OPPOSING VIEWS.
The man who some centuries earlier had built Rudham Court, had been
wiser than the generation in which he lived in his choice of a site.
Instead of a valley he had chosen the side of a hill, and the sloping
foreground had been levelled into a succession of terraces, giving the
impression of an almost mountainous ascent to the house from the road
which lay beneath. The house, not beautiful in itself, was softened by
the hand of time into a dull red that contrasted harmoniously with the
group of trees behind it, and the gravelled terrace in front with its
box-bordered beds was a blaze of colour in the brilliant sunshine of
the August morning. It was bordered by a low stone wall along which
two peacocks strutted with almost ridiculous self-consciousness of
their beauty. In the very centre was a flight of steps which descended
to the bowling-green beneath, where the yew hedge which grew round it
had been fantastically cut into the shape of an embattlemented parapet,
framing the distant view into a series of charming little pictures:
here a glimpse of the river, there a delightful vignette of the church.
Across the velvety turf of the green tripped Rose Lancaster, dangling a
basket from her arm, a picture herself in her pink cambric frock and
befrilled apron, a little French cap set upon her head which enhanced
the beauty of the golden hair. Her skin was of the delicate colouring
that so often accompanies fair hair, the mouth generally wore a smile
displaying Rose's pretty dimples, and the great blue eyes were half
concealed by the long lashes. She made her way to the wicket-gate at
the far end of the green, to a winding path through a wood which led to
the rose-garden below, and gave a start of pretended surprise when Tom
Burney broke off from his task of mowing the grass paths which
separated the beds, with an exclamation of delight.
"You here!" said Rose, who had watched the direction of his steps from
a window above. "I've come after some roses, if I can find any.
Nothing satisfies Miss Webster but roses on the mantel-shelf of her
sitting-room, and it does not matter to her whether they are in season
or out. Roses she must have. Are there any coming on, Tom?"
[Illustration: "I've come after some roses."]
"Bother the roses!" said Tom, impatiently. "You've been back nearly a
fortnight, and have not spoken a word to me yet."
"That's ungrateful. I walked to church with you on Sunday evening, and
I told you lots of things I did when we were away."
"Dixon joined us, and you let him!" said Tom, angrily.
"How could I help it?" Rose answered, arching her pretty brows. "I
could not say I didn't want him, could I?"
"Are you going to walk with him or me, Rose? I asked you before you
went away, and I want to know now."
Rose meditatively clipped off a bud, crying out a little as a thorn
pricked her finger, holding out the injured member for Tom to look at;
but he looked over it at her, a flush on his handsome face.
"It may be play to you; it isn't to me," he said, his voice shaking a
little. "Did you get the letter I wrote?"
"I don't know; I forget. I had a lot of letters. Yes, I expect I did."
"And you didn't trouble to answer it?"
"It's clear you don't know what a lot a lady's maid has to do when
she's travelling," said Rose, petulantly. "It's 'Lancaster' here and
'Lancaster' there, and you've no sooner packed up than you begin
unpacking again. What time should I get for answering letters?'"
"I wanted to know if you'd thought over what I said?"
"You can't expect me to remember what you said six weeks ago."
"You do remember, only you don't want to give a straight answer.
That's about it," said Tom, bitterly.
"I like walking with you both, though not together. There!" cried
Rose, with a defiant toss of her head. "I'm young; I don't mean to be
tied!"
"But you'll care for the one who loves you best, and that's me!" burst
out poor Tom. "Dixon may be smarter, and he's a deal better off; but
he's a glib sneak, and I know it. I'll wait three months, and then
I'll have my answer; and if it's 'No' I'll be fit to drown myself," and
Tom's voice broke off in something very like a sob.
Rose was flattered but frightened at realizing her power over the lad.
It was like a book, that he should threaten to drown himself for love
of her; but of course he did not mean it. She was sorry for him; when
she was with him she almost believed she loved him, but at any rate she
need not decide now. Three months hence she might know her own mind.
"Well, we'll wait three months and see what happens; and meantime I do
hope you'll be careful not to quarrel with Dixon."
"I shall if he comes in my way," declared Tom, sturdily. "I don't
wonder he wants you himself--any man would; but he should play fair."
