THE FEW WORDS AT THE END OF THE EVENING
There were five of them at dinner--the lovers, the lady's father, her
two hostesses--the Misses Claughton. These were cousins of her mother.
Miss Claughton was tall and straight and prim; Miss Nancy Claughton,
the younger sister, was stout and tender. Both ladies were disposed to
make a fuss of Rodney, to invest him with a sort of halo, as if, in
asking Stella to be his wife, he had done something which marked him
out as an unusual young man. Mr. Austin's inclination was towards
jocosity. Rodney had long since decided that a sense of humour was not
that gentleman's strongest point. Dry he could be, he had rather an
effective trick of it; but funny--no. His persistent efforts to be
funny did not improve the flavour of what, from the young gentleman's
point of view, was a sufficiently homely repast. The soup was
doubtful, one could not be sure if it was meant to be clear or thick;
the cod was boiled to rags--and, anyhow, he hated cod; the mutton was
overdone; the sweets were suited to the nursery. Under the
circumstances it was perhaps as well that, between Mr. Austin's jokes,
the question chiefly discussed was where they should dine on the
morrow. It was some consolation, Rodney felt, that there was a
prospect of a decent meal after the passage of another four-and-twenty
hours. The gentlemen did not remain at table when the feast was done;
Mr. Austin was a teetotaller, and Rodney, when he had tasted Miss
Claughton's claret, wished he was; so there was no temptation to
linger over the wine. In the drawing-room they had "music." Stella
played and sang. Rodney, whose taste in music was as fastidious as in
other things, would have been content had she done neither. She had
not got a bad little voice; from the point of view of those who liked
little voices of the kind; but he had always been of opinion that it
was worth more to the professors of singing than to anybody else.
Still, she sang straight at him, and for him only; so it was not so
bad. Presently Mr. Austin vanished, and the Misses Claughton followed.
So he put his arm about Stella's waist, and that was better. She was
even more disposed to be made love to after dinner than before, and
somehow she seemed prettier and sweeter and more desirable to him.
Under such conditions he was the kind of young man who was bound to
shine.
After a while--quite an agreeable while--he led the conversation on to
the subject which Mr. Austin had broached in the morning. The lady
lent a complacent ear.
"Stella, I have a very serious question which I wish to put to you."
"What is it? If you can be serious."
"You will find I can when you have heard my question; I pray you
incline your little pink ears unto my question. Will you marry me?"
"Perhaps, some day--silly!"
"When is 'some day'?"
"When would you like it to be?"
"This day; to-night."
"Rodney, you--you really mustn't talk like that."
"Why mustn't I?"
"You only proposed last Saturday."
"Well. Allow a week for that fact to get fixed firmly in your mind,
another for preparation, why shouldn't 'some day' be Saturday week?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"It's you who are ridiculous. If you keep me waiting long I shall kiss
you all away."
"Am I the only girl you've ever kissed?"
"Yes."
"That's a fib; I saw you kiss Mary."
"Gracious! When?"
"Have you been so much in the habit of kissing Mary that you need ask
when?"
"If by Mary you mean Miss Carmichael, I don't remember to have ever
kissed her once."
"Well, I remember. And let me tell you something, sir: there have been
times when--I've been jealous of Mary."
"Good gracious me! what an extraordinary child! Miss Carmichael's sole
recommendation to me has been that she's your friend; besides, hasn't
Tom an eye on her?"
"Oh, Tom! Tom never would see anything--like that; but I see.
Honestly, don't you think Mary's very pretty?"
"She's not bad, in a way; but she's not to be compared with you."
"That she certainly isn't; you don't imagine that you can make me
believe that I'm--a tenth part as pretty as Mary? Do you take me for a
perfect goose?"
"Stella, do you remember what you said before dinner about the ring.
You said--I don't know if you meant it."
"I meant every word I said, Rodney."
"Well, sweetheart, you said it was the most beautiful ring you had
ever seen. Just as you said that, and meant it, I say and mean that
you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen; and, to me, you will
be the most beautiful girl, as long as I live."
"Do you really mean that? Really?"
"By the time we're--Darby and Joan, you'll know I mean it. Now, young
woman, I'm as one who speaks with authority. I'm authorised to inform
you that if you will stand with me at the altar inside a month you
will make your mother happy and your father happy, to say nothing of
me. So which day next month is it to be? Shall I put it at the first?"
"Who told you to say that?"
"Your own father, this morning as ever was."
"Was--was the idea yours or his?"
"My very dearest--small one----"
"I'm not so small as all that! You're not to call me small!"
"Well, all-that-my-heart-desireth, which you are, I will tell you with
such precision as is in me. I said to him: 'I want her! I do want her!
Oh, I want her badly! But, if I have to earn her, I'll have to wait
for her, I dare not think how long.' Then he said to me--exactly what
I've told you; and my heart sang. Do you doubt? Ask him! To me the
point is: shall we say the first?"
"Rodney, do try to be sensible! You're a man, and you can't
understand."
"Is that so? So long as you do."
"To a girl her wedding day is the day of her life."
"Some girls manage to have several wedding days, so I suppose they
have two or three days in their lives."
"There will be only one wedding day in my life. Whatever happens I
want that to be, in every sense, a wonderful day; I want mine to be a
pretty wedding."
"With you as bride that's assured."
"A really pretty wedding can't be arranged at a moment's notice; it
takes time."
