no other! It is my baby!'
How did she know it? To the male eye there is scarcely any distinction
between babies; as one lamb is like another lamb, and one buttercup like
another buttercup, so are all babies alike. Some have dark hair, others
are blondes; but so among lambs. And there are varieties of species in
buttercups; in the Alpine pastures some are silver. Unwarned,
unprepared, Salome knew her baby; knew it at once, with a leap of her
heart and a rush of blood that roared in her ears and for a moment
dazzled her eyes. She asked no questions how it came there, she
entertained no doubt whether it was her own, her very own--in a moment
she had the little creature in her arms, laughing, crying, covering its
face and hands with kisses; and the child also knew its mother, had no
wonder how she came to be there, no doubt whether it were really she; it
thrust forth its little pats, and held Salome by the copper-gold hair,
and put its rosy mouth to her cheek.
'Salome!' exclaimed Janet, 'how can you be so ridiculous? This must be
some other child; who could have brought yours here?'
Then Philip appeared in the doorway--but Salome's eyes were blind with
tears of joy, and she did not see him; she could see nothing but her
child. He spoke--she did not hear him; she could hear nothing but the
cooing of her babe.
Philip stood beside her and touched her on the shoulder.
'Do you not know me?' he asked. 'Are you not glad to see me?'
Salome stood still and released her child. She was confused; she hardly
knew whether she were awake or in the most beautiful, blissful of
dreams.
'Well--this is hardly the--the--Salome. Do you not know me?'
'Oh, Philip!' she gasped, 'is it really you? And you have brought me my
baby! Oh! how good, how kind!' and she fell to kissing and hugging her
baby again.
Then Philip, finding himself put completely in the background, condemned
to a subsidiary part to that played by Philip the Little, was offended,
and said with a slight tone of acerbity: 'My dear Salome, be decorous.
Give up Phil now to the nurse, a Swiss young person, and come, take my
arm.'
'Philip,' said Salome, 'Oh, Philip, how good! how very dear of you!'
He felt her heart beating wildly against his arm, as she clung to him,
at his side. Then she began to sob. 'It is too great happiness. My
darling! My darling pet! and looking so well too.'
'You mean the baby?'
'Yes, of course, Philip.'
She put her hand in her pocket, drew out her 'kerchief and wiped her
eyes.
'By the way,' said Philip, 'how many had I?'
'How many what, Philip? Only this one, darling,'
'I mean pocket-handkerchiefs. All, all have disappeared, and I have
been condemned to one. I have come here to Andermatt expressly to know
what my stock consisted of. Conceive, only one pocket-handkerchief
left!'
*CHAPTER XLII.*
*THE GAUNTLET DANGLED.*
Philip had to shake hands with Janet, with his aunt, with the three
Labartes, to whom he was introduced, and with a little heartiness to
clasp the hand of the captain. He was introduced, moreover, to the
American lady, and was thus given the well-considered opportunity of
saluting her with calculated indifference. He somewhat exaggerated the
cordiality of his greeting of the Labarte girls so as to emphasize the
chilliness of his behaviour towards the young lady from Chicago.
When the first excitement of meeting was past, Philip was overwhelmed
with questions. 'How was dear Uncle Jeremiah?--was he much altered?'
'What was going to be done about the mill?' and 'What a puzzle it would
be about the administration?' 'Could he re-establish himself legally as
alive after he had been decreed dead?' 'What had happened at Mergatroyd
besides the return of Uncle Jeremiah?' 'How had the people received
him?' 'Had they erected a triumphal arch?' 'Did he write beforehand to
say he was coming?' 'What sort of weather had they had in England?'
'What kind of crossing had Philip?' 'Had baby suffered at all from the
sea?' 'What did he think of the railway?'
There was no end to the questions asked, which Philip answered as well
as he could. And as he received and replied to the questions he kept
his eye on the strange lady, and considered how she must feel--shut out
from all the interests which engrossed those connected with him; and how
much in the way she ought to regard herself.
This she did observe, and drew aside, out of hearing, and as Beaple Yeo
came forward, fell into conversation with him. His presence had an
immediate numbing effect on Philip and Salome and Janet. They withdrew
to another end of the _salon_.
