_A SHOCK._
Guy and Odeyne spent the evening of Beatrice's grand ball quietly
together at the Chase, as planned. It was a great delight to both to
be once more under one roof, and living the same life. And this was
the first occasion on which they had had leisure and opportunity for
one of their long confidential chats.
Odeyne had been looking forward to it for quite a long time, the
other days having been so full of employment and the calls of
friendship. Yet now that it had come, the young wife was not so
uncloudedly happy as she had expected to be. Although she asked
innumerable questions about the old home and friends there--questions
she had been treasuring up against the time when she and Guy could be
alone and at leisure--yet she often felt her attention straying as
she talked, and was conscious of a dull indefinite weight at her
heart that she hardly wished to drag into the light of day.
And yet as time went on, and the old familiar relations between
herself and Guy re-established themselves without any effort on
either side, the desire to confide in and consult him became too
strong for resistance; and suddenly breaking in upon what he was
telling her, she said almost abruptly for her--
"Guy, dear, you won't think it unwifely of me, will you, if I talk to
you a little about Desmond?"
"Not a bit," he answered; "you know Desmond and I were always fond of
one another. Sometimes I think it was his goodness to me when I was
ill and good for nothing that made the first link between you two."
"I think it was. Guy, Desmond is the dearest of husbands. I don't
think any two people could be happier than he and I; and yet every
now and then I have such a strange feeling of misgiving. It comes
over me that perhaps I am not the best wife he could have chosen.
There are times when I feel that I have not the influence over him
that I ought to have. He will give me everything I want. I am
almost afraid of admiring anything, lest he should at once send for
it, whether we need it or not. But sometimes I wonder whether he
would give up things for me if I asked it--and then I do not feel so
sure."
Guy looked grave and thoughtful. Few as had been the days he had
spent at the Chase, they had given him time to observe many things,
and he understood Odeyne almost more fully than she expected him to
do.
"He does spend a good deal of money, Odeyne--generously and kindly,
to be sure, but rather over-lavishly. It might be a good thing if
you could put a check upon that."
"I do try very often," she answered, "but you heard how he answered
me the other day; and if business is so good----"
"That is just my puzzle," answered Guy. "I do not know so very much
about business; but I have never looked upon a berth like Desmond's
as such an immensely lucrative thing. No doubt it is very
advantageous to him to have it. He will probably in time build up a
solid little supplementary fortune to leave behind him. But I do not
quite understand how it puts him in command of such large sums of
ready money; and yet when I chaffed him the other day about the bills
he was running up, he declared everything was paid for on the spot.
He had had enough of debts, he said, at college. He never meant to
contract any more. And I was very glad to hear him say that,
although it left the other puzzle untouched."
Odeyne said nothing for a while, but looked into the fire, and when
she spoke there was a certain hesitation in her tones.
"Guy, what were you saying this afternoon--about Algernon Vanborough,
you know--and the Stock Exchange?"
"Why, that it looked rather as though he must be dabbling in
speculation in stocks and shares, going into the City, and suddenly
having command of money again. No doubt there is a great deal to be
made in that way; but it needs a cool and clever head, and I should
not think Algernon Vanborough had that."
"I do not like him much," said Odeyne. "But Beatrice spoke as if
Desmond were helping him. I thought it was in the way of business."
"Yes, some kind of business; but Beatrice was very vague about it
herself. It is a word that carries a wide meaning."
"Oh, Guy!" exclaimed Odeyne, with sudden anxiety and distress, "do
tell me, is there anything wrong in that sort of speculation--and do
you think that Desmond is speculating too?"
"I confess it looks a little like it," answered Guy; "but as to
whether or not such speculation is honest, I hardly know how to
answer. Of course 'men of the world' would laugh at the notion of
calling it anything else. And there is a certain buying and selling
of stock that is perfectly fair and legitimate; but undoubtedly there
can be a shady side to it; and in any case I should shrink from
gaining large sums of money without doing honest work for it. Your
gain is somebody's loss. It seems a perilous pastime to indulge in.
It draws men on and on into deeper places. In its essence it is a
form of gambling, Odeyne, although it may not be recognised as such
at the outset."
At that word Odeyne caught her breath a little. It filled her with a
vague terror and distress. More than once she had been warned about
Desmond's tendency towards that perilous amusement, but she had
fondly thought that her influence was holding him back from it.
"Then, Guy, would you have me speak to him about it? Do you think I
should warn him?"
"I am rather shy, Odeyne, of giving advice where husband and wife are
concerned. I think you are the best judge of what you should say to
Desmond. His love for you is very true and deep. If he knew that
anything in his conduct distressed you, surely he would give it up?"
Odeyne sighed, and a little pucker furrowed her brow.
