Lady Helen swept out of the room, and Morris began to dress me.
"It's strange, her ladyship coming back," she remarked. But I was in no
mood to exchange confidences with my maid. I said at once:
"I suppose Lady Helen can change her mind."
"Oh, of course, miss; but all the same it is strange. It means--yes,
miss, I know what it means."
"Please, Morris, don't talk now; my head aches."
"Poor young lady!" said Morris. She gave me a significant look. "If I
was you I'd be firm," she said. "It means courage, but you have plenty
of spirit. We remark on it in the servants' hall. We say that it would
take a great deal to knock Miss Heather's spirit out of her."
There was no use in finding fault with Morris. I remained silent.
"Those roses are superb," she said again, as she arranged my dark blue
cloth dress, and got me ready for my drive in the Park with my
stepmother.
I made no response, but my heart throbbed when she mentioned the roses.
I wondered if Captain Carbury were coming to dinner. I forgot altogether
the fact that Captain Carbury and my father, for some extraordinary
reason, did not wish to meet. As I considered the possibility of the
Captain's dining with us that evening, something else happened. I began
to long inexpressibly for him. I earnestly hoped he would come, that he
would be the person allotted to take me in to dinner, that I should sit
by his side, and that I should have an opportunity of scolding him--of
course, very gently--with regard to the roses. I made up my mind to tell
him that he was foolishly extravagant, and to implore of him not to do
such a thing again. It would be impossible for me to be too severe when
I was wearing his roses, for I determined just when Morris was arranging
my hat at the most becoming angle not to wear the silver thing in my
hair, but a bunch of the softest roses, exactly where he would like to
see them, nestling behind my ear.
Morris was very quick in getting me into my afternoon costume, and a
few minutes later my stepmother and I were bowling away in the direction
of Hyde Park. There we joined a long procession of carriages and motors.
It was a beautiful day, and we both looked around us, enjoying the gay
and brilliant scene.
Lady Helen was dressed in her usual extravagant style, and her face was
covered with a thick veil. She managed by this means to keep all
appearance of age at bay, and looked quite an elegant woman of the world
as she leaned back in her expensive motor-car with her wonderful sables
round her shoulders. By and by a look of excitement flashed from her
dark eyes. She desired the chauffeur to stop. We pulled up at the kerb,
and a fine, aristocratic-looking man with a slightly withered face and
tired grey eyes came forward. I had met him several times at different
balls and assemblies. I liked him, and felt that there was even a
possibility of our being friends. I regarded him in the light of an
uncle.
"How do you do, Lord Hawtrey?" said Lady Helen.
Lord Hawtrey bowed to Lady Helen. Then he bowed to me. His tired eyes
lit up with a smile, and he began to talk eagerly. While he talked he
looked at me, and each moment it seemed to me that his eyes grew less
tired, and the wrinkles seemed to leave his face. He certainly had a
very fatherly manner towards me, and I smiled back at him in return, and
felt very happy. I noticed on that special occasion, however, that there
was a great deal of sadness behind his outward suavity of manner. I
pitied him for this, as it was my nature to pity all creatures in the
world who were not perfectly happy.
"I am so glad you are coming to dine to-night," said Lady Helen.
So he was one of the guests! Well, that did not matter. Captain Carbury
must, of course, be the other. As the motor-car started forward again
Lord Hawtrey gave me a long, penetrating, observant glance. It seemed to
me afterwards that it was a peculiar glance.
Lady Helen was now in the highest spirits, and loud in the praises of
his lordship.
"It is a feather in your cap, my dear," she said, "to be noticed so
kindly by a man like Hawtrey. Perhaps you are unaware of the fact that
he is one of the most sought-after men in London, because he is one of
the best catches of the season."
"What do you mean by a catch?" I asked.
"Oh, you ignorant little thing! But I suppose some people would find a
charm in all that. Doubtless he does."
"Please do tell me what you mean by a good catch?" I repeated.
She laughed disagreeably.
"A good catch," she said, "is--is--well, let me think--the best fish in
the sea, the best trout in the stream, the best--the best--oh, the best
of everything; that is, if money means anything, and birth anything,
and--charm anything, and the finest house in England anything. That is
what a good catch means. Now, perhaps, you understand."
"You think, perhaps, that some girl may like to marry Lord Hawtrey?" I
said, after a long pause.
"Some girl will," she exclaimed. "Any girl who is not previously engaged
would give her eyes for such a connection."
She looked at me intently.
"But surely," I said, "he is old enough to be a young girl's father?"
"Your childishness oppresses me," said Lady Helen. "I thought he'd be in
the Park; that is the true reason why I came out. I wanted to be
certain of him to-night. I think we'll go home now. I am anxious for my
tea, and the air is turning chilly."
