MOTHER-LOVE
Somehow or other Lady O'Gara found it difficult to get Stella to
herself in the days that followed. There were times when she almost
thought that Stella deliberately kept away. Sir Shawn had often said,
rallying his wife, that Mary never saw further than her own nose. She
was a little bewildered about the young people. Terry and Eileen
seemed to have quarrelled. Eileen found occupations that kept her in
her own room. She had suddenly developed a desire to make herself a
coat and skirt, and Lady O'Gara had gone in many times, to find her
pinning and fitting on the lay-figure which occupied the centre of the
room, surrounded by all manner of snippets and pieces.
This ridiculous pre-occupation of Eileen's gave Lady O'Gara something
she did not complain of. She had more of her son than otherwise she
would have had. Terry had never looked for better companionship than
his mother's, but he grumbled about Eileen nevertheless.
"She used to be always ready to come anywhere," he said. "I know I
can't always have you, because Father needs you so much. We have
always torn you in pieces between the two of us. I asked Eileen to
come out shooting on the bog with me and she wouldn't. She just opened
her door and I saw a horrid thing, an indecent thing that pretended to
look like a woman's body, taking up the middle of her room."
"It's for fitting dresses on, you ridiculous boy!" Lady O'Gara said
laughing.
"It gave me a shock. A horrid, stuffed thing. I shall not be able to
look at Eileen again without seeing that. Why does she want to make
her dresses? Can't your maid do it? Industry in Eileen is quite a new
thing. Not that she's half as good a companion on the bog as you are,
darling. I've always had to carry her over the pools. She said she
couldn't jump."
Lady O'Gara's face at this frankness was a study.
"She's so helpless. Not like a country girl, at all. You remember
that day with the bull. She left Stella to be gored by the bull and
expected to be admired for it."
There was certainly a change in Terry's attitude towards Eileen. Lady
O'Gara sighed, because of what she knew was in her husband's mind
rather than for any disappointment in herself. Eileen was not her
ideal wife for Terry.
"Eileen will go with you all right," she said. They were standing in
front of the house on the gravel-sweep. "I've just told her she was
injuring her complexion by staying indoors. She has gone to put on her
hat. I did not like to tell her that Margaret McKeon lamented to me
that Eileen was cutting out that beautiful Foxford tweed so badly.
We'll go and rout out Stella. She has not been over here for five
days."
Terry's face lit up.
"I don't know why Stella's out with me," he said. "She is always
hiding behind your skirts or Mrs. Comerford's when I am about and want
to talk to her."
His mother looked at him, with the yearning tenderness of the woman who
would give all the world to her beloved man if she only might.
"You like Stella?"
"Yes: she's a little darling. Don't you?"
"I am very fond of Stella. Perhaps ... she thinks ... You like Eileen
very much?"
After all, if her boy wanted Stella, why should even his father's
preferences prevail? She had surprised a glance in Stella's eyes when
they rested on Terry for a brief moment before they quickly veiled
themselves. The child had something Southern in her. So, for the
matter of that, had Terry. She was fond of Eileen, but, simple as she
was, she had not had Eileen with her pretty constantly for many years
without being aware of a certain shallowness in the girl. The blood
under the fair skin ran thinly, coldly.
His face lit up with such a light that she was alarmed at what she had
done. What would Shawn say if he knew? But, after all, Shawn had
married where he loved. Why should not the boy have the same felicity?
Stella had been pushing her small soft way into Mary O'Gara's heart.
She knew now that Eileen could never have been the little daughter she
wanted.
"You think she would mind that?" His eyes leaped at her.
She felt like one who had burnt her boats. She would not look before
or behind. Shawn was wrong, she said vehemently to herself. Eileen
was not the girl for Terry.
"I will tell you a secret, Terry," she said. "The first evening you
came back, in the drawing-room before dinner, there was something that
might have passed for a love-scene between you and Eileen. Your father
opened the door and withdrew. Then he discovered that Stella had come
downstairs before him and was playing with the dogs in the hall by the
dying fire. He supposed that she had surprised that scene before he
did."
Oh, poor Shawn! What a use she was making of his confidence! But men
never knew about their sons as mothers did. She would give anything,
except her own soul, to procure Terry the joy he desired. And it was a
good joy. She loved Stella. Of course, she would be very good to
Eileen, but she did not want Eileen for a daughter-in-law. Shawn did
not look very deeply. He had hardly considered Eileen except as
something pretty and gentle, who was pleasant in the house and sang him
Moore's Melodies of evenings in a small sweet voice. He missed her
when she returned to her own people.
"I was an idiot for a second," the boy said, shamefacedly. "I don't
suppose you understand, Mother, but men are like that. Eileen can be
very alluring when she likes and..."
"Don't tell me any more. I can imagine," Lady O'Gara said and laughed,
a laugh which had a certain shyness in it.
"Then we fell out over the cat and dog," he said. "Eileen was rather
rude. Perhaps I was a little rough with Cleopatra, but she had
scratched Shot's nose. You know what Shot is! It was an entirely
unprovoked attack. I believe I did say that Cleopatra should be sent
to the Cats' Home."
Eileen appeared at this point, coming with an unwilling air. It was
true that her staying within-doors so much had not improved her looks.
She had not a very good circulation at any time. That, or her mood,
had given her rose and white a dull, leaden look. Her discontented
little face was lifted towards the dappled sky. It was really a
beautiful day of Autumn. There was a little wind, and the last yellow
leaves on the branches tinkled like so many small golden cymbals. A
pale gold sun was going low amid oceans of amber touched with rose, and
above dappled clouds were floating as though the day was February.