Philip had used his opportunity to observe the strange lady, and he
admitted to himself that she was good-looking.
Of course there are differences in types of beauty, and she was not of
the type that commended itself to Philip--so he thought. She had dark
hair and a transparent olive complexion. Possibly a touch of dark blood
in her, mused Philip, and he said to himself:
'I will take the first opportunity to look at her nails.'
Her features were finely modelled, with a firmness of cutting that
showed she was no longer in her teens, undeveloped. The flexible
transparent nostrils, the slightly-curled curves of the lips, the wavy
hair over the brow--whether natural, the result of a trace of black
blood, or artificially produced--the splendid dark eyes that looked at
Philip, looked down into him and flashed through his whole being like a
lamp shining into a cellar--the delicate ears, the beautiful neck, not
too long, set on well-formed shoulders--all were observed by Philip.
'Yes,' said Philip, 'she is handsome, but she belongs to that period of
life which may be twenty-four or thirty-four. She has got out of
thirteenhood, that is clear.'
He looked at Salome. If Salome was his ideal, nothing could be more
different than her type from the type of Miss Durham. There was a
childlike simplicity in Salome, an ignorance of the world which would
make of her a child to gray hairs; and this strange lady had clearly
none of this simplicity and ignorance; she knew a great deal about the
ways and varieties of life. One like Miss Durham would never go into
gushing ecstasy over a baby, and forget that the first homage was due to
her husband.
It afforded emphatic pleasure to Philip to be able to demonstrate before
this single lady, with such a circle of relatives about him--six ladies
and one gentleman--we are eight and you are one. It was Joseph's sheaf
with all the sheaves bowing down before it; it was like a man with a
pedigree describing the family tree to a self-made man. It was like a
hen with a brood of chickens clucking and strutting before a fowl that
has never reared a solitary chick, hardly laid an egg; it was like a
millionaire showing his pictures, his plate, his equipages, his yacht,
to an acquaintance who had two hundred a year.
It has just been stated that the American girl's eyes had flashed down
into Philip's, and irradiated his interior as a lantern does a cellar--a
wine-cellar, of course--and the light revealed magnificent cobwebs,
thick dust, and some spiders. There was, unquestionably, in Philip much
rare good wine, excellent qualities of heart and soul, but they were
none of them on tap, all were bottled, and all overlaid with whitewash,
and dust, and matted with the fibres and folds of prejudice. These
masses of cobweb, these layers of dust, these fat spiders were objects
of pride to Philip. Every year the cobwebs gathered density, and the
dust accumulated, and the spiders became more gross, hideous, and
venomous; the wine remained corked, it was merely an excuse for the
cultivation of cobwebs and spiders. We are all eager to show our friends
through these rich wine-vaults of our hearts. We light candles and
conduct them down with infinite pride, and what we expose is only our
curtains of prejudice of ancient standing and long formation, our
meannesses, and our spites. If we offer them to taste of our best wine,
it is but through straws.
On the other hand, there was Colonel Yeo, a walking Bodega of generous
sentiment, with every rich passion and ripe opinion always on tap--ask
what you would, and you had a tumblerful. But we libel Bodega, the gush
with which he regaled his acquaintance was not true vintage; it was
squeezed raisins and logwood, gooseberry and elder--no cobwebs of
prejudice there, not a trace even of a scruple, not a token of maturity.
Supper was hurried on, because Philip was hungry, half an hour before
the usual time at which the little party sat down to their special table
in the alcove.
'Oh!' said Salome, 'there is a cover short. Waiter, we shall be nine
to-night and in future, not eight. My husband is here.'
'Pardon,' answered the waiter, 'monsieur expressly said eight.'
'Oh, he forgot. He did not understand. We are now nine.'
Then Philip interfered.
'I said eight, but if you particularly desire Miss Durham's society, I
can sit at the long table with the common guests.'
'Oh, Philip! surely, surely not!' exclaimed Salome. 'It will hurt her
feelings.'
'She will understand that we are a family party, and that from such a
party strangers are best excluded.'