"He's no quarrel with you; he said you were a decent sort of a lad, the
other day."
Tom clenched his fist involuntarily. "That's just it!--he's always
trying to run me down in your eyes. A lad, indeed! I'm a man who
wants the same girl he does, and that's yourself, Rose."
Rose laughed gaily; it was nice to find herself so much in request.
"Man or boy, I can't stay talking to you all day. Pick me any roses
there are, and let me go. I believe" (in a lowered undertone) "that I
hear the ladies talking up there on the bowling-green. They've come
out to sit in the shade, I expect."
Rose's conjecture was right, for, as she went back to the house, she
caught a glimpse of Miss Webster and her mother seated under the large
tree at the far end of the lawn.
"How pretty she is," said May Webster, following her retreating figure
with lazy eyes. "As pretty as the roses she carries. I do hope she
won't get snapped up at once. She is a pleasant little thing to have
about one--which reminds me, mother. I saw a pretty girl of a
different type in the village yesterday, whom I believe to be Miss
Lessing. What are you going to do about her and her brother?"
"Nothing at present, I think. One really can't leave cards on a
cottage!"
"But you might on the people in it. We can't very well ignore the
squire of the place who is also our landlord."
"It will be time enough to recognize him when he behaves like other
people."
"I don't see that he's a bit more peculiar than the University men who
take to slumming. Anybody may do anything nowadays," May said with a
little laugh.
"He doesn't even come to church," persisted Mrs. Webster.
"A weakness shared by many men."
"But his sister might and _ought_," replied her mother, severely.
"Mr. Curzon seems to think it equally necessary for men and women,"
said May, mischievously.
"Oh yes. Of course he's a dear good man, and I wish we were all like
him, but we aren't," answered Mrs. Webster, resigning all hope of
anything but moral mediocrity with a gentle sigh. "He says Mr. Lessing
is a very nice fellow; but you can't quite rely on his opinion: he's a
good word for every one."
"Which is delightful, but not amusing; and one does need amusement,
mother. Suppose we call at the cottage and follow up the call by an
invitation to dinner. We might ask the rector to meet them."
"The worst of asking the rector is that he always wants something,"
said Mrs. Webster, a little plaintively.
"That we haven't got?"
"Oh, May, you know quite well what I mean! It must be the heat that is
making you so argumentative. Mr. Curzon always has some pet hobby on
hand for which he wants money, and of course he ought to have it; but
really, just now, what with a trip abroad, and the London house to
paint and paper throughout, I've not so much in hand as usual."
"Enough for the rector's last hobby, I dare say. At any rate let's
risk it. If we all air our different views we might have an exciting
evening."
"I wish things were as they used to be. The old major was such a
thorough gentleman. It was quite a pleasure to give him a bed or
dinner when he came down."
"Is not this man a gentleman, then?"
"Oh, my dear, I hope so; but he has queer views, if all I hear be true.
I'm sure, if he says anything at dinner about our being all equal, I
shan't be able to hold my tongue. We never were and never can be."
"I believe Mr. Curzon thinks we are; only he likes poor people _much_
the best. He says the truest gentleman he ever came across is old
Macdonald."
"Now it is wild talk like that that makes me sometimes distrust Mr.
Curzon; and he ought to know better, being of such good family
himself," said Mrs. Webster, fretfully. "Is it not at the Macdonalds
that the Lessings are lodging? As you seem to wish it, we will call
this afternoon."
Paul Lessing was out when the smart carriage and pair drew up at the
Macdonald's cottage in the course of the afternoon; and Sally had to
receive her two visitors alone. Mrs. Webster's ample presence seemed
to fill the tiny sitting-room; but she placed herself graciously enough
in one of the cushioned elbow-chairs, whilst May subsided into the
slippery Windsor as gracefully as if it were the softest sofa. There
was something about Sally that pleased her; it may have been a certain
originality and freshness of manner, or the unconscious admiration that
shone in the dark eyes. Nothing in its way pleases a handsome woman
more than the admiration of her own sex. Be this as it may, May
Webster laid herself out to charm, and did it very successfully, and by
judicious management prevented her mother from asking any leading
questions as to Mr. Lessing's future line of conduct. Mrs. Webster's
small talk so often took the line of asking questions.
