IN THE LADIES' TENT.
And yet, even at the time she made it, Ruth little dreamt how deeply her
confession both galled and revolted her husband. He forgave her very
kindly in the end, and that satisfied her lean imagination. Perhaps
there was not much to forgive. There was enough, at all events, to
trouble Erskine (to whom the best excuse there was for her was the least
likely to suggest itself); but the matter soon ceased to trouble
Erskine's wife, because his smile was as good-tempered as before. He
seemed, indeed, to think no more about it. When Ruth would speak
confidentially of her hopes and wishes for Tiny (as though Erskine had
been in her confidence all the time), he would chat the matter over with
interest, which was the next best thing to sympathy. He had to do this
oftener than he liked during the next twenty-four hours; for Ruth really
thought that excessive candor now was a more or less adequate atonement
for an excessive reserve in the past. Moreover, she genuinely enjoyed
talking openly at last of the matter which had concerned her so long and
so severely in secret.
"Don't you think he means it?" she asked her husband several times.
"I am afraid he thinks he does," was one of Holland's answers.
"That's your way of admitting it," rejoined Ruth, who could bear his
repudiation of her desires for the sake of his assent to her opinion,
which Erskine was too honest to withhold. "Of course he means it. Have
you noticed how he watches her?"
"I have noticed it once or twice."
"And did you see him watching his mother, the night we dined there, to
see what impression Tiny made upon her?"
"So you spotted that!" Erskine said curiously, not having given his wife
the credit for such acute perception. "Well, I own that I did, too; and
that was worse than his watching Tiny. This is a youth with a well-known
weakness for his mamma. She has probably more influence over him than
any other body in the world. I am prepared to bet that it was she, and
she alone, who whistled him back from Australia. Now though she did it
partly by her singing--which, by the way, was rather cheap for our
Tiny--there's no doubt at all about the impression Tiny has made upon
Lady Dromard; and that's the worst of it."
"The worst of it! as if he was beneath her!" said Ruth mockingly. "Or is
it that you think her too terribly beneath him?"
"Tiny," said Erskine, shaking his head, "is beneath no man that I have
yet come across."
"Then what can you have against it? Is it that you think she will grow
so grand that we shall see no more of her! If so, it shows how much you
know of our Tiny. Or do you think him too high and mighty to be honest
and true? I don't profess to know much about it," continued Ruth
scornfully, being stung to eloquence by his perversity, "but I should
have said an honest man and his love might be found in a castle,
sometimes, as well as in a cottage!"
"'Hearts just as pure and fair may beat in Belgrave Square as in the
lowly air of Seven Dials,'" quoted Erskine, with a laugh. "I grant all
that; but if you want to know, my point is that Tiny would be thrown
away on Belgrave Square! She is far too funny and fresh, and unlike most
of us, to thrive in that fine soil; she would need to be clipped and
pruned and trimmed in the image of other people. And that would spoil
her. Whatever else she may be, she's more or less original as she
stands. She's not a copy now; but she will have to become one in
Belgrave Square."
"She _will_ have to become one!" cried Ruth, jumping at the change of
mood. "Then you think that Tiny means it, too?"
"I am afraid she means to marry him," said Erskine, with a sigh. "I have
visions of our Tiny ours no more, but my Lady Manister, and Countess
Dromard in due course."
So delighted was Ruth with his opinion on this point that his other
opinions had no power to annoy her; and in her joy she told him once
more, and with much impulsive feeling, how sorry she was for having kept
him in the dark so willfully and so long. She called him an angel of
good temper and forbearance, and undertook to reward his generosity by
never hiding another thing from him in her life. And she would never,
never vex him again, she said--so earnestly that he thought she meant
it, as indeed she thought herself, for half a minute.
"But you mean to go to the match to-morrow?" he asked her wistfully.
"Oh, we must--if it's fine. It's the last match of the week; besides,
Herbert's going to play."
