HOPES AND FEARS
Launce Keymer was radiant as he opened the side door which admitted him
to the grounds of Vale View. He had got back those compromising
letters, which had been the bugbear of his life ever since he had won
Ethel’s promise to become his wife. Hetty Blair might rave and storm to
her heart’s content, as no doubt she would do, for she was a girl with
a temper of her own, but it was no longer in her power to harm him, and
beyond that he cared not at all. There was nothing now to hinder him
from pressing forward his suit with Ethel, and it should be owing to no
lukewarmness on his part if they were not married before the end of
summer. Of course he was quite aware that the wills which the spinsters
had caused to be drawn up in favour of their niece made no provision
for her in the event of her marriage, and would only benefit her after
the demise of one or both of them. But he had seen and heard enough of
the Miss Thursbys to imbue him with a feeling of all but absolute
certainty that they would not fail, on her marriage, to liberally dower
the girl who was destined ultimately to succeed to the whole of their
property—always provided that she married in accordance with their
wishes, and he had far too good an opinion of himself to fear that his
suit would meet with any discouragement at their hands. In any case,
the risk of his wedding a dowerless wife was one which, in Ethel’s
case, Keymer was fully prepared to face; indeed, to him it seemed an
almost infinitesimal one.
Master Launce gave a well-feigned start of joyful surprise when, on
opening the green door, he found Ethel waiting for him just inside it,
although he had quite expected to find her there. An instant later she
was imprisoned in his arms, while half-a-dozen passionate kisses were
imprinted in quick succession on her flaming face. One cool kiss on a
coyly proffered cheek was the utmost she had ever conceded her lover
before. Never had he ventured to put his arms around her till to-day.
When he released her she stood panting and indignant, and half inclined
to cry. But Launce only looked at her with laughing eyes.
“I could not have helped it, darling, had it been to save my life,” he
said. “For one thing, it is your birthday, and surely on such an
occasion a lover’s kisses are the sweetest congratulations he can
offer. And then, again, I am the bearer of good news. The need no
longer exists for keeping our engagement a secret. I am here this
afternoon to seek an interview with your aunts, and I trust that by the
time we are a couple of days older all the world of St. Oswyth’s will
know that you and I are betrothed.”
Ethel did not reply; she had not yet recovered her equanimity. They had
turned, and were now sauntering slowly across the lawn. Launce’s
promise to at once seek an interview with her aunts had served to lift
a weight off her heart, and yet she was conscious of a certain
shrinking, not untinged with regret, now that the time had come when
the secret of her engagement would be a secret no longer. It seemed to
her as if the act of telling her aunts would serve to bind her
irrevocably to a promise which till now she had felt in some vague sort
of way she could have broken had she willed to do so. Now, however,
that power would be lost to her for ever. For better for worse, she had
accepted this man for her life partner, and she must abide by the
result. She told herself that she ought to be very, very glad, and yet,
somehow, there was no glow of gladness at her heart.
“I am given to understand,” resumed Launce presently, “that nowadays
young ladies are in the habit of looking for something on their
birthdays much more substantial than mere kisses and good wishes. So,
as I have no desire to be behind other people in such matters, I
venture to offer this little trinket for your acceptance, in the hope
that it may sometimes serve to remind you of the giver.”
While speaking he had drawn from his pocket a pretty bracelet of novel
design, having on it the letter ‘E’ formed with small diamonds and
emeralds. Mr. Keymer senior had groaned in spirit while drawing the
cheque to pay for it, but, for all that, he looked upon it as money
well laid out. Taking Ethel’s left hand in his, Launce proceeded to fix
the bracelet round her wrist. Then raising his hat for a moment, he
touched her fingers with his lips as respectfully as if she had been a
princess. It was an effect which had been duly planned beforehand, as
had also the apparently spontaneous embrace on which he had audaciously
ventured at the moment of seeing her.
“It is exceedingly pretty, and you are very kind,” murmured Ethel, as
she let her eyes dwell for a moment on his. But, for all that, she felt
as if the bracelet were a manacle.
“And now,” resumed Launce, “the sooner I get over my formidable
interview with your aunts, the better it will be for all concerned.”
His words served like a shock to bring back to Ethel’s mind all that
had happened to her since the morning, which the events of the last few
minutes had served temporarily to banish, and to remind her of the
painful duty she had still to perform. There was no way of escape. To
have married Launce without having first made known to him as much of
the story of her early life as was known to herself, would have been
disloyal both to herself and him, and that was a possibility which did
not find a moment’s lodgment in her thoughts. All the same, the task
she had set herself was none the less a hard one to fulfil.
But there was no time for hesitation. Already Launce had come to a
halt. In another moment he would have turned and bent his steps towards
the house. She laid a detaining hand on his sleeve. “Before you see my
aunts,” she said in a slightly tremulous voice, “I have something of
much importance to reveal to you—something of which I myself had no
knowledge till this morning.”
He turned on her a quick startled look. There was something in the way
she had spoken which convinced him that it was no ordinary young lady’s
secret—such as the confession of some prior girlish romance—that was
about to be told him. It was quite out of the question that this
pure-eyed, candid-browed, fair young creature could have anything to
reveal which could in any way affect his suit for her hand. It might be
that her conscience—and that she had a very tender conscience he did
not doubt—troubled her about some trivial sin of omission, or
commission, as to which she felt that she must take him into her
confidence, but at which he, a man, could well afford to smile, and
never give to it as much as a second thought.
The look of startled surprise merged into one of his brightest smiles.
He pressed her hand as if to give her confidence. “Whatever may be the
nature of what you have to tell me,” he said, “you are at least assured
beforehand of my sympathy, should you deem it worthy of acceptance.”
