Bettina's talk with Parlett had set her mind to working very actively
in a direction in which she had not allowed it to stray before. The
thought of Horace always brought a sense of pain and spiritual
discomfort to her, which she instinctively desired to shake off; and
in the restless whirl of London life, which left her little time for
thought of any kind, she had not much difficulty in doing so.
Now, however, she had nothing to do but to think and to become
acquainted with her new possessions, the latter occupation being a
strong stimulus to the former. There were many associations with
Horace at Kingdon Hall. It was extraordinary how many things that he
had told her in connection with this place came back to her. She
was constantly recognizing pictures or persons or names with which
he had made her familiar. The persons were, of course, the servants,
steward, tenants, and the like, for she had seen no others. Even
in walking about the lawn she had found his initials cut on trees,
and the very dogs which joined her when she would go out for her
walks had names on their collars that she knew. There was one, a
magnificent Great Dane, which bore Horace's name there as well as his
own. This dog, Comrade, she had heard Horace speak of with a special
affection.
True, Kingdon Hall had never been Horace's home, but he had grown up
with the idea that it might be, and since coming to manhood had felt
wellnigh secure that it would be. All his life he had been in the
habit of making visits here, and the impression which he had left
behind him was almost surprising to Bettina.
The place in which this impression was strongest was in the hearts of
the servants. Bettina, through Nora, had assured herself of this. The
devoted servant, who had the sole object in life of serving her
beloved mistress, had, by Bettina's orders, informed herself on this
point, and all that she gathered in the servants' hall she retailed
to Bettina in her room. Nora, like every one else, had been won by
Horace's manner and appearance, but, of course, when her mistress had
drawn off from him, she had no idea of anything but acceptance of the
changed conditions. Still, she was inwardly delighted when Bettina
explained to her how anxious she was to learn all that she could
about Mr. Horace, so that she might lose no opportunity of furthering
his interest with Lord Hurdly, and making up to him, as far as
possible, for having disappointed him in his worldly prospects by
marrying his cousin.
That he could hold her accountable for any other wrong to him she did
not admit. At times the memory of his fresh and buoyant youth, in so
great contrast to the jaded maturity of his cousin, knocked at the
door of her heart, and the ardent expressions of his worshipping,
passionate love for her echoed there with a distinctness that amazed
her.
Surely he had loved her--this she could not doubt. But if his love
had been so slight that a few months of absence had cooled it, and of
so poor a quality that a new caprice had taken its place so soon, she
was well rid of it. That this had been so the letter which Lord
Hurdly had shown her sufficiently attested, and she must guard
herself against the folly of sentimental regrets.
It was not Horace that she regretted. It was only the ideal of the
love between man and woman which her brief intercourse with him had
held up to her. She had seen love in a different guise since
then--or what went by the name of love--and surely the contrast must
have had a deeper root than the mere difference between youth and
middle-age.
It was not often that Bettina allowed herself to think of these
things. But now, in her solitude and idleness, visions would come of
the eager lover, strong as a young Narcissus, who represented love in
such a simple, wholesome guise--or at least so it had seemed to be.
Then she would shake off the image, and tell herself it was but
seeming, as the result had proved, and so she would accuse herself of
weakness and sentimentality. These thoughts were getting to be
inconvenient. They haunted her too persistently, and at last she
began to wish for the time to come when her days would again be too
crowded with engagements for her to indulge in such foolish
reflections.
The truth was, deep down in Bettina's heart there was a fear which
she could not wholly still in any waking hour. She could and did
refuse to recognize it, even in her own soul; but there it was, and
there it remained, to rise again and again, and almost stifle her
with the sinister possibility which it suggested.
This fear was based upon the clearer knowledge of Lord Hurdly's
character which had come to her since marriage. She had found in him
an inexorable resolution to have what he wanted in life, which had
rendered him, more than once within her knowledge, unscrupulous as to
the means he used in the securing of his ends. This it was which had
planted in her mind the awful though remote possibility of his having
been, in some manner, insincere in his representations of Horace's
nature and character.
But then there was the letter from his friend which she had seen with
her own eyes, with the St. Petersburg mark, so familiar to her, on
the envelope, and which had been written by a person who could not
have known that she would ever see it. Surely that was enough to
settle all doubts as to the character and conduct of the man to whom
she had first pledged herself in marriage, and she had at least the
satisfaction of knowing that her present husband could be charged
with no such faults. His indifference to her sex was proverbial in
society, and that she alone, of all the women he had seen--so many of
whom had angled for him openly--had been able to do away with his
aversion to marriage was a tribute in which she could not help
feeling a certain pride, the more so as she saw every day new proofs
of his fastidiousness, as well as his importance.
So she stifled this dread suggestion and forced her thoughts into
other channels. This was to be more easily accomplished when her body
was actively employed; so she took long rides on horseback, attended
by a groom, or long walks in the park alone. In these walks Horace's
big dog Comrade would often join her. The creature had taken a fancy
to her, which seemed, in some strange way, to comfort her.
Besides these diversions, she had her large correspondence to dispose
of every day; for in her important position she had of course
established numberless points of contact with the world.
So the time went by until Lord Hurdly's return, and the day that
followed saw Kingdon Hall filled with guests. After that there were
few moments of reflection for its mistress, as the duty of doing the
honors of this great establishment demanded all her time.