We returned to the house. I was still feeling happy. And this, I had to
own to myself, was because of Captain Carbury. I accepted the certain
fact, and with a joyful beating of my heart, that he stood between me
and my stepmother, that he had placed himself deliberately as a shield
between her and me. I remembered, too, that chivalrous, beautiful light
in his eyes when he told me that morning that he loved me. Oh, of
course, I would not marry for years and years, but it was nice to know
that one like Vernon Carbury loved me.
Morris was very fidgety about my dress that evening. She was really a
splendid maid, and performed her duties deftly and quietly. As a rule,
she never made a fuss. She seemed to know what was the right dress for
me to wear, and I put it on at her bidding. But to-night she was quite
excited. I felt almost sure, as I glanced at her face, that she shared
my secret, and once or twice, while I was going through the long and
tedious process of the toilet, I longed to ask her if she knew that
Captain Carbury was coming to dinner. But something kept me back from
uttering the words. I knew I should blush if I asked her that question,
and then Morris would be sure. Morris was not sure yet; she could only
guess.
By and by I was fully dressed. Had Aunt Penelope seen me, she would not
have recognised in the radiant girl to whose cheeks excitement had given
a passing tinge of colour, to whose eyes excitement had lent the glow
which comes straight from the heart, the Heather she had counselled to
live the simple life, and walk worthy of her God. Nevertheless, I said
to myself, "I should love to kiss the dear old thing to-night."
Just then Morris entered the room with a wreath of roses, which she had
skilfully twined together. These she fastened with the deftest of deft
fingers across the front of my dress. She put another spray of roses on
one shoulder, and a little bunch in my hair.
"Now, if I was you, miss," she said, "I wouldn't wear one jewel. I
wouldn't have the string of pearls round my neck, nor anything. I'd just
wear these real roses on that silver white dress. Oh, Miss Dalrymple,
you do look lovely!"
"By the way, Morris," I said, suddenly, "where are the violets we bought
to-day?"
"The violets, miss? What have they to do with your toilet?"
"I want just a very few to pin into the front of my dress," I said.
"Fetch me a bowl of them from my sitting-room, and be quick, Morris."
"They'll spoil the effect; it's a dreadful pity," said Morris.
"I must have them," I replied.
Morris went and fetched them. I chose a big bunch, and fastening it in a
heap, pinned it next the roses at my left side. Then I picked up my fan
and gloves and ran downstairs.
Lady Helen and my father were both in the big drawing-room. My father's
cheeks were blazing with excitement. I had not seen his face look so red
for a long time. Lady Helen had evidently been whispering something to
him, because when I appeared they started asunder, and looked almost
guiltily one at the other. Then my father came up to me, made a low bow,
and, taking my hand, raised it to his lips.
"Nonsense, Daddy!" I said. "I am not going to have you treating me in
this formal fashion," and I flung my arms round his neck and kissed him
several times.
"For goodness' sake, Gordon, don't crush her roses!" cried Lady Helen.
We started apart, for the first visitor, Lord Hawtrey, was announced. He
was greeted by Lady Helen and my father, and then he turned to me. I
noticed that he looked me all over, and that his eyes shone with
pleasure when he observed my lovely roses. I had never felt shy with
Lord Hawtrey, and was not shy now.
"Do you like my roses?" I said, going to his side.
"They suit you," was his answer.
"They were sent to me by a very great friend. I am sure you cannot guess
his name," I said.
The footman flung the door open again, and a man entered who was called
Sir Francis Dolby. He was a tall, very thin man. I knew him slightly. I
also disliked him. My heart sank low, very low, within me, when he
entered the room. So Captain Carbury was not dining in my stepmother's
house that evening.
Lady Helen came and whispered something to Lord Hawtrey. The result of
this was that he took me in to dinner. He talked charmingly during the
meal. He took no notice of the fact that I was a little distraite--that
my heart was very low within me. Whether he guessed any of my thoughts
or not I can never tell, but he certainly did his best to restore my
flagging spirits. By and by, when he saw that the kindest thing was to
leave me alone, he devoted himself to the rest of the party, and soon
had my father in roars of laughter over his good stories.
At last, the weary dinner came to an end. The smell of the roses was so
strong that I felt almost faint. My head was aching. What could be the
matter with me? I began, however, to centre my thoughts on one bright
beacon star of hope. I should meet Captain Carbury at eleven o'clock
to-morrow morning in the Park.
Lady Helen gave the signal, and we went into the drawing-room; there she
said, eagerly:
"My child, you look pale. Are you tired?"
"No," I answered; "I am not the least tired." But then I added, rather
petulantly, "I have too many flowers on my dress; the smell of the roses
in these hot rooms makes me almost faint. May I not take some of them
off?"
"By no means," she answered, and she stepped back a few paces and looked
at me attentively.