This was an argument, and Erskine said no more. The chances are that he
would have said no more in any case. The following afternoon Ruth drove
with Tiny to the match, and with a particularly light heart, because she
had not heard another word against the plan. Her one remaining anxiety
was lest it might rain before they got to the cricket field.
For the day was one of those dull ones of early autumn when there is
little wind, a gray sky, and more than a chance of rain; but none had
fallen during the morning, which reduced the chance; while the clouds
were high, and occasionally parted by faint rays of sunshine. The ground
was so beautiful in itself that it was the greater pity there was no
more sun, since, without it, well-kept turf and tall trees are like a
sweet face saddened. The trees were the fine elms of that country, and
they flanked two sides of the ground; but one missed their shadows, and
the foliage had a dingy, lack-luster look in the tame light. On the
third side a ha-ha formed a natural "boundary," and the red, spreading
house stood aloof on the fourth, giving a touch of welcome warmth to a
picture whose highest lights were the white flannels of the players and
the canvas tents. The tents were many, and admirably arranged; but one
beneath the elms had a side on the ground to itself; and thither drove
Mrs. Holland, alighting rather nervously as a groom came promptly to the
pony's head, because this was the ladies' tent.
To-day, however, the tent was not formidably full, as it had been when
the girls had watched the cricket from it earlier in the week; this was
only the Saturday's match. Ruth looked in vain for Lady Dromard, but
received a cold greeting from her daughter, Lady Mary, upon whom the
guinea stamp was disagreeably fresh and sharp. The sight of Mrs.
Willoughby and her friend Mrs. Foster-Simpson on a front seat was a
relief at the moment (the sight of anything to nod to is a relief
sometimes); but Ruth was discreet enough to sit down behind these
ladies, not beside them. She congratulated herself on her presence of
mind when she heard the tone and character of some of their comments on
the game. It would have done Ruth no good to be seen at the side of loud
Mrs. Foster-Simpson or of loquacious Mrs. Willoughby, and it might have
done Tiny grave harm. Mrs. Willoughby's husband, who had good-naturedly
become eleventh man at the eleventh hour, was conspicuous in the field
from his black trousers, clerical wide-awake, and shirt-sleeves of gray
flannel. "I hope you admire him," said his wife over her shoulder to
Ruth; "I tell him he might as well take a funeral in flannels!"
"Or dine in his surplice," added her friend Mrs. Foster-Simpson in a
voice that carried to the back of the tent.
"I just do admire Mr. Willoughby," Ruth said softly; "he has a soul
above appearances."
"You're not his wife," replied the lady who was.
"You may thank your stars!" shouted her too familiar friend.
Little Mrs. Holland turned to her sister and speculated aloud as to the
state of the game, but her tone was an example to the ladies in front,
who nevertheless did not lower theirs to supply the gratuitous
information that the Mundham players had been fielding all day.
"They're getting the worst of it," declared Mrs. Willoughby, perhaps
prematurely.
"Do them good," her friend said viciously, but with the soft pedal down
for once. "There would have been no holding them. That young Dromard,
now--it will take it out of _him_. He wants it taking out of him!"
Mr. Stanley Dromard, who had been scoring heavily all the week, happened
to be in the deep field close to the tent. Ruth nudged her sister, and
they moved further along their row in order to avoid the bonnets in
front.
"Horrid people!" whispered Ruth.
"That's the earl by the canvas screen," answered Tiny. "I should like to
send him a new straw hat!"
"Hush!" whispered Ruth in terror. "You're as bad as they are. Tell me,
do you see Herbert?"
"Yes, there he is, all by himself. There's a man out."
"Is there? How tired they seem! That's Lord Manister sprawling on the
grass. What a boy he looks! You wouldn't think he was anybody in
particular, would you?"
"I should hope not, indeed, on the cricket field!"
"I only meant he looked rather nice."
"Certainly he looks nicer in flannels than in anything else; his tailor
has less to do with it."
