PROBATION.
Mr. Yelverton did not return home from his mission until Mrs.
Duff-Scott's farewell kettle-drum was in full blast. He found the two
drawing-rooms filled with a fashionable crowd; and the hum of sprightly
conversation, the tinkle of teaspoons, the rustle of crisp draperies,
the all-pervading clamour of soft feminine voices, raised in staccato
exclamations and laughter, were such that he did not see his way to
getting a word in edgeways. Round each of the Yelverton sisters the
press of bland and attentive visitors was noticeably great. They were
swallowed up in the compact groups around them. This I am tempted to
impute to the fact of their recent elevation to rank and wealth, and to
a certain extent it may be admitted that that fact was influential. And
why not? But in justice I must state that the three pretty Miss Kings
had become favourites in Melbourne society while the utmost ignorance
prevailed as to their birth and antecedents, in conjunction with the
most exact knowledge as to the narrowness of their incomes. Melbourne
society, if a little too loosely constituted to please the tastes of
a British prig, born and bred to class exclusiveness, is, I honestly
believe, as free as may be from the elaborate snobbishness with which
that typical individual (though rather as his misfortune than his
fault) must be credited.
In Mrs. Duff-Scott's drawing-room were numerous representatives of
this society--its most select circle, in fact--numbering amongst them
women of all sorts; women like Mrs. Duff-Scott herself, who busied
themselves with hospitals and benevolent schemes, conscious of natural
aspirations and abilities for better things than dressing and gossiping
and intriguing for social triumphs; women like Mrs. Aarons, who had
had to struggle desperately to rise with the "cream" to the top of the
cup, and whose every nerve was strained to retain the advantages so
hardly won; women to whom scandal was the breath of their nostrils,
and the dissemination thereof the occupation of their lives; women
whose highest ambition was to make a large waist into a small one;
women with the still higher ambition to have a house that was more
pleasant and popular than anybody else's. All sorts and conditions of
women, indeed; including a good proportion of those whose womanhood
was unspoiled and unspoilable even by the deteriorating influences
of luxury and idleness, and whose intellect and mental culture and
charming qualities generally were such as one would need to hunt well
to find anything better in the same line elsewhere. These people had
all accepted the Miss Kings cordially when Mrs. Duff-Scott brought them
into their circle and enabled the girls to do their duty therein by
dressing well, and looking pretty, and contributing a graceful element
to fashionable gatherings by their very attractive manners. That was
all that was demanded of them, and, as Miss Kings only, they would
doubtless have had a brilliant career and never been made to feel the
want of either pedigree or fortune. Now, as representatives of a great
family and possessors of independent wealth, they were overwhelmed with
attentions; but this, I maintain, was due to the interesting nature
of the situation rather than to that worship of worldly prosperity
which (because he has plenty of it) is supposed to characterise the
successful colonist.
Mr. Yelverton looked round, and dropped into a chair near the door,
to talk to a group of ladies with whom he had friendly relations
until he could find an opportunity to rejoin his family. The hostess
was dispensing tea, with Nelly's assistance--Nelly being herself
attended by Mr. Westmoreland, who dogged her footsteps with patient and
abject assiduity--other men straying about amongst the crowd with the
precious little fragile cups and saucers in their hands. Elizabeth was
surrounded by young matrons fervently interested in her new condition,
and pouring out upon her their several experiences of European life,
in the form of information and advice for her own guidance. The best
shops, the best dressmakers, the best hotels, the best travelling
routes, and generally the best things to do and see, were emphatically
and at great length impressed upon her, and she made notes of them on
the back of an envelope with polite gratitude, invariably convinced
that her husband knew all about such things far better than anybody
else could do. Patty was in the music-room, not playing, but sitting
at the piano, and when Kingscote turned his head in her direction he
met a full and glowing look of inquiry from her bright eyes that told
him she knew or guessed the nature of his recent errand. There was such
an invitation in her face that he found himself drawn from his chair
as by a strong magnet. He and she had already had those "fights" which
she had prophetically anticipated. Lately their relations had been such
that he had permitted himself to call her a "spitfire" in speaking of
her to her own sister. But they were friends, tacitly trusting each
other at heart even when most openly at war, and the force that drew
them apart was always returned in the rebound that united them when
their quarrels were over. They seemed to be all over for the present.
As he approached her she resumed her talk with the ladies beside her,
and dropped her eyes as if taking no notice of him; but she had the
greatest difficulty to keep herself down on the music-stool and resist
an inclination to kiss him that for the first time beset her. She
did, indeed, suddenly put out her hand to him--her left hand--with a
vigour of intention that called faint smiles to the faces of the fair
spectators; who concluded that Mr. Yelverton had been out of town and
was receiving a welcome home after a too long absence. Then Patty was
seized with an ungovernable restlessness. She quivered all over; she
fidgetted in her seat; she did not know who spoke to her or what she
was talking about; her fingers went fluttering up and down the keyboard.
"Play us something, dear Miss Yelverton," said a lady sitting by. "Let
us hear your lovely touch once more."
