THE "CUP."
Out of the many Cup Days that have gladdened the hearts of countless
holiday-makers on the Flemington course assembled, perhaps that of
1880 was the most "all round" satisfactory and delightful to everybody
concerned--except the bookmakers, and nobody grieves much over their
disasters (though there are several legitimate and highly respected
lines of business that are conducted on precisely the same system as
governs their nefarious practices). It was, indeed, considered that
the discomfiture of the bookmakers was a part of the brilliant success
of the occasion. In the capricious spring-time of the year, when cold
winds, or hot winds, or storms of rain, or clouds of dust, might any of
them have been expected, this second of November displayed a perfect
pattern of the boasted Australian climate to the foreigners of all
nations who had been invited to enjoy it--a sweet blue sky, a fresh and
delicate air, a broad glow of soft and mellow sunshine, of a quality
to sufficiently account for the holiday-making propensities of the
Australian people, and for the fascination that draws them home, in
spite of all intentions to the contrary, when they have gone to look
for happiness in other lands. The great racing-ground was in its finest
order, the running track sanded and rolled, the lawns watered to a
velvet greenness, the promenade level and speckless and elastic to the
feet as a ball-room floor; and by noon more than a hundred thousand
spectators, well-dressed and well-to-do--so orderly in their coming
and going, and when congregated in solid masses together, that the
policeman, though doubtless ubiquitous, was forgotten--were waiting
to see the triumph of Grand Flâneur. At which time, and throughout
the afternoon, Melbourne city was as a city of the dead; shops and
warehouses deserted, and the empty streets echoing to a passing
footfall with the hollow distinctness of midnight or the early hours of
Sunday morning.
While a full half of the crowd was being conveyed to the course by
innumerable trains, the sunny road was alive with vehicles of every
description--spring-carts and lorries, cabs and buggies, broughams
and landaus, and four-in-hand coaches--all filled to their utmost
capacity, and displaying the sweetest things in bonnets and parasols.
And amongst the best-appointed carriages Major Duff-Scott's was
conspicuous, not only for its build and finish, and the excellence of
the horses that drew it, and the fit of the livery of the coachman
who drove it, but for the beauty and charming costumes of the ladies
inside. The major himself, festive in light grey, with his member's
card in his button-hole and his field-glass slung over his shoulder,
occupied the place of the usual footman on the box seat in order that
all the three sisters should accompany his wife; and Mrs. Duff-Scott,
having set her heart on dressing her girls for the occasion, had been
allowed to have her own way, with the happiest results. The good woman
sat back in her corner, forgetting her own Parisian elegance and how
it would compare with the Cup Day elegance of rival matrons in the
van of rank and fashion, while she revelled in the contemplation of
the young pair before her, on whom her best taste had been exercised.
Elizabeth, by her side, was perfectly satisfactory in straw-coloured
Indian silk, ruffled with some of her own fine old lace, and wearing
a delicate French bonnet and parasol to match, with a bunch of
Camille de Rohan roses at her throat for colour; but Elizabeth was
not a striking beauty, nor of a style to be experimented on. Patty
and Eleanor were; and they had been "treated" accordingly. Patty was
a harmony in pink--the faintest shell-pink--and Eleanor a study in
the softest, palest shade of china-blue; both their dresses being of
muslin, lightly frilled, and tied round the waist with sashes; while
they wore bewitching little cap-like bonnets, with swathes of tulle
under their chins. The effect--designed for a sunny morning, and to
be set off by the subdued richness of her own olive-tinted robes--was
all that Mrs. Duff-Scott anticipated. The two girls were exquisitely
sylph-like, and harmonious, and refined--looking prettier than they had
ever done in their lives, because they knew themselves that they were
looking so--and it was confidently expected by their chaperon that they
would do considerable execution before the day was over. At the back
of the carriage was strapped a hamper containing luncheon sufficient
for all the potential husbands that the racecourse might produce, and
Mrs. Duff-Scott was prepared to exercise discriminating but extensive
hospitality.
It was not more than eleven o'clock when they entered the carriage
enclosure and were landed at the foot of the terrace steps, and already
more carriages than one would have imagined the combined colonies could
produce were standing empty and in close order in the paddock on one
hand, while on the other the grand stand was packed from end to end.