"It is so cold," said Eileen, and shivered. "I don't see how Margaret
can get on without fitting me. She had made up such a nice fire in my
room. I cannot see why any one wants to go out in such weather."
"Oh, come along, you little grumbler!" Lady O'Gara said with her
infectious gaiety. "Come for a good trot. I know what will happen to
you: you'll get chilblains if you sit by the fire in cold weather.
Your hands will be dreadful to look at, and your feet will be a
torture."
Eileen looked down at her feet and then at her hands, childishly. She
had very pretty feet and hands.
"They are all right so far," she said.
"You and Terry had better race each other to the bridge," Lady O'Gara
said. "I want to see the colour in your face, child."
"Come along," said Terry, and caught at Eileen's hand.
Half-unwillingly she ran with him, but when Lady O'Gara caught up with
them, Eileen was laughing and panting.
"This wretched son of yours," she said, "has run me off my feet."
"And you look the better for it," Lady O'Gara answered, her brown eyes
merry and her cheeks dimpling like a girl's. "We are going for Stella,
to bring her back to tea. She has not been near us for some days."
"Oh!" Eileen had gone back to the chilly voice. "She doesn't want to
come. She finds us rather dull, I think."
Lady O'Gara laughed.
"I don't believe any one could find us dull," she said merrily, "least
of all Stella."
"Oh well, I suppose I'm not telling the truth," Eileen said huffily.
"All I know is she asked me the last time I saw her if Terry ever
brought any of his brother-officers home with him."
Terry's candid face clouded over ever so slightly; while his mother
remarked that, of course, three was an awkward number for games. They
wanted another man. She believed she had been talking about it.
"You might ask Major Evelyn," she said to Terry. "It is still possible
to have golf when there is fine weather."
"I wonder if he would come?" Terry said ingenuously. "Think of a
second-lieutenant like me asking a swell like Evelyn! Why, his
decorations make a perfect breastplate when he chooses to put them on.
Not that it is a matter of choice. He only does it when he can't help
it. He did so splendidly in South Africa."
"I dare say he'd condescend to come," Lady O'Gara said. "Few sportsmen
can resist the Castle Talbot duck-shooting."
"Do ask him," said Eileen, becoming animated. "Two's company, three's
none. Everything is lop-sided without a second man."
"I'll ask him, of course," Terry said. "But I don't suppose he'll
come. It is like a kid in the Lower School asking a prefect to tea.
He may come--for the grub. On the other hand he may give the kid a
kicking for his impudence."
After all, they had not to go as far as Inch. They met Stella
exercising her dogs about half a mile from her own gates. She would
like to come to tea if she might first take the dogs home and leave
word as to where she had gone.
To Lady O'Gara's mind she looked small and unhappy as soon as the flush
had faded which came when she saw them. She clung to Lady O'Gara, and
could not be detached from her. The dogs, surrounding her, made a
barrier between her and Terry, who, at first, kept as close to her as
he could, leaving Eileen to walk the other side of Lady O'Gara.
But Stella did not seem to have much to say to him. She was too
engrossed with the dogs and with his mother to spare him a word. The
eager light which had come to his eyes when he had first caught sight
of her faded. His candid face was overcast. She had been keeping him
at arms-length ever since he had come back.
His mother watched him with a comprehension which was half tender
amusement, half compassion. He was becoming a little sullen over
Stella's persistent disregard of him. She watched the set boyish
mouth, the pucker of his forehead--her baby. Terry had always had that
pucker for perplexity or disappointment. Why, he had had it when the
first down was on his baby head, as soft as a duckling's.
The road grew narrow. He began to lag behind, to veer towards Eileen.
"Is it worth while for us all to go on to Inch?" he asked in his
discontented young voice. "Supposing Eileen and I go on by the river,
while you and Stella take back the dogs! They wouldn't follow me or
I'd offer to go home with them. It must be nearly a mile to the house
from the gate."
"I've a better way than that," Lady O'Gara said on a sudden impulse.
She had taken Stella's cold little hand in hers, and it made a mute
appeal. She was sure Stella was unhappy, poor little motherless child.
The two poor children, fretting and worrying each other about nothing
at all! Her comprehending, merry, pitiful gaze went from one to the
other young face.
"Suppose Eileen and I walk back. You'll overtake us before we get
home. You two are such quick walkers."
Eileen's lips opened as though to protest. Her face had brightened at
Terry's suggestion. She closed them again in a tight snap.
"I never _can_ see the good of walking about wet roads," she said
crossly. "It must be nice to live in a town, where there are dry
pavements, and people, and shops."
A robin rained out his little song from a bough above her head, and
behind the trees the sky broke up into magnificence--the sun looking
from under a great dun cloud suffused with his rays, while all below
him was a cool greenish bluish wash of sky, tender and delicate.
"You would not find that in a city, Eileen," Lady O'Gara said, pushing
away gently Stella's cold little hand that seemed to cling to hers.
"Make her trot, Terry," she said. "Her hands are cold as little frogs,
like the child's hands in Herrick's 'Grace for a Child.'
"Cold as paddocks though they be,
Still I lift them up to thee
For a benison to fall
On our meat and on us all."
She saw the sudden rush of joy to her son's face and she was a little
lonely. She felt that she was no longer first with Terry.