There is another listener to the song, and every word of it falls on
his heart with intense meaning. It seems to him a lamenting wail of
despair wrung out from aching hearts. The Admiral has returned from an
official dinner-party, and when he reaches the drawing-room door, the
duet is just begun. Rather surprised, and a good deal vexed at seeing
Walter Reeves so soon installed as a familiar guest at Government
House, he pauses, and the words of the song fall distinctly on his ear.
In bygone days, Captain Reeves was the only one amongst all Katie's
admirers who really gave him uneasiness; and if truth must be
confessed, he had often felt a pang of jealousy at the great attention
Walter paid her, and by his unconcealed admiration of the young lady.
He had made up his mind there was an end to all that now. His wife
would henceforth be far removed from such influence; and when she and
Walter should chance to meet, their acquaintanceship would be strictly
ceremonious.
Yet now, they have taken up the old strain, and are already deploring
in doleful song the hard fortune that has divided their lives. Sir
Herbert has no idea of pretence or mere acting or of singing for
effect. He is true to the 'heart's core' himself, and would not deign
to seem other than he is. The words come to him with terrible meaning,
and rouse him to sudden awakening. Has he spoiled their lives? While
he would shield his wife from every rough wind and from all that could
vex and annoy, has he only been driving her to despair? The guests are
all so occupied that they do not notice the Admiral at the door, nor do
they see him turn away with bowed head and a weight like an added ten
years pressing on his heart.
Are Laura's words proving true? Has Katie only married him for wealth
and position, while her heart has been given to Walter Reeves? Is
she growing weary already, and pining in her gilded chains? Terrible
thoughts these! They eat into his very soul, and crush him down as he
has never been crushed before. He is only thankful no one sees the
storm of agony that sweeps over him, while the merry music still goes
on up-stairs.
Why did he not tell Katie _then_? She would have flown to his arms,
and assured him, truthfully enough, that she has grown to love him
better than any one else in the world. Pleasure-loving, thoughtless,
she may be, but no thought of disloyalty to her husband has ever
entered her heart. But the Admiral asks no question, gives no sign,
only shrouds himself up with a proud man's reticence and reserve.
Though deeply hurt and wounded, he goes on his way silently, and Katie
never for a moment suspects that she is making him wretched.
The next morning Walter arrives, and all the others who are to take
part in the entertainment arrive also; so the rooms are again crowded,
and the rehearsal goes on with spirit. There is a sound of music and
talk, of song and discussion. Peals of silvery laughter burst forth;
snatches of various airs are heard; Major Dillon's voice loud and
prompt; Liddy Delmere's, clear and ringing. All are excited; and Walter
Reeves, from his experience on the subject, is voted by all, chief
authority and general manager.
Nothing loath to bear the honour, he makes even the consequential Major
play second-fiddle to him. He flirts with Liddy, while she purposely
goes wrong, to be set right by him; and Katie smiles more than ever at
the rapid friendship springing up between the two. It is on this scene
of distracting confusion that Sir Herbert looks, as he returns home an
hour earlier than usual. He glances gravely round on the busy groups,
who are all talking and laughing together, and cannot understand what
they are about in the broad daylight, turning the quiet matter-of-fact
noonday into the revelry of night. His greeting to the guests is rather
formal; there is a faint compression on his lips, a slight furrow on
his brow, as he listens to the allusions and watches the proceedings.
In fact the guests, his wife, and all seem to him to have gone a little
out of their senses. At last the visitors decide it is time to depart,
and they go off in high spirits, promising to meet again there in the
evening.
Sir Herbert has all that morning been taking himself to task for his
hard thoughts about Katie; but resolves to atone by paying her more
devoted attention. What would he not do to win her back! No sacrifice
can be too great, he thinks; so he begins by coming home an hour
earlier than usual, only to find fresh annoyance and disappointment.
When the guests are gone, he turns his grave inflexible face to Katie,
and says: 'I came back early, my darling, on purpose to drive you to
Belton Park.'
Lady Dillworth is gathering up the pen-and-ink sketches of costumes,
glancing at each, and mentally considering what jewels she will use to
adorn the highly ornamented stomacher of Lucy Ashton's blue dress, so
she replies quickly: 'I'm sorry you fixed on this morning for a drive,
Herbert, for I cannot possibly get away; I've no end of music to try
over.'
'Perhaps there will be time in the afternoon then. Lady Ribson leaves
Belton Park in a few days, and I promised to introduce you to her.'
'Does she return to Scotland?'
'Yes. Had she not been so old and feeble, she would have come here to
call for you.'
'Oh, I am so sorry about it, Herbert; but every minute of to-day is
portioned out: I've a hundred things to do.'
'Katie, I very much wish you to know Lady Ribson.'
'I know, I know; and I wish it also; but our meeting can't be to-day.
Don't urge me, Herbert. This afternoon I'm to call at Madame Darcy's my
dressmaker; she is to try to make some wonderful medieval robes for me.'
'Surely you are not thinking of having a fancy ball here?'
'No, no; only a charade party. But we are all to appear in apropos
costume. There! that's the luncheon bell.--Liddy, are you ready?'
Miss Delmere has wandered off to the music-room, and has not heard the
matrimonial conversation. She comes out radiant and gleeful, a smile
on her lip, as she thinks of the pleasant morning she has passed, the
pleasant evening still in prospect.
'Won't the charade party be nice, Sir Herbert? I wish you were to take
a part in it.'
'Thank you, Miss Delmere; but my days of masquerading are over. Allow
me to take you down to luncheon.'
He walks gravely down the broad stairs with the ladies. As far as the
Admiral is concerned, the meal is a gloomy one. He eats but little
himself, and joins but rarely in the conversation Liddy and his wife
are keeping up. Sir Herbert does not like Miss Delmere. There is a
mocking satirical manner about her, a tone of banter in her voice, an
expression of raillery in her clear blue eyes, and a love of badinage
in her thoughtless little heart, that he cannot understand. He can
never distinguish whether she is in jest or earnest, and he is not
the man to probe deeply into the character of one for whom he cares
so little. He would fain see the friendship between Liddy and his
wife die out; but with his morbid shrinking from interfering with his
wife's plans or thwarting her wishes, he does not put his wish into
words. When luncheon is over, Sir Herbert does not again allude to the
proposed drive to Belton Park, and the subject appears to have passed
from Katie's mind also, for when he goes out, she and Liddy decide
about driving at once to Madame Darcy's.
After this, preparations for the charade party go on with great energy.
Liddy is in her element, for Walter comes every day to consult and
rehearse. The expensive dresses are ordered; invitations are sent out;
the drop-scene is being painted by a local artist; and the erewhile
solemn stately shades of Government House re-echo at all hours with
unwonted strains of melody and mirth.
(_To be continued._)