"Really, Heather," she said, "you are, I believe, intended by
Providence to look pale; that pallor in your cheeks, joined to the
darkness of your big eyes, gives you a wonderfully interesting, almost
spiritual, look."
"If you but knew," I answered, "how very, very little I care for how I
look!"
I said these words defiantly. I was certain she would scold me for
uttering them. She paused, however, as though she were listening, then
she said:
"In future, my dear child, you may look as you like, and act as you
like; for the present, just please me. Reward me for my good services to
you by being my good little Heather on this one evening."
I was surprised at her words, and at the sort of affectionate admiration
in her manner. She made me sit next to her on the sofa.
"You are not a bit fit to go to the theatre," she said. "I shall go with
Frank Dolby; nothing will induce him to miss a play."
"And father?" I remarked.
"I doubt if your father will care to go, Heather; he'll probably amuse
himself in the smoking-room."
"He and Lord Hawtrey together in the smoking-room," I answered.
"I did not say that." She smiled, glanced at me, and looked away. "Lie
back on the sofa and rest, dear," she said.
Voices were heard in the hall; she bustled out of the room; I wondered
at her manner. But I was really tired now--she was right about that; my
head ached; I was suffering from cruel disappointment. The day had been
most exciting, the day had been brimful of hope, and now night brought
disappointment. People were talking eagerly in the hall. I felt
indifferent. Then there was silence. The next minute the drawing-room
door was opened, and my father came in.
"God bless you, my Heather!" he said. "And now, child, listen to me. You
must do whatever you think right. Her ladyship's away, Heather, 'hey!
nonny, nonny!'--her ladyship's away, and I won't be bullied about my own
little girl. You do just what you think right."
He knelt down as he spoke, bent over me, put his arm round my neck,
pressed his lips to mine, and then hurried out of the room. I was just
intending to go up to bed; I was longing for the quiet of my own
chamber; I wanted intensely to put my treasured roses into water; I
wanted to creep into bed and dream about Captain Carbury. I pined for
the shelter of my little room, for the darkness, the peace. I should
fall asleep presently, but until then I could think and think of the man
who had said good words to me that day, of the man whom I should meet
to-morrow. Of course, I would not marry him--no, not for the wide world;
but I might think of him, I might--I made up my mind that I would.
The house was quite silent. I raised myself from the sofa, and walked as
far as the fireplace; I bent down over the fire, then, raising myself, I
caught my own reflection in the glass. The vision of a girl looked back
at me from its mirrored depths--a girl with eyes like stars, lips
slightly parted, a radiant face. Somebody came in quickly--who was it? I
turned. Lord Hawtrey was at my side.
"I won't stay long, unless you give me leave," he said. "Lady Helen
thought you would not mind seeing me, and your father is in the
house--he is in the smoking-room; Lady Helen thinks you won't mind."
"Sit down, won't you?" I said.
"Oh, no. I cannot sit while you stand."
"But I am a young girl, and you are an old man," I said. "Do, please,
sit down. You look very tired, too," I added, and I gave him an
affectionate glance, for I really quite liked him.
His face flushed uncomfortably when I called him an old man; but I could
not by any possibility think of him in any other light.
"I cannot sit," he said. "Old or young, I must stand at the present
moment. I thought to write to you, but her ladyship said, 'Better
speak.' Have I your leave, Miss Grayson, to say a few words? Do you
greatly mind?"
"They call me Dalrymple here," I answered, speaking in a weary voice.
"I know that, but your real name is Grayson, and I mean to call you by
it. Whatever the rest of the world may feel, I am not ashamed of your
real name."
"Is anyone?" I asked. I was sitting on the sofa now; my cheeks were
blazing hotly, and my eyes were very bright.
"Of course not," he answered, and he fixed his tired eyes for a minute
on my face.
"My child," he said--and surely no voice in all the world could be
kinder--"it is my firm intention not to allow you to be forced in any
way. I will lay a proposition before you, and you are to accept or
decline it, just exactly as you like. If you accept it, Miss--Miss
Heather, you will make one man almost too happy for this earth; if you
decline it, he will still love and respect you. Now, may I speak?"
He paused, and I had time to observe that he was anxious, and that
whatever he wished to say was troubling him; also that he wanted to get
it over, that he was desirous to know the worst or the best as quickly
as possible. I wondered if he was a relation of Captain Carbury's, and
if he was going to speak about him; but I did not think it would be like
Captain Carbury to put his own affairs into the hands of anyone else.
Still, I had always liked Lord Hawtrey, although quite in a daughterly
fashion.
"What is it?" I said, gently. "Are you related to--to him?"
"I have hardly any relations, little Heather Grayson," was his next
remark. "I am a very lonely man."
"I did not know that rich people were ever lonely," I said.
He laughed.
"Rich people are the loneliest of all," he said.
