LADY HALCOT.
"WHAT are you going to do now?"
"I have only this pair of boots with me. It does not matter. Nobody
ever takes cold with salt water."
"You have shoes, I suppose?"
"Yes, but I couldn't stay indoors to-day."
"Where does your friend live?"
"Honora? She does not live here at all. We are visiting her uncle and
aunt—dear kind little old people, Mr. Selwyn, but not the very least
bit in any august circle of 'society.' It is a mite of a house, some
way from the beach. Honor is coming to me presently. I could not bear
to lose a moment of the sea."
"But you will go back now, and look to your wet boots," he said, with
polite persuasiveness.
She gave an impatient gasp, then said, "If I 'must—'" and turned to
spring lightly up the steps.
At the top they paused. "I wish I could go farther with you," Mr.
Selwyn said. "But I am due at the Leys."
"I wondered what you were here for. Oh, what a delicious little
carriage!"
The carriage, low and open, drawn by two exuberant ponies, went past
rapidly. An old lady sat beside the drab-liveried young driver,—small
and shrunken in figure, muffled well in ermine wraps, with thin snowy
hair, bushy grey eyebrows, and two bright black eyes, which scanned Mr.
Selwyn and his companion sharply.
Mr. Selwyn lifted his hat with an air of profound politeness, and the
old lady's head made a slight movement in acknowledgment of the same.
"Who is that?" asked the girl.
"Lady Halcot."
"It is! Mother wondered if I should see her. She looks—severe."
"She is severe."
"She has a splendid Roman nose,—if only she were a taller woman to
match it."
"When you are a famous artist, you may offer to take her likeness."
"Ah,—when!" she said, sighing deeply. "The poor old lady will scarcely
live so long. But I really am taking a likeness now—of Mrs. Hobbs, our
grocer's wife. She hasn't exactly classical features, and she wears an
astonishing cap. I am to have a guinea for it, however." Gwendoline
looked up laughingly.
"Most of us have to begin on the lowest rung of the ladder," said Mr.
Selwyn, liking her courage.
"I think I am glad to have seen Lady Halcot," she said abruptly. "I
understand better now."
Mr. Selwyn looked for more.
"About the state of things. You know I am a believer in physiognomy,
though not always in my own reading of it. But Lady Halcot has a face
easy to make out. If she made up her mind to any one course of action,
she would not soon swerve from it."
"Your knowledge of the past gives you fair reason for supposing so."
"I was not sure till I saw her face. But I am now. I am afraid I should
meet with a cold reception, if I ventured to call on her."
"I fear so, indeed. I could not recommend the step."
"Good-bye," said Gwendoline.
He shook hands and passed on.
Gwendoline stood still, sighing deeply once more.
"It will not do," she said. "No, it will not do. I have been indulging
in day-dreams. I am glad I did not mention my idea to any one. Things
looked different from a distance, but now I am here, I see it will not
do! I just 'couldn't' take any such step. Mother says one's way always
becomes clear, if one prays and waits. I suppose this is the becoming
clear of my way. It isn't what I wished and dreamed. But to go to the
Leys uninvited!—Oh, no! What was I about, to think of such a thing?
And yet—oh, mother, if I could but bring you ease somehow—anyhow! What
could I not bear for your sake, if only it were God's will!"
Half an hour later, Lady Halcot, having reached home, was seated in her
favourite arm-chair,—a large chair for so small a woman. The greater
portion of her time was spent in this plainly furnished morning-room
or boudoir, more correctly a study, since it contained two handsome
writing-tables, besides a davenport, and was almost lined with books.
The study proper, usually called "the library," was seldom used by her.
Divested of fur wraps, Lady Halcot might be found slightly deformed as
well as small. One shoulder was a little raised, and the shape of her
hands was singular, the knuckles being exaggerated in size. She sat
upright, making no use of her chair-back. The davenport, close beside
her, was covered with correspondence; and one of the said bony hands
wielded a pen rapidly, filling page after page with bold handwriting.
Opposite the old lady, at the largest writing-table, sat a light-haired
young man, of depressed look and generally timid aspect.
"You may address these for me," Lady Halcot said suddenly, tossing some
note-sheets towards him.
The young man's depressed look deepened into positive unhappiness. He
took the letters slowly, examining one after another in a hesitating
manner.
Lady Halcot surveyed him with her bright cynical eyes, and finally
broke into a—"Well?"
"I—I—am not quite sure—that is to say—I—"
"Ring the bell," said Lady Halcot impatiently.
The young man obeyed with a nervous start of response, and a
man-servant appeared.
"Call Miss Withers."
The servant disappeared, and presently came back with a deprecating
air. Miss Withers was out, and had not yet returned.
"Where is she gone?"
The man-servant was not aware. Lady Halcot looked at the young man for
information, and with a second start, he immediately turned over a
small inkstand, deluging two of the notes. He stared at the results of
his own awkwardness in blank despair.
"That will do for to-day," Lady Halcot remarked frigidly. "Give those
papers to me, Bryce. Take care, here is a sheet of blotting-paper. I
shall not require any further assistance this morning, Mr. Withers. You
had better remove the cloth, Bryce, immediately, or the table will be
ruined. Dear me, it is one o'clock. Mr. Selwyn will be here soon."
"Mr. Selwyn has just arrived, your ladyship," Bryce said, as he
gathered up the ink-bedewed table-cloth.
"Bring him here to me, at once. You may go, Mr. Withers," for the young
man seemed at a loss what to do. "Cannot you understand? I wish to see
Mr. Selwyn alone."
Mr. Withers in alarm bowed, and precipitately retreated. Outside the
room, his face assumed a boyish expression of relief, and he sped at
a headlong pace along the broad corridor. Passing below the draped
curtains which divided it from the entrance hall, he nearly ran down
a slim and quiet lady, over thirty, perhaps even over thirty-five, in
age, dressed with unexceptionable neatness, having calm light blue eyes
and smooth washed-out fair hair.
"Really, Conrad!" she said.
"I beg your pardon, aunt—didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sure I'm very
sorry," said the dismayed Conrad, staggering back from the collision.
"Where are you going?"
"I turned over an inkstand, and Lady Halcot ordered me off."
"You never get through a day without a blunder of some sort," the lady
said in hushed tones, moving with him towards the ponderous front door.
"Lady Halcot will grow tired of it soon, and dismiss you altogether."
Mr. Withers looked as if a worse event might happen, in his own
opinion, than such dismissal.
"Yes, that is all very well," she said. "But think what the
disappointment would be to me—and to your sisters. Remember, Conrad,
you have had difficulty enough before this in finding any work for
which you were fitted."
"I don't really think I am fitted for this," said disconsolate Conrad.
"Yes, you are, quite sufficiently, if you would determine to do your
best. You are not brilliant, but you have sense enough for all that
Lady Halcot requires," she said, lowering her voice to almost a
whisper. "What you have to do is to make yourself 'necessary' to her,
Conrad. You understand? Make yourself necessary in her every-day life.
You should be incessantly on the watch to forestall her slightest wish;
yet you must take care never to seem obtrusive. It is far more a matter
of tact and attention than of cleverness. If you let this opportunity
slip, you will never in life have such another."
Conrad Withers' expression was not responsive, but he said meekly,
"I'll try, aunt; I'm sure I mean to do my best." Whereupon Miss Withers
released him.