Lawn and terrace were swarming with those brilliant toilets which are
the feature of our great annual _fête_ day, and the chief subject of
interest in the newspapers of the day after.
"Dear me, what a crowd!" exclaimed Mrs. Duff-Scott, as her horses drew
up on the smooth gravel, and she glanced eagerly up the steps. "We
shall not be able to find anyone."
But they had no sooner alighted and shaken out their skirts than
down from the terrace stepped Mr. Westmoreland, the first and most
substantial instalment of expected cavaliers, to assist the major to
convoy his party to the field. Mr. Westmoreland was unusually alert
and animated, and he pounced upon Eleanor, after hurriedly saluting
the other ladies, with such an open preference that Mrs. Duff-Scott
readjusted her schemes upon the spot. If the young man insisted upon
choosing the youngest instead of the middle one, he must be allowed to
do so, was the matron's prompt conclusion. She would rather have begun
at the top and worked downwards, leaving fair Eleanor to be disposed of
after the elder sisters were settled; but she recognised the wisdom of
taking the goods the gods provided as she could get them.
"I do declare," said Mr. Westmoreland, looking straight at the girl's
face, framed in the soft little bonnet, and the pale blue disc of her
parasol, "I do declare I never saw anybody look so--so--"
"Come, come," interrupted the chaperon, "I don't allow speeches of
that sort." She spoke quite sharply, this astute diplomatist, so that
the young man who was used to being allowed, and even encouraged, to
make speeches of that sort, experienced the strange sensation of being
snubbed, and was half inclined to be sulky over it; and at the same
moment she quietly seconded his manoeuvres to get to Eleanor's side,
and took care that he had his chances generally for the rest of the day.
They joined the two great streams of gorgeous promenaders slowly pacing
up and down the long green lawn. Every seat in the stand was occupied
and the gangways and gallery so tightly packed that when the Governor
arrived presently, driving his own four-in-hand, with the Duke of
Manchester beside him, there was some difficulty in squeezing out a
path whereby he and his party might ascend to their box. But there were
frequent benches on the grass, and it was of far more consequence to
have freedom to move and display one's clothes, and opportunities of
meeting one's friends, and observing the social aspect of the affair
generally, than it was to see the racing to the best advantage--since
one had to choose between the two. At least, that was understood to
be the opinion of the ladies present; and Cup Day, notwithstanding
its tremendous issues, is a ladies' day. The major, than whom no man
better loved a first-class race, had had a good time at the Derby on
the previous Saturday, and looked forward to enjoying himself as a man
and a sportsman when Saturday should come again; but to-day, though
sharing a warm interest in the great event with those who thronged
the betting and saddling paddock, he meekly gave himself up to be his
wife's attendant and to help her to entertain her _protégées_. He did
not find this task a hard one, nor wanting in abundant consolations. He
took off Elizabeth, in the first place, to show her the arrangements
of the course, of which, by virtue of the badge in his button-hole, he
was naturally proud; and it pleased him to meet his friends at every
step, and to note the grave respect with which they saluted him out of
compliment to the lady at his side--obviously wondering who was that
fine creature with Duff-Scott. He showed her the scratching-house, with
its four-faced clock in its tall tower, and made erasures on his own
card and hers from the latest corrected lists that it displayed; and he
taught her the rudiments of betting as practised by her sex. Then he
initiated her into the mysteries of the electric bells and telegraphs,
and all the other V.R.C. appliances for conducting business in an
enlightened manner; showed her the bookmakers noisily pursuing their
ill-fated enterprises; showed her the beautiful horses pacing up and
down and round and round, fresh and full of enthusiasm for their day's
work. And he had much satisfaction in her intelligent and cheerful
appreciation of these new experiences.
