PATRICIA'S AFFAIRS
"A LETTER from Magda, I declare! Again—already!"
Patricia laughed. She was lounging gracefully on a low chair, near
the window of a good-sized first-floor bedroom. Outside lay that same
mountain amphitheatre, which had enchained the gaze of Beatrice Major
from two storeys higher. It did not enchain the forget-me-not eyes of
Patricia Vincent—those eyes having been engrossed during an hour past
with the latest "Tauchnitz" novel.
Opposite sat a good-looking and well-dressed elderly lady. She had in
hand some light fancy-work, and she cast an occasional glance—like Amy
Smith—at the view. Her chief desire was to talk, but Patricia was not
in the mood for talk, preferring her novel, and the aunt had to wait.
An English maid brought in letters; and Patricia turned hers over, with
the above remark.
"Three whole sheets. Gracious! And I shall have to wade through them.
Magda always finds out if I miss a single sentence."
"I thought you heard from her two days ago."
"Well, about that. The day her brother turned up. This is another!"
Patricia exhibited the trio of sheets, holding them up, fan-wise. "She
writes an atrocious hand. It will have to wait."
"Till you have finished your novel, I suppose." Mrs. Norman had been
resenting her niece's determined pre-occupation with the book.
"Till I have finished my novel," assented Patricia, quite
understanding, and not in the least disposed to give way. She always
expected, as a matter of course, that everybody else should give way to
her.
"You and this Miss—what is the name?—seem to be great friends. How long
have you known her?"
"Magda Royston. Oh, about—since March. She is years younger than I am;
but she adores me."
"And you like to be adored!" There was a suspicion of irony in the
level tones of the elder lady. Patricia failed to detect it; but
she could always talk of herself, and the subject was of sufficient
interest to make her lay down the book.
"Why, yes. Most people like adoration—when they can get it, aunt Ju!
Magda's state is simply worshipping! You know the sort of thing."
"Perhaps I do. And you are fond of her?"
"Yes, of course." The manner was not enthusiastic. "She is a nice
enough girl—in her way. School-girlish!"
"And that was her brother who was going up the Blümlisalp—the one you
spoke to!"
Patricia had taken Mrs. Norman somewhat aback, after table d'hôte, by
accosting Rob as the brother of her new Burwood friend. Mrs. Norman
held certain rather old-fashioned notions, and objected to casual
acquaintances.
"Yes. I had only seen him once before, in a freezing March blizzard;
but I liked his face then—and there was no mistaking it!"
"Would you not have been wiser to wait for an introduction?"
Patricia yawned gracefully behind her hand, at the first suspicion of
fault-finding; and to yawn gracefully is a feat possible to few. A
widely-extended jaw shows most faces at their worst.
"People don't wait for introductions in foreign hotels."
"It might be as well if they did sometimes. Mrs. Framley is particular!"
"And practically I had an introduction, in knowing his sister. I
assure you I am every inch as particular as aunt Anne. I know what
I'm about, aunt Ju. The Roystons are right enough. Otherwise I should
never have thought of noticing him." Patricia objected to the slightest
implication that she had done wrongly.
"And his friend? You may find yourself in for him also."
"I don't mind. I know all about Mr. Ivor. He is a barrister—one of the
most promising on the bench, they say—any number of briefs already.
I believe he has money of his own, or else expectations—but he works
like a horse, and he is tremendously liked. And he is a friend of those
delightful people, the Wryatts of Wratt-Wrothesley."
"Rye—Ratt—Rott—what, my dear?"
"You may well ask! It is a mouthful of a name. Two unmarried sisters in
a dear old country house; perfectly charming women. I don't know them
well; I wish I did, for it is an ideal house to stay in. Anybody who
goes there is sure to be all right. I met them once in a house-party,
and heard all about them. Grand-daughters of an Earl, and cousins of a
Duke, and all that sort of thing."
"Mr. Royston seemed to know that very sweet-looking girl nearly
opposite to us—with the pretty delicate face, and nice brown eyes."
"No, he didn't. They were strangers, only they happened to be together,
and people don't sit mum on those occasions. I shouldn't have called
her 'pretty,' exactly!" Patricia seldom called any woman pretty. "But I
liked her look—if only she had not such a queer little piece of goods
for her travelling-companion!"
"Your friend, Miss Royston, will be interested to hear that you have
met her brother."
"Magda! I'm not sure. I don't think I shall say anything about him till
I get back. No use to rouse jealousies."
"Surely there can be nothing in that for jealousy."
