The Priory was taken, and in less than twenty-four hours, my mother
found herself the occupant of a large, luxuriously-furnished chamber.
Her windows commanded an extensive and most lovely view. She had a
glimpse of the winding river which made our little village a favourite
summer resort for anglers. It meandered away like a narrow silver
thread in the midst of the peaceful landscape. Already there was a
faint tinge of soft, pale green on the trees, and an added brightness
was making the grass beautiful with a fresh growth. The Priory had
sloping lawns, flower-beds carefully tended and gay with all the early
spring flowers. There were greenhouses in abundance; there were
gravel-walks and tennis-courts; in short, the usual pleasure-grounds
which surround a country home of some pretension.
Inside the appointments were perfect. An able staff of servants
attended to our every want. There were suites of beautiful rooms,
bright, and gay, and clean. Fresh air and sweetness pervaded
everything. In short, there could scarcely have been found a greater
contrast than Myrtle Cottage, where the Lindley family had resided for
so many years, and the Priory, where that same family now enjoyed the
pleasures of refined existence.
It is surprising how soon one gets accustomed to luxury. My father and
brother, who began by accepting the good things of life with a humility
almost painful to witness, before a week was out grumbled about the
quality of the soup served at dinner, and expressed in plaintive tones
their dislike to turbot appearing too often on the board.
"You must see to this, Rosamund," George would say, shaking his head,
and my father would descant on the menage of that West End club to which
he belonged a great many years ago, before he married my mother.
Meanwhile I lived in a sort of dream. I was not unhappy, for my mother
was better. The new life suited her. My father's cheerful tones were
more stimulating and strengthening than the best champagne or the
strongest beef-tea.
At the end of the first week she expressed a desire to see Jack and his
wife again.
"I will write and ask them to come here," I said. I went down-stairs
prepared to do this. I was thinking of the pleasure my letter would
give to Hetty. How she would hurry her own and her husband's
departure--how pretty and surprised she would look when she came to our
luxurious new home--how nice it would be to dress her suitably, and make
life sweet and pleasant to her. I was thinking these thoughts and
forgetting all about the conditions of Cousin Geoffrey's will, when I
went into the drawing-room to fetch my writing portfolio which I had
left there on the previous evening.
"Hey-day!" said a voice. I raised my eyes and found myself face to face
with Mr Gray. "How do you do, Miss Rosamund?" he said, shaking my
hand. "I judge from your own blooming appearance that your mother is
much better."
"Yes, she is much better," I replied.
"What a wise girl you are, and were! How much I respect you! Now can
you give me a few moments of your time?"
"Yes," I replied. My "Yes" was uttered in a meek voice. The gladness
had gone out of my face and manner. "Yes," I repeated, "my time is, of
course, at your disposal, Mr Gray."
"Well, let us sit here comfortably on this sofa. Miss Rosamund, I have
been very considerate to you, have I not? I have not troubled you with
word or message for a whole week."
"I know it," I replied. "I know you have been kind." My eyes filled
with tears.
"It is a great wonder to me," began Mr Gray. He stopped abruptly. "I
don't understand what girls are made of," he continued under his
breath--"the very nicest fellow!--Miss Rosamund, please answer me one
question. Do you greatly object to marrying your--your cousin?"
"I am not bound to reply to you," I said. "I knew that I should have to
marry my cousin if he were willing to have me when I wrote you that
letter a week ago. I did it for my mother's sake." My tears were
dropping. I felt dreadfully weak and childish. I hated myself for
giving way to emotion in this fashion.
"Yes, yes," said Mr Gray, patting my arm, "and you were a very plucky
girl, Miss Rosamund, and you are going to have a happy--most happy life.
Your cousin is a first-class fellow--_first-class_. I had the pleasure
of communicating to him the contents of the will a few days ago, and he
sends you a message now."
"What--what is it?" I stammered.
"He says you are to take your own time. He won't even come to see you
unless you wish it. He had made all arrangements to go back to Africa,
and he will go all the same unless you wish him to remain. It all rests
with you, he says. Nothing could be more gentlemanly than his conduct."
I sat very still, my eyes were fixed on the spring landscape outside the
window.
"There has been no--no letter, I suppose?" I said.
"There is no letter, but not for want of thought, I assure you. Your
cousin felt that you would rather not hear from him. He said I could
convey his wishes to you; in short, his wishes are yours. There is just
one thing more. If you elect to postpone the--the marriage for a year,
I have made arrangements to supply you with funds to live on at the
Priory with your family."