"Some things he would directly; but I do not feel so sure about it
when it seems to be business. He would be very kind, and he would
explain it all so that I should see it was all right, but I don't
feel so certain that he would give it up. That is where it sometimes
comes over me that another woman might have made him a better wife.
I am not strong-willed enough to have the influence I sometimes want."
"There is influence of another kind," said Guy thoughtfully after a
long pause. "A man with a very high standard before his eyes--the
highest standard of all--shrinks back from all such doubtful things
with an instinct of repulsion, and does not argue about them. He
feels the evil possibilities, and lets it alone. Try and win Desmond
to such a standard as that, and the rest will follow of itself."
Odeyne drew a deep sigh.
"If only I could!" she answered. "If only I could! But, Guy, I am
sometimes in danger of growing careless and forgetful myself, and
Desmond does not care for being talked to."
"I don't think talking ever does much good," answered Guy in the same
thoughtful way. "You must live your lessons, _Schwesterling_, not
talk them. And then there is always the power of prayer. I often
think we forget what a mighty weapon that is if used regularly, and
used aright."
Odeyne covered her face with her hands, and there was a sound of
tears in her voice as she answered--
"Oh, Guy, it is not so easy to be good, to think of all these things,
to keep unspotted from the world, here, in this big house and amongst
the people I live with, as in the dear old home. I do try; but there
is always so much to distract my thoughts. You will pray for us,
Guy, will you not, dear brother? For me as well as for him; for
indeed--indeed I need it!"
Very soon after that Guy persuaded Odeyne to go to bed. She had
intended to sit up for her husband; but she was really tired, and Guy
opined that they might be very late, since a light snow had fallen,
and travelling would be heavy. He would sit up and see that there
was a blazing fire, and some hot soup ready for them as ordered; and
presently Odeyne let herself be persuaded, and went off to bed.
Although rather anxious and troubled in mind, she strove to put aside
gloomy thoughts, and to reassure herself by thinking of the many
lovable traits in her husband's character. She could not expect
perfection, of course; and when she contrasted him with Algernon
Vanborough and some of his associates, she felt that she had cause
rather for thankfulness than disquiet, although, to be sure, Desmond
was just a little too easily led.
She had dropped asleep, with her door half open, that she might hear
her husband's voice when he returned, and feel assured of his safety,
when she was roused by a stir in the hall, and sat up in bed to
listen.
The hall being two stories high, and her bedroom door opening upon
the gallery just at the head of the staircase, she could hear any
sound there, and even any words spoken in a loud voice, and to-night
as she sat up listening, she was perfectly certain that she heard
Edmund say in answer to words spoken by Guy--
"It's all right--don't make a fuss or wake Odeyne. They'll bring him
in directly. We'll have him all right before she sees him."
In a moment Odeyne was out of bed, trembling in every limb. Desmond
had been hurt. There had been an accident on the slippery roads. He
always _would_ take his dog-cart and drive so fast. She was hurrying
into a rather elaborate wrapper, which would pass for a tea-gown, and
was hastily coiling up her abundant hair as these thoughts passed
through her brain. She must go to him, and see to his hurts. She
was afraid of nothing but suspense. In another moment she was out
upon the gallery, and looking down into the hall below, saw Desmond
being supported into the hall between Edmund and the footman, an
idiotic grin upon his face, a babble of thick and incoherent talk
proceeding from his lips.
"It is a head injury!" she said to herself, her heart almost standing
still. "He must get to bed at once, and I will attend to him"; and
she flew down the staircase.
Guy suddenly glanced up and saw her, and came striding to meet her,
looking almost stern in his gravity.
"Odeyne, don't come down--don't let the servants see you. Go back to
your room. I will come to you there if you like. Desmond would
rather that you did not see him now--with the men-servants about and
all."
Then she understood. She gave a low wail that went to Guy's heart;
and turning she went back to her own room, and threw herself into the
chair beside the fire, feeling as though the foundations of the earth
were giving way beneath her.
How long she remained thus she knew not. A light tap at the door
aroused her. She started up and heard Edmund's voice asking if he
might come in. She lighted the candles upon the toilet table, wiped
the traces of tears from her face, and went to the door trying to
appear as calm as possible.
Her soldier brother came a few paces into the room, and put her back
into her chair.
"I'm awfully sorry, Odeyne; I feel half to blame myself; but I've
come to tell you it's not nearly so bad as you may perhaps think--the
sort of thing that might happen to anybody who hadn't a very strong
head. It was Algy Vanborough's fault. That fellow is a great fool.
It was an awfully jolly ball, and Desmond had been Beatrice's right
hand all through, dancing with all the wall-flowers, and trotting out
little first-season misses whom some of the fellows turned up their
noses at. Nobody could have been nicer and kinder all along. And at
supper it was the same. He was everywhere, looking after
everybody--a hundred times more good than Vanborough. I daresay he
got thirsty, and perhaps he may have drunk rather more champagne than
was quite wise; but he was not the least excited or anything at the
house--make yourself quite easy about that."