"I can't tell. She is frantically jealous of every single person that I
speak to. It is getting to be a bore. She wants to keep me as a close
preserve for herself; and that is out of the question. Things were
well enough for the first few weeks, when I knew very few people in
the place; but I'm getting full up now with engagements, and I can't
have Magda perpetually hanging round. However—I don't want to hurt her
feelings. I wish girls wouldn't be so frightfully sensitive. But I like
that brother of hers. There's something about him out of the common."
"Clergyman?"
"Curate in some big parish. I'm not sure where. South London, I
believe." Patricia began to laugh. "Magda raves about him. She has
made up her mind to live with him in the future—to keep house, and
work among the poor. About as fit for it as our Persian cat! I never
saw a more recklessly untidy person—and he is the very essence of
orderliness. Every inch of the man shows it. If ever that plan came to
pass, she would drive him demented. But of course it never will."
"Men don't invariably marry."
"Anyhow, Magda won't suit him for a housekeeper."
"What is all the stir about?" Mrs. Norman stood up to look out.
"One of the climbing parties coming back I should imagine. They have
been away much longer than was expected." Patricia showed signs of
interest. "Both parties together—yes, there are the two girls, and the
two men. Mr. Ivor seems hardly able to get along. He must have had an
accident."
She ran downstairs, followed more deliberately by her aunt. Everybody
was hurrying out to welcome the returned climbers, and to hear the
story of their doings.
Most of the way from the Oeschinen Hotel, Ivor had perforce submitted
to be carried, but he insisted on walking into Kandersteg. It was as
much as he could do, for his foot remained very painful; and a few
days' rest would plainly be necessary before he could go farther.
To Beatrice this made no difference. She and Amy were leaving next
morning; and of course they kept to their plan.
Bee had seen little of Ivor during their descent. The two girls had
been together in front; Ivor coming behind with the guides; Rob taking
turns with either. Nor did she see more of him this last evening. He
had talked freely to her of his adventure, by the Oeschinen Lake; but
he made no efforts to be thrown more in her path.
He recognised by this time the fact that he was very much drawn to
Bee; that he had begun to look upon her as altogether different and
apart from other girls; and he could not forget how she had haunted his
imagination during this terrible time in the bergshrund. If not yet in
love, he was fast nearing that condition.
But two strong reasons withheld him from immediate action. For one
thing—she had saved his life; and it would not do to risk letting her
think that he sought her out of gratitude. For another—she must be
aware that he might have overheard Miss Smith's remark outside the Hut;
and there again he sensitively feared that she would perhaps imagine
his conduct to have been inspired by those careless words. His suit
would have to come freely, naturally, spontaneously—if ever he did seek
her.
Ivor put it thus cautiously to himself. Then, with a glow, he altered
the words. "When I seek her—!" he said.
The farewell between himself and Bee next morning was entirely simple
and commonplace. Bee said sadly in her mind—"I may never see him again!"
And Ivor went off to his room with a book, which he found supremely
uninteresting. To make matters worse, he saw little of his hitherto
constant friend. For the change in their plans which could mean
nothing for Bee meant much to Rob, and something to Patricia. The two
thereafter were perpetually coming together. They had endless talks,
and Rob was captivated.
Patricia as usual welcomed with warmth another worshipper at her
shrine. She lived for admiration, and she did not know how to get on
without it. With her numerous devotees, both masculine and feminine,
the question might always be asked whether what she really cared for
was the person, or the person's devotion for herself. But she certainly
did like Rob, and had liked him from the first. His personality took
more hold upon her than was generally the case.
Mrs. Norman allowed matters to drift for three or four days, then
suddenly awoke to the fact that this might mean something serious.
Rob's absorption in her niece was patent to the most casual observer;
and Patricia too showed signs of being for once touched. Mrs. Norman
did not wish for the responsibility of an "affair," while Patricia was
with her. Mr. Royston might be all that one could wish as a man, but a
curate without private means or prospects would hardly meet with Mrs.
Framley's approval. So she promptly decided to move on elsewhere, and
she gave out this intention.
Patricia was not given to sulks, for sulks are not becoming; but she
actually did treat her aunt to something not far removed from one of
Magda's "November fogs" during the week that followed. Not of course in
public, where she always smiled, but in private.
For obvious reasons Rob said nothing about Patricia, when he wrote to
Magda; and for reasons perhaps less obvious, despite what she had said
to her aunt, Patricia was equally silent. Beatrice followed the same
course, simply because she did not write. Her last three letters to
Magda had had no reply; and though hers was not a resentful nature, and
she was slow to take offence, she had resolved to wait till she should
hear.
Virginia Villa, in which she and her mother would now live, was within
a quarter of an hour of Magda's home. It was clearly for Magda to take
the next step.