Salome heaved a sigh. She could not endure the thought of giving pain
to anyone.
'Who is she?' asked Philip.
'She is a lady, and very agreeable. Indeed, a most superior person.
You will be certain to like her, when you come to know her. Oh, Philip!
she knows a thousand things about which I am ignorant.'
'I have no doubt about that,' answered Philip ironically; 'and things I
would be sorry you should know about. I make no question she has seen
the shady side of life.'
'But she is tremendously rich.'
'Who says so?'
'The waiter--of course, he knows. And Colonel Yeo pays her great
attention accordingly. Oh, Philip! I wish so much you would extend your
protection to her against him. He may draw her into one of his schemes
for the advancement of missionaries or the propagation of dogs--and get
a lot of money out of her. Do--do, Philip, protect her against him.
I--I--I don't like to speak about him. You can understand that,
Philip.'
'Very well,' said he; 'I will do what I can.' He was flattered at the
idea of acting as protector to this young American lady. 'But I put
down my foot and say she is not to sit at our table.'
The party gathered in the alcove, and fortunately Miss Durham was the
last to arrive, so there was no difficulty about requesting her to take
a place elsewhere. When she entered the _salle-a-manger_ at the usual
hour, every seat was occupied at the table to which for some little
while she had been admitted. She saw at a glance that her place was
taken, and she went without demur, or a look of disappointment, to the
long table. She had sufficient tact to perceive that Philip disliked
her, and she had no intention of pressing her society on those who did
not desire it. So far from seeming vexed, a slight contemptuous smile,
like the flicker of summer lightning, played about her lips. She caught
Salome's eye, full of appeal and apology, and returned it with a
good-natured nod. 'A trifle such as this,' said the nod, 'will not give
me offence.'
Mrs. Sidebottom sat beside Philip, and plied him with questions relative
to the intentions of Uncle Jeremiah--questions which he was unable to
answer; but she attributed his evasive replies to unwillingness to
speak, and pressed him the more urgently. The captain was attentive to
Janet, who had recovered her spirits, laughed and twinkled, and without
intentionally coquetting, did coquet with him. Janet became dull in
female society, but that of men acted as a tonic upon her; it was like
Parrish's Chemical Food to a bloodless girl; it brisked her up, gave
colour to her cheek, and set her tongue wagging. The captain was
good-natured, and he threw a word or two to the Labarte girls, but
devoted his chief attention to Janet.
Salome was left to herself, Mrs. Sidebottom engrossed her nephew,
whether he would or not, and when he said something to Salome, he was
interrupted by Mrs. Sidebottom, who exclaimed:
'Now, fiddle-de-dee, you will have plenty of time to talk in private to
your wife, whereas I shall see you only occasionally, and I am
particularly interested in all you can tell me of Jeremiah. Give me
your candid opinion; what will he do? Is he angry with me?'
'I can give no opinion without grounds on which to base it, and Uncle
Jeremiah has not taken me into his confidence.'
'I see you have the reserve of a lawyer. I had enough of that when
Sidebottom was alive. I hate reserve. Give me frankness. Now--if you
will not tell me what you know of my brother's intentions----'
'I know nothing, and can therefore divulge nothing.'
'You won't tell, that is the truth. Don't tell me you have been a
fortnight and more under the same roof with him and have not found out
his intentions! Well--to change the subject--what do you think of the
scheme for buying up the hospice on the St. Gothard and turning it into
an establishment for Mount St. Bernard dogs?'
*CHAPTER XLIII.*
*THE GAUNTLET CAST.*
When supper was ended, the whole party adjourned to the promenade
outside the hotel, where a fountain plashed in a basin, and in an aviary
on a perch stood a scowling, draggled eagle, and beside the aviary were
cages with marmots, smelling abominably, and fettered on a patch of
grass was a miserable chamois that seemed to have the mange.
It was delightful to walk in the crisp pure air of evening without cap
or bonnet, and watch the evening glow on the snow-fields, and listen to
the tinkle of the bells as the cows were driven home from the Alpine
pastures and diverged to their several stables from the main street.