"Then when was it?" asked Odeyne with dry lips.
"As I say, it was that fool Algy's fault. We were getting into the
dog-cart; Desmond was in already, and he came out with glasses of
'something hot, just to keep out the cold, you know.' Well, it was a
bitter night; one couldn't altogether fall foul of him for that. But
when I tasted my glass it was so horribly strong--whisky punch or
some heady mixture like that--that I wouldn't drink it. I was going
to warn Desmond, but he had already drained his glass; and of course,
after the champagne, and with the change into the cold air, it got
into his head; and I had to take the reins before we'd gone two
miles. That's the whole story, Odeyne. I'm awfully sorry you saw
him, but really it was the sort of accident that might happen to the
soberest fellow living. Don't you remember when Mary came in
dripping that day of the thunderstorm last summer year, how we gave
her some hot brandy and water, and she couldn't walk straight after
it?"
"Yes, I remember," said Odeyne with rather dry lips. "Thank you for
coming and explaining it, Edmund. I suppose it was only an accident.
But I wish it hadn't happened! Oh, I wish it hadn't happened!"
"So do I," answered Edmund sincerely. "But, honestly, Odeyne, I
don't think it's anything to trouble over seriously. Desmond hasn't
a very strong head, and Algy had no business to give him that fiery
stuff. He didn't think what he was doing when he drank it. It
wasn't as if he had the least craving. It was forced upon him when
he was in a merry, rollicking mood, and he took it without a thought,
as I was nearly doing myself."
"I will try not to make too much of it," answered Odeyne. "I should
not mind quite so much if the servants had not seen. I am afraid it
will be all over the place soon."
"I'm afraid servants see such much worse sights than that in many
houses that this won't make much impression on them," answered
Edmund. "All your people are fond of Desmond. He is a very kind and
considerate master. Now go to bed, little sister, and we will look
after Desmond. A headache to-morrow will be all the result of
to-night's mischance--and probably a resolve not to be careless in
such a fashion in the future."
Walter Garth walked up from the station in the snow-lighted darkness,
to see welcoming ruddy gleams shining out of the window of his pretty
cottage home. His footstep outside was apparently heard from within,
and Alice opened the door, standing looking out into the darkness--a
pretty picture of homely prosperity and cheerful affection.
"Is that you, Walter? How late you are!"
"Yes, it was the train. There was a bad fog in town. I thought we
should never get out. Glad we don't have to live in that choking
reek, little wife. One can breathe down here!"
Alice relieved him of his coat, went through what was evidently a
little daily pantomime of searching his pockets, and brought out a
box of bonbons from one of them. It seemed as though Garth had taken
a leaf out of Desmond's book, for he seldom returned home without
some little trifling gift for his wife. Often enough it was a small
household requisite he had been asked to buy, but a parcel of some
sort he almost always had, and Alice had come to look upon it as her
rightful due.
"Anything happened up at the house?" asked Walter, as he sat warming
himself before the fire luxuriously.
"What sort of thing do you mean?" asked Alice, who was bending over
the tea-pot, kettle in hand.
"Why, the master wasn't in town to-day; and yet he hadn't sent for me
to go to him for orders this morning. Of course I thought he would
be there himself, and told them so; but he didn't come, and Mr. Drake
was rather put out. He said there were letters waiting to be
answered, and that the master had them, and should have sent them in
if he wasn't coming himself. They rather jumped upon me. But I
couldn't help it."
"Of course not," answered Alice. "Well, it's just like this; the
master came home screwed from Mrs. Vanborough's ball last night.
This morning he had a tremendous headache, and couldn't think about
business anyhow. He didn't get up till twelve, and then they say he
was as cross as a bear. It's a shame! because it puts about the
mistress so. She has looked like a ghost all day."
Walter Garth gave vent to a low whistle.
"I hope that's not a failing of the master's though! I had no idea
of it!"
"Oh no, it isn't now," answered Alice quickly. "Thomson says there
was a time once, when he was at college and got into a fast set, when
he would take too much now and again; but he's been quite better of
that for ever so long now. It was just an accident last
night--nothing more."
Walter looked rather grim.
"It's the sort of accident that may cost him dear if he does not look
out. Mr. Desmond St. Claire has a good deal of quick cleverness, and
he's been uncommonly lucky, I will say--partly because I've looked
sharp after things too. But he hasn't too much ballast on board; and
he'd be one to lose his head pretty badly if he took to losing.
Besides, he can't afford to play fast and loose with all the irons he
has in the fire just now. That headache of his to-day will cost him
several hundred pounds, and perhaps lose him as much more."
Alice looked quite aghast.