Meanwhile Mrs. Duff-Scott, in the care of Mr. Westmoreland, awaited
their return on the lawn, slowly sweeping to and fro, with her train
rustling over the grass behind her, and feeling that she had never
enjoyed a Cup Day half so much before. Her girls were admired to her
heart's content, and she literally basked in the radiance of their
success. She regarded them, indeed, with an enthusiasm of affection and
interest that her husband felt to be the most substantial safeguard
against promiscuous philanthropy that had yet been afforded her. How
hungrily had she longed for children of her own! How she had envied
other women their grown-up daughters!--always with the sense that hers
would have been, like her cabinets of china, so much more choice and
so much better "arranged" than theirs. And now that she had discovered
these charming orphans, who had beauty, and breeding, and culture,
and not a relative or connection in the world, she did not know how
to restrain the extravagance of her satisfaction. As she rustled
majestically up and down the lawn, with one fair girl on one side of
her and one on the other, while men and women turned at every step to
stare at them, her heart swelled and throbbed with the long-latent
pride of motherhood, and a sense that she had at last stumbled upon
the particular "specimen" that she had all her life been hunting for.
The only drawback to her enjoyment in them was the consciousness that,
though they were nobody else's, they were not altogether hers. She
would have given half her fortune to be able to buy them, as she would
buy three bits of precious crockery, for her absolute possession, body
and soul--to dress, to manage, to marry as she liked.
The major kept Elizabeth walking about with him until the hour
approached for the Maiden Plate race and luncheon. And when at last
they joined their party they found that Mrs. Duff-Scott was already
getting together her guests for the latter entertainment. She was
seated on a bench, between Eleanor and Patty, and before her stood a
group of men, in various attitudes of animation and repose, conspicuous
amongst whom was the tall form of Mr. Kingscote Yelverton. Elizabeth
had only had distant glimpses of him during the four weeks that had
passed since he was introduced to her, her chaperon not having seemed
inclined to cultivate his acquaintance--probably because she had not
sought it for herself; but now the girl saw, with a quickened pulse,
that the happiness of speaking to him again was in store for her. He
seemed to be aware of her approach as soon as she was within sight,
and lifted his head and turned to watch her--still sustaining his
dialogue with Mrs. Duff-Scott, who had singled him out to talk to; and
Elizabeth, feeling his eyes upon her, had a sudden sense of discomfort
in her beautiful dress and her changed surroundings. She was sure that
he would draw comparisons, and she did not feel herself elevated by the
new dignities that had been conferred upon her.
Coming up to her party, she was introduced to several
strangers--amongst others, to the husband Mrs. Duff-Scott had selected
for her, a portly widower with a grey beard--and in the conversation
that ensued she quite ignored the only person in the group of whose
presence she was distinctly conscious. She neither looked at him nor
spoke to him, though aware of every word and glance and movement of
his; until presently they were all standing upon the slope of grass
connecting the terrace with the lawn to see the first race as best
they could, and then she found herself once more by his side. And not
only by his side, but, as those who could not gain a footing upon the
stand congregated upon the terrace elevation, gradually wedged against
him almost as tightly as on the former memorable occasion. Below them
stood Mrs. Duff-Scott, protected by Mr. Westmoreland, and Patty and
Eleanor, guarded vigilantly by the little major. It was Mr. Yelverton
himself who had quietly seen and seized upon his chance of renewing his
original relations with Elizabeth.
"Miss King," he said, in a low tone of authority, "take my arm--it will
steady you."
She took his arm, and felt at once that she was in shelter and safety.
Strong as she was, her impulse to lean on him was almost irresistible.
"Now, give me your parasol," he said. The noonday sun was pouring down,
but at this critical juncture the convenience of the greatest number
had to be considered, and unselfish women were patiently exposing their
best complexions to destruction. Of course Elizabeth declared she
should do very well until the race was over. Whereupon her companion
took her parasol gently from her hand, opened it, and held it--as from
his great height he was able to do--so that it shaded her without
incommoding other people. And so they stood, in silent enjoyment,
both thinking of where and how something like this--and yet something
so very different--had happened before, but neither of them saying a
word to betray their thoughts, until the first race was run, and the
excitement of it cooled down, and they were summoned by Mrs. Duff-Scott
to follow her to the carriage-paddock for lunch.