Paul was not properly grateful when he found the cards upon the
mantelshelf.
"It's a dreadful bore; but I'm afraid it can't be helped. You can
return the call sometime, and there will be an end of it."
"There may be for you, but there won't be for me!" said Sally, with
some spirit. "I'm catholic in my choice of companions, and mean to
include everybody who cares to know me. Mrs. Macdonald is charming,
and Allison amuses me, and Mrs. Pink and I have made friends over the
baby; but why I should refuse a proffer of friendship from Miss
Webster, because she happens to be a beauty and dresses well, I don't
exactly see!"
"Friendship!" echoed Paul, scornfully. "How little you know of smart
people and their ways. Friendship with them means a stepping-stone to
higher things; your means and your position must give them a leg up in
the world. Now we have neither."
"You are shaking my faith in you, Paul. You are judging without
knowing."
"I am not judging the Websters individually--only the class to which
they belong; of which I _do_ know something, and you nothing."
"Well, I think I will learn for myself then!" cried Sally. "I'll start
by believing people as nice as they appear, until I find them
otherwise."
"And are Mrs. and Miss Webster 'nice,' as you call it?" asked Paul, his
curiosity overcoming his vexation.
"I did not like Mrs. Webster much: the room did not seem big enough to
hold her."
"I told you so!" said Paul, triumphantly.
"Oh, Paul! you might be a woman," replied Sally, with mocking laughter.
"But listen; Miss Webster is as nice as she looks! Can you want more?"
"It's a good thing to be young and enthusiastic."
"Certainly better than being old and cynical," retorted Sally, saucily.
The next morning's post brought a crested envelope, directed in a
dashing hand, to Sally, inviting Paul and herself to dinner at the
Court on the following evening.
"We shall be simply a family party," wrote the lady; "but, with such
near neighbours, I thought it more friendly to invite you for the first
time quite informally."
"You don't want to go!" exclaimed Paul, who felt the meshes of the
society net closing round him.
"Of course I do. I want to see your house, and to feel what it would
be like to live there."
"I don't believe you have a proper frock to go in. A coat and skirt
won't do."
"What nonsense! I've an evening dress, of a sort; and they don't
invite my frock, but me!"
"We'll go, then, as you've set your heart upon it; but I feel as if it
were the letting out of water."
Certainly Paul had no reason to complain of Sally's appearance when she
came down ready dressed for her dinner on the following evening. In
her simple white dress, cut away at the throat, with a soft muslin
fichu tied in front with long ends falling to the bottom other skirt,
she looked, as old Macdonald afterwards remarked to his wife, "as a
lady should:" fair, and fresh, and young. Her dusky hair waved
prettily upon her forehead, and half concealed her ears; the face it
framed was not, strictly speaking, pretty, but it was bright and
animated, and the dark eyes and eyebrows were handsome.
"I've won one person's approval at any rate," said Sally, merrily, as
they started on their way. "I went in to bid Macdonald good night, and
Mrs. Macdonald said, as she helped me on with my cape, that 'my John'
likes ladies to wear white dresses and have pale faces. He could not
abide colour, except in flowers."
"Then you are fulfilling your mission, Sally, and winning your way into
Macdonald's good graces. We shan't be turned out."
"It's my first dinner-party, Paul. Do you realise the importance of
the occasion? I've had no coming-out like other girls."
"That's why you are so much jollier than most of them," said Paul,
betrayed into a compliment.
From the moment they entered the drive-gate, and began the ascent to
the house, Sally looked about her with eager interest, breaking into
exclamations of delight as each step revealed some fresh beauty to her
eyes.
"It's a dangerous experiment to have brought you. You will be horribly
discontented with Macdonald's, after this."
"I shan't. But if this place were mine, I should live here, and make
it a joy to everybody about me. I would not want to keep it to
myself," Sally said--
But the front door was reached, and a footman was at hand to help her
off with her cloak; and in another instant the door of the long
drawing-room was thrown wide, and Sally, with the un-self-consciousness
of simplicity, heard herself announced, and found her hand in Mrs.
Webster's, who retained it as she led her on towards a tall, handsome
man who stood talking to Miss Webster.