"Half an hour--or three-quarters?"
"Don't be so silly! Mamma's coming up to town to-morrow. I'll consult
her; then I shall have some idea how long a time it will take."
"You mean how short a time! Do mean how short a time!"
"Well, how short a time. Rodney, how many bridesmaids would you like
me to have?"
"Bridesmaids? My dear! What are bridesmaids to me, so long as I've the
bride? All--all--all I'm going to be married to is the bride!"
"You are--a perfect----"
"Yes? A perfect--what?"
"Oh, I don't know! Rodney?"
She hid her face upon his shoulder.
"I always wondered what there was in a kiss to make a fuss about.
Now--I know."
When he left it had been practically settled that the wedding should
take place on the earliest possible day of the ensuing month.
He walked home, by way of Kensington High Street and the Park. And as
he walked he mused, and more than once his musings moved him to
something very much like laughter, out there in the solitude and the
dark. Was ever man before in such a complication--promised at three
weddings as bridegroom? As he tried to puzzle out how it all had come
about it struck him as quite inconceivably comical. If he told the
story to the ladies themselves they could scarcely fail to see how
funny it was--at least, he hoped they would. The position would be
simple enough if, as is still the custom in some of the more civilised
countries of the world, a man could have wives galore. But if it came
to choosing, why, there would be the rub. Mabel had her points; who
knew it better than he? While as for Stella, he had never dreamed she
was so charming. With her kisses still on his lips, her soft voice
still in his ears, her pretty eyes still looking into his, how could
he help but love her! Dear little Stella! A week all alone with her,
even a fortnight--he would like to have the chance of it. Perhaps,
after a fortnight, a little relaxation might be desirable, a sort of
change of air. But why look so far ahead? Then there was Mary--but he
dare not think of Mary Carmichael, even then. If he had ten thousand a
year, and freedom, he would choose Mary Carmichael before all the
girls he had ever met. But that was out of the question; he had better
put her out of his mind. Things were already sufficiently complicated
without adding her. On the whole, the circumstances being what they
were, considering the position with the judicial calmness which was
becoming, he plumped for Gladys; and--the business in St. Paul's
Churchyard. Gladys Patterson should be his wife; yes, she should be
his wife, on all accounts; on all!--if--if it was not necessary to
take a voyage to foreign parts.
In that room on the second floor of the house in Kensington, Stella
Austin, in her nightdress, her pretty hair hanging in two long plaits
down her back, was on her knees beside her bed, seeming such a child.
She was thanking God for all His goodness to her--she always began her
prayers by thanking God. She thanked Him for many things, but chiefly,
and beyond all else, for having given her so thoughtful, so tender, so
true a lover. God knew how happy He had made her, and how full her
heart was of gratitude to Him. And she prayed that God would make her
worthy of the lover He had given. She knew how, in so many ways, he
was above her, above anything she might ever hope to be; she prayed
God that He would give her strength and grace, so that she might be at
least a little more deserving. She had been unkind to-night, and--and
wickedly jealous; she knew she had. Please God make her kinder and
less selfish! And, when the time came, please God, make her a good
wife, a good wife!
At this point articulate utterance ceased, her face fell forward on
the coverlet because her eyes were streaming with tears. It was to her
such a solemn and beautiful thought that she would before very long be
Rodney Elmore's wife that she trembled with the very rapture of it, so
that she could no longer even go on with her prayers.
* * * * *
When Mr. Elmore reached his lodgings, with the exception of the light
in his sitting-room, the house was in darkness. But if that signified
that the household had retired to rest, it did not follow that
everyone was asleep, as he was presently to learn. He had only been in
his room a couple of minutes when the door opened noiselessly--to
admit Miss Joyce. Coming right in, she stood with her back to the
door, which she closed behind her. She was in a state of undress which
did not become her ill. As he eyed her Rodney compared her, mentally,
with Stella; not to her disadvantage. She really was a good-looking
girl; only--he did not like the look which was on her white face and
in her eyes. He felt sure someone would notice it, and questions would
be asked.
She spoke in so faint a whisper that what she said was only just
audible; his voice was lowered in sympathy with hers.
"Mother's come back."
"Has she? That's good hearing. I hope she had a good time at your
aunt's."
"I've got the licence."
"The----? Oh, have you? That also is good hearing."
"It cost me two pounds four and six."
"Did it? I hope you consider it to be worth the money."
"I've fixed it for Thursday at noon."
"Noon? Isn't that--rather an unfashionable hour?"
"Mind you're there! You've promised! I've got your promise."
"Am I likely to forget--the circumstances under which you got my
promise?"
"If you're not there you'll be sorry."
"Honestly, Mabel, I think we shall both of us be sorry."
"You will! There's--there's another thing; I--I want to warn you."
"Warn me? Haven't you done that once or twice already?"
"I--I want to warn you against Mr. Dale."
"Against Mr. Dale? Why?"
"I believe he suspects."
"Suspects? What? About you and me?"
"About--your uncle."
"What does he suspect about my uncle?"
"He's been finding out things. Ssh! there's someone moving. Perhaps
it's mother; she mustn't find me here, like this."
She flitted from the room as noiselessly as she had entered, shutting
the door without its making a sound. He stood and listened. Perhaps it
was her conscience which had made her fancy noises--all seemed still.
If she had ascended to her room on the landing, a ghost could not have
moved more silently.