Beaple Yeo came out after the party of Philip's table, not hatless, and
his puggaree in the dusk fluttered like a gigantic white moth. The
chaplain for the summer from England was also walking in the grounds
with his newly-married wife: a feeble youth with a high-pitched voice
and a cackling laugh, who had cultivated a military moustache, to point
out his imbecility, as the ass in the fable assumed a lion's skin, but
was revealed as an ass on opening his mouth. A party of Germans was
feeding and talking vociferously. A couple of Alpine Clubmen in
knickerbockers, carrying their alpenstocks proudly, trudged in with a
guide, the latter laden with their knapsacks.
Salome had been walking, nestled against Philip's side, not saying much,
but feeling happy, when her attention was attracted by the wailing of a
babe from one of the hotel windows.
'Philip, dear!' she said, 'there is my pet, my darling crying. I must
tear myself away from you and go to him. I know he wants me. He is so
clever. He is quite aware that I am here, and resents being rocked to
sleep by the Swiss nurse; he is protesting that nothing will make him
close his peepers but mamma's voice, and a kiss. And--oh, dear, dear
Philip! I don't like to think it possible you can be unkind to
anyone--there is Miss Durham behind us, all by herself; do--do say a
word to her and be civil. It was rather--well, not quite rude, but
strange of us paying no attention to her at supper, and turning her out
of her place. Philip, I could not eat my supper, I was so
uncomfortable. I would not hurt anyone's feelings willingly, and I am
sure Miss Durham has not been treated with consideration; would
you--because I ask you--for my sake, speak to her when I am gone to
baby?'
She looked up entreatingly in his eyes, loosed her hand from his arm,
and was gone.
Philip slackened his pace, then halted, to allow the American lady to
catch him up. He would speak to her, and give her to understand, of
course politely, that intimacy with his wife must cease. When she came
level with him he raised his hat, and said, 'A beautiful evening; a
charming evening.'
'So I have already perceived, Mr. Pennycomequick.'
'What a surprise this green basin of valley is to one emerging from the
ravine of the Reuss!' said Philip.
'Yes,' with indifference; then, with animation, 'By the way, you were in
the carriage with Colonel Yeo.'
'I beg pardon, he was in the carriage with me.'
'I suppose you are old friends?' said the lady.
Philip stiffened his back. 'Miss Durham, we belong to distinct classes
of society. With his I have nothing in common.'
'But you knew each other?'
'I knew of him. I cannot say I knew him.'
'Have you no ambition to rise to his social grade?'
'To--rise--to--his--social grade!' It took Philip some time to digest
this question. He replied ironically, 'None in the least, I do assure
you. I am thankful to say I belong to that middle class which works for
its living honourably, diligently, and finds its pleasure and its pride
in industry.'
'And Colonel Yeo?'
'Oh! I assure you he does not soil his fingers with honest trade or
business.'
'You do not want to know him?'
'I have not the smallest ambition.'
After a pause, during which neither spoke, Philip resumed. 'There are
subjects that are distasteful to me; this is one.'
'I see,' said Miss Durham, 'you are a Radical.'
'We will let the subject drop,' said Philip. 'This air is delightful to
me after the smoke of a Yorkshire manufacturing district.'
'It is really surprising how fresh, notwithstanding, your wife is,'
answered the Chicago lady.
Philip turned sharply round and looked at her. 'Fresh!' he repeated. He
did not understand what her meaning was--fresh in complexion, or that
her character was green and raw.
'Her freshness is quite delightful,' added the lady.
Then Philip's anger broke loose. He was offended at any remark being
made on Salome by a person of whom he knew nothing.
'Indeed--perhaps so. And it is precisely this freshness, this
generosity of mind, this ignorance of the world, which leads her to
extend the hand of fellowship to--to anyone--to those who may not be as
fresh as herself--who may be quite the reverse.'
Miss Durham stood still, her face gleamed with anger.
'I know, sir, very well what you mean. You know that I am alone,
without a man--a father, brother or husband by to protect me from
insult, and you take this advantage to address me thus.'
She revolved on her heel and walked hastily back to the hotel. Philip
stood rooted to the spot.