"I cannot understand that," I answered.
"Why, you see, it is this way," he answered, bending slightly forward,
and looking at me--oh! so respectfully, and with, as far as I could
guess, such a very fatherly glance; "rich people, who live on unearned
incomes, have neither to work nor to beg; they just go on day after day,
getting every single thing they wish for. Not one desire enters their
minds that they cannot satisfy. Thus, little Miss Grayson, it is the law
of life, desire itself ever gratified, fades away and is not, and the
people I speak of are utterly miserable."
"I do not understand," I replied.
"I am rich, and yet I am one of the most lonely and, in some respects,
one of the most miserable men in London."
I sprang to my feet and confronted him.
"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," I said. "If you are rich,
rich like that, think what good you ought to do with your money; think
what grand use you ought to make of it; think of the people who are out
of employment, and the poor young people--girls especially--who are so
shamefully underpaid, and think of the hospitals that need more funds,
and the big, great charities that are crying aloud for more help! If you
want to be happy, to use your money right, you ought to give to all of
these, and you ought to learn to give with discrimination and judgment.
When I lived in the country Aunt Penelope taught me a lot about the
right giving of charity, so I can understand. You need not be quite so
frightfully rich if you give of your abundance to those who have much
less; and if you not only give of your money, but of yourself, of your
life, of all, or a greater part of your time, you'll be just awfully
happy. People who do that sort of thing invariably are. Aunt Penelope
says so, and she ought to know."
"Your Aunt Penelope must be a very wise woman. I should like to meet
her; and that is a most brilliant idea. I wonder if it could be carried
into effect?"
"Surely there is nothing to prevent it."
"Then, little Heather Grayson, will you help me to carry it into
effect?"
"I wish I could; but how can I? I am such a very young girl."
I began to find him less interesting than I had done a minute ago. I
pushed a big sofa-pillow between my back and the edge of the sofa; I
pined for eleven o'clock on the following day.
"I must make my meaning plain," he said. "I want someone just like you,
young, and pure, and innocent, and, I believe, holy--to help me, to
live with me, to be my--oh! I want someone whom I could train and--whom
I could love."
"A sort of companion," I said, in some amazement; "or, perhaps, you mean
an adopted daughter; but then, you see, I am father's daughter, although
he has married Lady Helen."
"Ah, poor child!" he said. "I can quite see that you are your father's
daughter, although he has married Lady Helen. But tell me--do you really
think me old enough to be your father?"
"But, of course--yes, Lord Hawtrey, you are."
"Perhaps I am; on the other hand, perhaps I am not. But, after all,
little Miss Heather, the question of age scarcely matters. Deep in my
heart there lives eternal youth, and now and then--oh, by no means
always--but now and then, and especially when I am with you, it comes to
the surface. Eternal youth is a beautiful thing, and when I see you,
little Miss Grayson, and watch your innocent country ways, it visits me;
it is like a cool, refreshing fountain, bubbling up in my heart."
"But aren't we perhaps talking fairy talk?" I said, pulling one of the
roses out of its position in front of my dress and letting it fall to
the floor.
He got very red, but nevertheless he kept himself well in control.
"I want you to think it over," he said. "I know you will be unprepared
for what I mean to say. I want you as my wife. I can give you all the
outward things that the hearts of most women desire--I can give you
wealth, and beautiful dresses, and a lovely house--several lovely
houses--to live in; and I can make the best, and the greatest, and the
cleverest people your friends. I can take you far away, too, from this
flash and glitter. Little child, I can help to save you. Will you be my
wife? Don't--at least to-night--say no. I promise to make you the best,
the most devoted of husbands. I shall love you as I never loved woman,
and you will soon get accustomed to my grey hairs, and to the fact that
I am forty years of age. Don't say no, little Heather. I have loved you
with my whole heart, from the first moment I saw you."
I knew that, in spite of myself, my eyes opened wide, so wide that
presently they filled with tears, and the tears dropped down and
splashed on the roses which I had put on with such pride. I knew now
from where the flowers had come. I hated the roses; I loathed their
heavy perfume. I rose abruptly.
"Lord Hawtrey," I said, "I ought to thank you, but I am too young and
confused, and--and--oh, I must say it!--too _distressed_! You don't want
to force me to this?"
"No. You must come to me of your own free will."
"I believe you are a very good man," I said; "I am sure of it, and I
thank you very much; but you must understand that to me you seem like a
father, and I can never, never think of you in any other light. You will
forgive me, but I cannot say any more--I can never say any more. I do
like you, but I can never say anything more at all."
I did not touch his hand. I walked slowly towards the door; Lord Hawtrey
opened it for me; I passed out. He bent his head in acknowledgment of my
"Good night," and then, as I was going upstairs, I noticed that he shut
the drawing-room door very softly.