"Oh, Walter, is that possible?"
"To be sure it is. He's been speculating in several things, and has
had rather a lot in the Chou-Chou mines, which are being boomed just
now. He ought to have sold to-day. I did, and my little speculation
brought me twenty-five pounds profit. He has hundreds where I have
tens. I expected a telegram all day, but never got one. I believe
the boom's over now, and that they will come tumbling down like a
house of cards! Well, he can afford to lose now and again. He's
been piling up money in fine style lately. Sometimes I'm half afraid
of his luck--lest it should make him reckless, or that it should get
whispered about in the office. And that would never do!"
A great deal of this was as Greek to Alice, but she understood very
well that her husband had made twenty-five pounds in a day, and her
eyes sparkled at the thought.
She asked a good many questions that made Walter laugh a good deal,
and finally she said in a puzzled voice--
"But I don't still understand where all the money comes from."
"Oh, out of the pockets of poor fools, who speculate without
understanding what they are about. They think these boomed affairs
are going to turn into something very wonderful, and rush in and buy
when they are very high. Then we, who know how the thing really
stands, sell high what we've bought for almost nothing, get our
money, and then down they go with a crash, and the fools are left
lamenting, with waste-paper certificates for their proceedings!"
"Oh, but, Walter, isn't that rather hard on them?"
"Gives them a very good lesson, which, if they take to heart, may
save them from further losses. People who don't know what they're
about shouldn't gamble in stocks."
"But, then, if there were none of these fools, as you call them,
left, how would you make your money?" asked Alice ingenuously, and
Walter laughed.
"Well, it seems a merciful arrangement or provision of Providence
that the race of fools never becomes extinct," he answered. "As fast
as one set collapses another rises up. It is seldom that dupes are
not to be had--if only the wirepullers know what they are about."
"Is it quite honest to take their money and give them only waste
paper in return?" asked Alice.
"They get their money's value when they buy. Of course, if they
choose to hold on too long--till the thing drops to half, or bursts
up altogether--that is their affair. In all buying and selling the
purchaser takes a certain risk that the goods may be accidentally
destroyed. It's the same on the Stock Exchange. They can get good
things for their money if they try. But if ignorant fools dabble in
risky speculations--well, they deserve to come to grief."
"I hope you won't come to grief," said Alice anxiously. "I should
hate to be poor, and to have people making remarks. They would be
sure to be spiteful, because they are jealous of me for having got
such a pretty home and such nice clothes. They say I have been made
a favourite of, and that favourites never come to a good end."
"Who say so?" asked Walter quickly.
"Oh, the girls up at the house. They have always been rather jealous
of me, because the mistress has me about her and talks to me. They
don't quite like it because I've married better than they can expect
to do. And the master thinking so much of you doesn't please them
much either. I take them presents of chocolates and things, just to
show I bear no malice, and that I am rich enough to buy such things.
But they would be delighted, I know, if we came down in the world.
So take care you don't, Walter dear."
"Not I!" he answered confidently. "I go about with my eyes open, and
I have plenty of irons in the fire. I always do say it doesn't do to
have all your eggs in one basket. And now, wifie, what did you say
about that diamond necklace the mistress had given her on Christmas
Day? Did you say you had set your heart upon having one like it for
your next ball?"
Alice opened her eyes wide; she had not said or even thought of any
such thing, that she could remember, but her face flushed at the bare
idea.
"Farmer Blackthorne's eldest daughter is going to be married early in
the spring, and I've heard that there'll be a fine to-do when that
happens. Now, if you'd like a necklace made just like the
mistress's--in my sort of diamonds--well, I think I could manage that
out of my little winnings! I like my wife to put them all to shame,
and if the diamonds aren't real, at least they sparkle just as much,
and look as pretty."
"Oh, Walter, you are good! I should like that! And the mistress
will never know. She won't be much about at that time. Can you
really get it made?"
"Of course I can, if you can take the pattern of the necklace very
carefully for me, or bring it down here some evening for me to take
the pattern myself, which would be almost better. Then I could have
one made to look just like it, and you can copy one of her dresses
too, and play my lady for all the world."
Alice looked delighted. She had been called "my lady" half in
derision, half in admiration, at the last ball she had attended, and
her vain little head was almost turned with the compliments received.
It was delightful to think of figuring again in even finer trim on
another occasion, and Alice had tried on her mistress's jewels often
enough to know that they looked most becoming and beautiful clasped
round her slender neck.
"Oh, I'll bring it down to-morrow evening. I'll just manage to bend
the clasp, or something, cleaning them, and ask leave to take them
down for you to mend. Everybody knows how clever you are with your
fingers. You won't want it long, I suppose? I can run back with it
in an hour or so?"
"Oh yes, a few minutes will be enough for what I want, and then you
shall have your facsimile necklace, little wife!"