"I don't think I can," said Patty, falteringly--the first time she had
ever made such a reply to such a demand. She got up and began to turn
over some loose music that lay about on the piano. Her brother-in-law
essayed to help her; he saw what an agony of suspense and expectation
she was in.
"You know where I have been?" he inquired in a careless tone, speaking
low, so that only she could hear.
"Yes"--breathlessly--"I think so."
"I went to take an invitation from Mrs. Duff-Scott."
"Yes?"
"I had a pleasant talk. I am very glad I went. He is coming to dine
here to-night."
"Is he?"
"Mrs. Duff-Scott thought you would all like to see him before you went
away. Let us have the 'Moonlight Sonata,' shall we? Beauty fades and
mere goodness is apt to pall, as Mrs. Ponsonby de Tompkins would say,
but one never gets tired of the 'Moonlight Sonata,' when it is played
as you play it. Don't you agree with me, Mrs. Aarons?"
"I do, indeed," responded that lady, fervently. She agreed with
everybody in his rank of life. And she implored Patty to give them the
"Moonlight Sonata."
Patty did--disdaining "notes," and sitting at the piano like a
young queen upon her throne. She laid her fingers on the keyboard
with a touch as light as thistle-down, but only so light because
it was so strong, and played with a hushed passion and subdued
power that testified to the effect on her of her brother-in-law's
communication--her face set and calm, but radiant in its sudden
peacefulness. Her way, too, as well as Elizabeth's, was opening before
her now. She lost sight of the gorgeous ladies around her for a little
while, and saw only the comfortable path which she and Paul would tread
together thenceforth. She played the "Moonlight Sonata" to _him_,
sitting in his own chamber corner, with his pipe, resting himself after
his work. "I will never," she said to herself, with a little remote
smile that nobody saw, "I will never have a room in my house that he
shall not smoke in, if he likes. When he is with me, he shall enjoy
himself." In those sweet few minutes she sketched the entire programme
of her married life.
The crowd thinned by degrees, and filtered away; the drawing-rooms
were deserted, save for the soft-footed servants who came in to set
them in order, and light the wax candles and rosy lamps, and the
great gas-burner over the piano, which was as the sun amongst his
planet family. Night came, and the ladies returned in their pretty
dinner costumes; and the major stole downstairs after them, and smiled
and chuckled silently over the new affair as he had done over the
old--looking on like a benevolent, superannuated Jove upon these simple
little romances from the high Olympus of his own brilliant past; and
then (preceded by no carriage wheels) there was a step on the gravel
and a ring at the door bell, and the guest of the evening was announced.
When Paul came in, correctly appointed, and looking so fierce and
commanding that Patty's heart swelled with pride as she gazed at him,
seeing how well--how almost too well, indeed--he upheld his dignity
and hers, which had been subjected to so many trials, he found himself
received with a cordiality that left him nothing to find fault with.
Mrs. Duff-Scott was an impulsive, and generous, and well-bred woman,
not given to do things by halves. She still hoped that Patty would not
marry this young man, and did not mean to let her if she could help it;
but, having gone the length of inviting him to her house, she treated
him accordingly. She greeted him as if he were an old friend, and she
chatted to him pleasantly while they waited for dinner, questioning him
with subtle flattery about his professional affairs, and implying that
reverence for the majesty of the press which is so gratifying to all
enlightened people. Then she took his arm into dinner, and continued
to talk to him throughout the meal as only one hostess in a hundred,
really nice and clever, with a hospitable soul, and a warm heart, and
abundant tact and good taste, can talk, and was surprised herself to
find how much she appreciated it. She intended to make the poor young
fellow enjoy his brief taste of Paradise, since she had given herself
leave to do so, and Paul responded by shining for her entertainment
with a mental effulgence that astonished and charmed her. He put forth
his very best wares for her inspection, and at the same time, in a
difficult position, conducted himself with irreproachable propriety. By
the time she left the table she was ready to own herself heartily sorry
that fickle fortune had not endowed him according to his deserts.
"I _do_ so like really interesting and intellectual young men, who
don't give themselves any airs about it," she said to nobody in
particular, when she strolled back to the drawing-room with her three
girls; "and one does so _very_ seldom meet with them!" She threw
herself into a low chair, snatched up a fan, and began to fan herself
vigorously. The discovery that a press writer of Paul Brion's standing
meant a cultured man of the world impressed her strongly; the thought
of him as a new son for herself, clever, enterprising, active-minded
as she was--a man to be governed, perhaps, in a motherly way, and
to be proud of whether he let himself be governed or not--danced
tantalisingly through her brain. She felt it necessary to put a very
strong check upon herself to keep her from being foolish.
She escaped that danger, however. A high sense of duty to Patty held
her back from foolishness. Still she could not help being kind to
the young couple while she had the opportunity; turning her head
when they strolled into the conservatory after the men came in from
the dining-room, and otherwise shutting her eyes to their joint
proceedings. And they had a peaceful and sad and happy time, by her
gracious favour, for two days and a half--until the mail ship carried
one of them to England, and left the other behind.