Down on the lawn again they sauntered side by side, finding themselves
_tête-à-tête_ without listeners for the first time since they had been
introduced to each other. Elizabeth made a tremendous effort to ignore
the secret intimacy between them. "It is a lovely day, is it not?" she
lightly remarked, from under the dome of her straw-coloured parasol. "I
don't think there has been such a fine Cup Day for years."
"Lovely," he assented. "Have you often been here before?"
"I?--oh, no. I have never been here before."
He was silent a moment, while he looked intently at what he could see
of her. She had no air of rustic inexperience of the world to-day. "You
are beginning to understand crowds," he said.
"Yes--I am, a little." Then, glancing up at him, she said, "How does
_this_ crowd affect you? Do you find it all interesting?"
He met her eyes gravely, and then lifted his own towards the hill above
the grand stand, which was now literally black with human beings, like
a swarming ant-hill.
"I think it might be more interesting up yonder," he said; and then
added, after a pause--"if we could be there."
Eleanor was walking just in front of them, chatting airily with her
admirer, Mr. Westmoreland, who certainly was making no secret of
his admiration; and she turned round when she heard this. "Ah, Mr.
Yelverton," she said, lightly, "you are very disappointing. You don't
care for our great Flemington show. You are not a connoisseur in
ladies' dresses, I suppose."
"I know when a lady's dress is becoming, Miss Eleanor," he promptly
responded, with a smile and bow. At which she blushed and laughed, and
turned her back again. For the moment he was a man like other men who
enjoy social success and favour--ready to be all things to all women;
but it was only for the moment. Elizabeth noted, with a swelling sense
of pride and pleasure, that he was not like that to her.
"I am out of my element in an affair of this kind," he said, in the
undertone that was meant for her ear alone.
"What is your element?"
"Perhaps I oughtn't to call it my element--the groove I have got
into--my 'walk of life,' so to speak."
"Yes?"
"I'll tell you about it some day--if I ever get the chance. I can't
here."
"I should like to know. And I can guess a little. You don't spend life
wholly in getting pleasure for yourself--you help others."
"What makes you think that?"
"I am sure of it."
"Thank you."
Elizabeth blushed, and could not think of a remark to make, though she
tried hard.
"Just at present," he went on, "I am on pleasure bent entirely. I am
taking several months' holiday--doing nothing but amusing myself."
"A holiday implies work."
"I suppose we all work, more or less."
"Oh, no, we don't. Not voluntarily--not disinterestedly--in that way."
"You mean in my way?"
"Yes."
"Ah, I see that Westmoreland has been romancing."
"I have not heard a word from Mr. Westmoreland--he has never spoken of
you to me."
"Who, then?"
"Nobody."
"These are your own conjectures?"
She made no reply, and they crossed the gravelled drive and entered the
labyrinth of carriages where the major's servants had prepared luncheon
in and around his own spacious vehicle, which was in a position to
lend itself to commissariat purposes. They all assembled there, the
ladies in the carriage, the gentlemen outside, and napkins and plates
were handed round and champagne uncorked; and they ate and drank
together, and were a very cheerful party. Mr. Yelverton contributed
witty nothings to the general entertainment--with so much happy tact
that Mrs. Duff-Scott was charmed with him, and said afterwards that
she had never met a man with finer manners. While the other men waited
upon their hostess and the younger sisters, he stood for the most part
quietly at Elizabeth's elbow, joining freely in the badinage round him
without once addressing her--silently replenishing her plate and her
glass when either required it with an air of making her his special
charge that was too unobtrusive to attract outside attention, but
which was more eloquent than any verbal intercourse could have been to
themselves. Elizabeth attempted no analysis of her sweet and strange
sensations. She took them from his hand, as she took her boned turkey
and champagne, without question or protest. She only felt that she was
happy and satisfied as she had never been before.
Later in the afternoon, when the great Cup race and all the excitement
of the day was over, Mrs. Duff-Scott gathered her brood together and
took leave of her casual male guests.
"_Good_-bye, Mr. Yelverton," she said cordially, when his turn came to
bid her adieu; "you will come and see me at my own house, I hope?"
Elizabeth looked up at him when she heard the words. She could not
help it--she did not know what she did. And in her eyes he read the
invitation that he declared gravely he would do himself the honour to
accept.