The patience of Ruth was inexhaustible. She watched the game until
another wicket fell. Then it was her admiration for the scene that
escaped in more whispers.
"_Isn't_ it a lovely place, Tiny?"
"Oh, it's all that."
"I've never seen one to touch it, and I have seen two or three, you
know, since we were married. But the house is the best part of it all. I
would give anything to live in a house like that--wouldn't you?"
"I? My immortal soul!"
And Tiny sighed, but Ruth, looking round quickly, saw laughter in her
eyes, and said no more. Tiny was very trying. Was she half in earnest,
or wholly in jest? Ruth could never tell; and now, while she wondered, a
lady who knew her sat down on her right. Ruth was glad enough to shake
hands and talk, and not sorry in this case to be seen doing so, while
at the moment it was a very human pleasure to her to leave Tiny to take
care of herself. And that was a thing at which Tiny may be said to have
excelled, so far as one saw, and no further. The attacks of most tongues
she was capable of repelling with distinction; against those of her own
thoughts she made ever the feeblest resistance; and at this stage of
Christina's career her own thoughts were a swarm of flies upon a wound
in her heart. That was the truth--and no one suspected it.
During the next quarter of an hour the innings came to an end, and the
fielders trooped over to the group of tents at another side of the
ground. Tiny hoped that one of them would have the good taste to come to
the ladies' tent and talk to her; an Eton boy would do very well;
Herbert would be better than nobody: but she hoped in vain. On her right
Ruth had turned her back, and was quite taken up with the lady with whom
she was not sorry to be seen in conversation. The chairs on her left
were all empty; and those flies were fighting for her heart. It was the
rustle of silk disturbed them in the end; and Lady Dromard who sat down
in the empty chair on Tiny's left.
"I am so glad to see you both," said the countess as though she meant
it; and she leant over to shake hands with Ruth, whose back was now
turned upon her new found friend. Not so much was said to the pair in
front, though those ladies had something to say for themselves. Lady
Dromard gave them very small change in smiles, but made the conversation
general for a minute or two, with that graceful tact at which, perhaps,
she was, in a manner, a professional. With equal facility she dropped
them from her talk one after another, much as the last wickets had
fallen in the match, and until only Tiny was left in. For the countess
had come there expressly to talk to Miss Luttrell, as she herself stated
with charming directness.
"I was afraid you were feeling dull; though really you deserve to, Miss
Luttrell."
"I was," said Tiny honestly; "but I don't know what I have done to
deserve to, Lady Dromard."
"It's the last match, and a poor one, which nobody cares anything about.
You should have come earlier in the week."
"We were here on Wednesday afternoon."
"But why not oftener? My second son made ninety-three on Thursday. I do
wish you had seen that!"
"It wasn't my fault that I didn't," remarked Miss Luttrell. "I suppose
things came in the way."
"Then you are a cricketer!" exclaimed the countess. "I am glad to hear
it, for I am a great cricketer myself. No, I don't play, Miss Luttrell;
only I know all about it."
Christina candidly confessed that she was not a cricketer in any
sense--that, in fact, she knew very little about cricket; and the
countess, who considered how many girls would have pretended to know
much, was more pleased with this answer than she would have been with an
exhibition of real knowledge of the game.
"My only interest in this match, however," explained Lady Dromard, "is
in my eldest son. I do so want him to make runs! He has been dreadfully
unsuccessful all the week."
Christina was discreetly sympathetic.
"He is going in first," murmured the countess presently in suppressed
excitement. "We must watch the match."
So they sat without speaking during the first few overs, and the silence
did much for Christina, by putting her at her ease in the hour when she
needed all the ease at her command. Cool as she was outwardly, in her
heart she was not a little afraid of Lady Dromard, whose manner toward
herself had already struck her as rather too kind and much too
scrutinizing. She now entertained a perfectly private conviction that
Lady Dromard either knew something about her or had her suspicions. Not
that this made Christina particularly uncomfortable at the moment. The
countess had eyes and wits for the game only, following it intently
through a heavy field glass grown light now that Manister was batting.