"Mr. Curzon, allow me to introduce Miss Lessing. You've been away with
your little Kitty, so I don't think you've met each other yet."
Then Sally realized that she stood face to face with the good man, and
that he was to take her in to dinner, so that she would have time to
consider him carefully. Mrs. Webster placed her hand graciously on
Paul's arm when dinner was announced, and May trailing yards of
amber-coloured silk behind her, sailed in by herself.
The dinner-table was oval, and Sally found herself seated between the
Rector and May; on the other side sat Paul, with Mrs. Webster and May
to talk to alternately. The very perfection of her surroundings
engaged Sally's attention at first: the delicately shaded lights
shining down on the dainty flowers, and silver and glass; the dinner,
remarkable rather for elegance than profusion; the family portraits on
the wall, bewigged and befrilled, which stood at ease, and glanced down
on the company with a sort of haughty indifference; the heavy, handsome
furniture combining beauty with comfort; and last, but not least, May
herself, whose beauty in her evening dress was simply dazzling.
Paul, reduced to commonplaces, was asking Mrs. Webster if the place
suited her.
"A leading question, Mr. Lessing," she answered, with a sort of heavy
playfulness. "I've no doubt you would be glad to hear it did not. But
we are so fond of it, May and I; it's just the country place we want
for the summer months. We are always in London for the season. But
our lease is nearly run out, you know; and then, I'm afraid, naughty
man! you will not let us renew it."
"Why not? I'm not likely to get better tenants," said Paul, politely.
"But you may be wanting to live here yourself, you see."
"Such a plan is very far from my thoughts at present. I neither wish,
nor can afford it."
"But where else _can_ you go?" asked Mrs. Webster, as if her life
depended on the answer.
The plea of poverty must be ignored; it was only advanced because Mr.
Lessing was her landlord!
"I've not decided yet. Sally and I are quite happy where we are."
"But you could not go on like that. It hardly seems right, you know."
"I don't see where the wrong comes in."
"Your very position as squire; you will be expected to be an employer
of labour, you see."
"So I suppose I shall be, in time, although perhaps not about my house
and garden. There are a great many things that will have to be done in
the place when I get my affairs into order."
"Ah yes, of course; it's wonderful how the money flies. Here's Mr.
Curzon insisting that the schools must be enlarged; I expect you are
like him, and think that everybody ought to know everything, and that
each child must have so many cubic feet! I'm sure I can't cope with it
all. I only know we, who are a little better off, have to pay for it.
He wants me to give a hundred pounds, and I tell him I really can't:
fifty is the utmost, and that is more than I can afford. I advise you
to keep clear of him to-night; he's sure to ask you to subscribe a
similar sum."
"It's a voluntary school, I suppose?" said Paul, glancing across at the
rector. "I could not subscribe to that; I'm in favour of a board
school, you see."
Sally, looking from one to the other scented trouble, for Mr. Curzon
broke off in the middle of a sentence, and his smiling, kindly face
grew grave as he gazed steadily back at her brother. There was a
moment of uncomfortable silence.
"I was going to call and discuss the matter of the school with you,"
said Mr. Curzon, at last; "but I did not mean to introduce the subject
to-night."
"Of course not. We could not possibly allow it; could we, mother?"
interposed May, with an air of relief. "I feel at the present moment
we all need more cubic feet. It's so very hot; I almost think we could
sit outside." And as she spoke a general move was made for the
terrace, where seats and tables were arranged.
As neither of the men took wine they did not stay behind; and May, who
was clever enough to see that they were both ready to show fight for
their individual opinions, engaged Paul in conversation, whilst Mr.
Curzon carried off Sally to see the bowling-green by moonlight.
"I never saw anything so quaintly pretty," Sally said. "The yew hedge
with its succession of views suits it exactly."
"Yes, doesn't it?" replied her companion. "This is naturally my
favourite;" and he paused at the opening where, below, the church stood
out grand and stately against the evening sky. "Is it not a grand old
tower? It stands just as a church should; it dominates the place."
The ring of enthusiasm in his voice brought an answering thrill into
Sally's heart.
"Are you sure that it does really?" she asked, moved by a sudden
impulse.
"I hope so; I pray God it may be so. If not in my time then in
another's."