What had he done? What shadow of a right had he to address an
inoffensive girl with such impertinence? A girl who had done him no
harm, and of whom he knew nothing, and who, for aught he knew to the
contrary, might be as respectable, high-minded, and well-connected as
the best lady in America. She had been alone in this foreign corner,
shut out from social intercourse with her fellow-countrymen, and she had
formed an acquaintance with his wife, his wife's sister, and the Labarte
girls. What right had he to step in and thrust her out of association
with them?
He had done what he determined, but done it in so clumsy a manner as to
put himself in the wrong, make himself who stood on punctilio appear an
unlicked bear. He had behaved to an unprotected, young, and beautiful
girl in a manner that would have disgraced the rudest artisan, in a
manner that he knew not one of his honest Yorkshire workmen in his
factory would have dared to behave.
*CHAPTER XLIV.*
*AND PICKED UP.*
Matters that look serious at night shrink to trifling significance in
the morning. Philip rose refreshed by sleep, with a buoyancy of heart
he had not experienced for many months, and a resolution to enjoy his
holiday now that he was taking one. How often had he longed for the
chance of making an excursion on the Continent, of seeing the snowy
ranges of the Alps and studying fresh aspects of human life! Now the
opportunity had come, and he must make the most of it. His prospects at
home were not such as to discourage him; he was no longer the ruling
manager of the Pennycomequick firm, but he was not going to be kicked
out of the concern as he had at first feared. Uncle Jeremiah purposed to
take him into partnership, make him working partner, and in all
probability he would be better off than with Mrs. Sidebottom, consuming
more than half the profits and contributing nothing.
He had been tired with his journey yesterday, irritated at finding
Beaple Yeo in his proximity, and he had given way to his irritation and
spoken uncourteously to an American lady. What of that? Who was she to
take offence at what he said? If she were angered she must swallow her
wrath. She had vexed him by pushing herself into the acquaintance of
his wife. If people will climb over hedges they must expect scratches.
If requisite he could apologize, and the thing was over. Miss Durham
had made a remark which he considered a slight passed on his wife, and
he was right to resent it. If she had made a thrust with an unguarded
foil, it was not likely that he would retaliate with the end of his,
blunted by a button.
He came downstairs, feeling cheerful and on the best of terms with the
world. He would go for a walk that day with Salome--to the Ober-Alp,
and pick gentians and Alpen-rose; and in preparation for the walk, he
went to the collection of carved work, photographs, and Alpine
paraphernalia exhibited in the _salle-a-manger_ by the head waiter for
sale, and bought himself a stout walking-stick with an artificial
chamois-horn as handle. Then he strolled out into the village-street,
and looked in at the shop-windows. There was only one shop that
interested him; it contained crystals smoked and clear, and specimens of
the rocks on the St. Gothard Pass, collections of dried flowers and
photographs.
When he returned to the inn he found that his party was in the _salle_
awaiting him. The usual massive white coffee-cups, heap of rolls, all
crust outside and bubbles within, wafers of butter, and artificial honey
were on table.
A German lady was prowling about the room with her head so tumbled that
it was hard to believe she had dressed her hair since leaving her bed,
and the curate was there also, ambling round his bride and squeaking
forth entreaties that she would allow him to order her eggs for
breakfast. Philip was heartily glad that he sat along with his party at
one table, in the alcove. Miss Durham was not there.
On inquiry Salome learned that she had ordered breakfast to be taken to
her room.
'So much the better,' said Philip.
'My dear, surely you made friends yesterday evening after I left you.'
'Come--to table,' said Philip; and then--'on the contrary, I don't know
quite how it came about, but something I said gave her umbrage, and she
flew away in a rage. I suppose I offended her. It does not matter.
Pass me the butter.'
'It does not matter! Oh, Philip!'
'Given Miss Durham offence!' exclaimed Mrs. Sidebottom. 'But--she is
worth thousands. How could you be so indiscreet?'
'She is so charming,' said Janet.
'So amiable,' murmured Claudine Labarte.
'_Mais, quelle gaucherie!_' whispered the penultimate Labarte to the
youngest sister.
Then ensued a silence. Philip looked from one to another. Already a
cloud had come into his clear sky.