It was difficult to realize that this eager, animated woman was the
mother of the young fellow at the wicket, she looked so very little
older than her son; or so it seemed to Tiny, who now had ample
opportunity to study not only her face and figure, but her quiet,
handsome bonnet and faultless dress. Even Tiny could not help admiring
Lady Dromard. Suddenly, however, the hand that held the field-glass was
allowed to drop, and the fine face flushed with disappointment as a
round of applause burst from the field and found no echo in the tents.
"Manister is out!" exclaimed the countess. "He has only made two or
three!"
"How fond she is of him," thought the girl, still watching her
companion's face, which somehow softened Christina toward both mother
and son; so that now it was with real sympathy that she remarked, "Poor
Lord Manister! I am very sorry."
Some expressions of condolence from the seats in front threw the young
girl's words into advantageous relief.
The countess said presently to Christina, "I am sorry it has turned out
so dull a day; the ground looks really nice when it is fine and sunny."
"It is a beautiful ground," answered Tiny simply; "the trees are so
splendid."
"Ah, but you're used to splendid trees."
"In Australia? Well, we are and we are not, Lady Dromard. I mean to say,
there are tremendous trees in some parts; in others there are none at
all, you know. Up the bush, where we used to live, the trees were of
very little account."
"I thought the bush was nothing _but_ trees," remarked Lady Dromard; and
Christina could not help smiling as she explained the comprehensive
character of "the bush."
"So you were actually brought up on a sheep farm!" said Lady Dromard,
looking flatteringly at the graceful young girl.
"Yes--on a station. It was in the bush, and very much the bush," laughed
Tiny, "for we were hundreds of miles up country. But most of the trees
were no higher than this tent, Lady Dromard. The homestead was in a
clump of pines, and they were pretty tall, but the rest were mere
scrub."
"Then how in the world," cried her ladyship, "did you manage to become
educated? What school could you go to in a place like that?"
"We never went to school at all," Tiny informed her confidentially. "We
had a governess."
"Ah, and she taught you to sing! I should like to meet that governess.
She must be a very clever person."
Her ladyship's manner was delightfully blunt.
"Now, Lady Dromard, you're laughing at me! I know nothing--I have read
nothing."
"I rejoice to hear it!" cried the countess cordially. "I assure you,
Miss Luttrell, that's a most refreshing confession in these days. Only
it's too good to be true. I don't believe you, you know."
Christina made no great effort to establish the truth of her statement;
for some minutes longer they watched the game.
But the countess was not interested, though her younger son had gone in,
and had already begun to score. "What were they?" she said at length
with extreme obscurity; but Christina was polite enough not to ask her
what she meant until she had put this question to herself, and while she
still hesitated Lady Dromard recollected herself, appreciated the
hesitation, and explained. "I mean the trees in the bush, at your farm.
Were they gum trees?"
"Very few of them--there are hardly any gum trees up there."
"Do you know that _I_ have a young gum tree?" said Lady Dromard
amusingly, as though it were a young opossum.
"No!" said Tiny incredulously.
"But I have, in the conservatory; you might have seen it the other
evening."
"How I wish I had!"
The young girl's face wore a flush of genuine animation. Lady Dromard
regarded it for a moment, and admired it very much; then she bent
forward and touched Ruth on the arm.
"Mrs. Holland, will you trust your sister to me for half an hour? I want
to show her something that will interest her more than the cricket."
"Oh, Lady Dromard, I can't think of taking you away from the match,"
cried Christina, while Ruth's eyes danced, and the bonnets in front
turned round.
"My dear Miss Luttrell, it will interest _me_ more, now that Lord
Manister is out."
"But there's Mr. Dromard."
"Oh, that boy! He has made more runs this week than are good for him.
Miss Luttrell, am I to go alone?"
The bonnets in front knocked together.