She cast on him a grateful look. “Here is my favourite walk,” she said.
“Let us turn into it. It is the most secluded spot in the grounds, and,
as a rule, the gardener and I have it all to ourselves.”
It seemed as if she were pitifully desirous of delaying her revelation
till the last possible moment. Now, however, she drew in her breath and
took the plunge which could no longer be avoided. In brief but clear
terms she proceeded to narrate to her astonished listener the details
of that romantic episode of which she had been the baby heroine. She
told him all as it had been told to her; she kept nothing back. Keymer
listened with growing uneasiness. He had drawn one of her hands within
his arm, and, as they strolled along, turning and retracing their steps
from one end of the walk to the other, he pressed it gently to his side
from time to time, as if to assure her that the sympathy he had
promised her was hers in fullest measure.
There was a little space of silence after she had come to an end. He
was turning over in his mind all that she had just told him, piecing
together the different facts, and making of the narrative a connected
whole. Had he formulated aloud the conclusion he presently arrived at,
he would have stated it thus: “The old maids have all along been aware
that the girl was no relative of theirs, and yet, with this knowledge
clearly in their minds, they have chosen to make her their heiress;
consequently, the simple fact of their having told her about certain
things, which had previously been kept from her of set purpose, will in
no way serve to alter the disposition of their property. She will still
remain their heiress, and the world at large will not know otherwise
than that she is their niece. Nothing will be changed.”
Launce’s brain worked nimbly on occasions of emergency, and the silence
had not lasted more than half a minute before he flashed on Ethel one
of his most seductive smiles. “Darling,” he said, in tones the
tenderest at his command, “what you have now told me will only serve,
if that be possible, to make you dearer to me than you were before. I
assure you that I appreciate to the full the confidence thus placed in
me. It proves what you may perhaps think stood in no need of proof—that
you have a genuine regard for me, and unless that warmer sentiment
which I trust in your case is not wholly absent be based on regard
and—and on some measure of esteem, it can only be likened to one of
those shallow-rooted plants which the first tempest infallibly
uproots.”
Launce had an excellent memory, and his last sentence had been conveyed
bodily from a novel he had lately been reading. “It is just the sort of
trashy aphorism that Ethel would appreciate,” he had said to himself,
and he had resolved to retain it in his mind till a suitable occasion
should arise for making use of it. After a scarcely perceptible pause,
he resumed:
“I am afraid you wronged me somewhat in your thoughts in making your
confession, if I may be allowed to call it so, seem such a measure of
necessity. As if any love worthy of the name could be affected, or
lessened, by the fact of your being the child of unknown parents, and
owing all you possess to the kindness of others in no way bound to you
by the ties of kindred! I trust, for the honour of my sex, there are
not many men with whom such considerations would have more weight than
a grain of sand.”
He spoke with so much earnestness and with such a tone of conviction,
that it was impossible for Ethel not to be impressed by his words. She
glanced up into his face. He was certainly very good-looking,
especially just now when his features were lighted up with what seemed
to her like the glow of a chivalrous and high-souled passion. She told
herself that he had never been so dear to her as at that moment. She
felt that she _almost_ loved him.
“It was not because I distrusted your affection that I told you what I
did,” she said gently, “but as a simple matter of right and justice, in
view of the relations that exist between us.”
“In any case, we may now regard it as an incident that is over and done
with. For my part, I see no need for either you or I ever to refer to
it again. And now, perhaps, I may be allowed to go in search of your
aunts and explain to them the errand which has brought me here.”
“Yes, you have my permission to go now,” answered Ethel, with a smile
that was born of a blush.
They turned in the direction of the house, parting at a point where the
path divided in two. Keymer took the road to the right, which would
bring him out close to the main entrance of Vale View. Ethel took the
one to the left, and entered the house by way of the conservatory,
going straight to her own room, where she remained alone, lost in a
tangled maze of thoughts in which the past, the present, and the future
were inextricably mixed up, till Tamsin knocked at her door, an hour
later, and brought her word that her aunts would like to see her in the
drawing-room.
“And there’s been a young man shut up with them for sixty minutes by
the clock,” added the elder woman as she glanced shrewdly at the girl.
“I fancy it’s young Mr. Keymer, the brewer’s son. I hope he’s not here
on your account, honey. I had a good look at him when I took him in a
cup of tea half an hour ago. (It’s Charlotte’s afternoon off, so I did
the waiting myself.) He’s fair enough to look upon, but, oh I my
dearie, he’s far too smooth-spoken for me—butter itself would hardly
melt in his mouth: and why does he glance at you sideways out of the
corners of his eyes when he thinks you’re not looking? A man not to be
trusted, for all his pleasant tongue. Have heed to an old woman’s
instinct, honey, and don’t you have anything to do with him.”
Ethel was too flustered to reply. She gave Tamsin a look which the
latter was unable to interpret, and then ran quickly downstairs. She
paused at the drawing-room door and pressed her hand to her side for a
few seconds. Her heart was pulsating at railway speed. Tamsin’s words
rang in her ears. “A man not to be trusted.” But she had trusted him
and would trust him to the end! She drew herself up proudly, turned the
handle of the door and went in.
It is to be borne in mind that the ladies of Vale View were already
acquainted with young Keymer, they having met him at various social
gatherings during the course of the last year or two. His good looks
and _debonnair_ manner had not failed to prepossess them in his favour,
as they did nearly every one with whom he was brought in contact.
There was a small fire in the grate, for the spring evenings were still
chilly, and Launce was standing by it with one elbow resting on the
chimney-piece. Ethel’s eyes sought his face for a moment as she entered
the room. One glance at it was enough to tell her that he had won the
day.
Miss Matilda rose from her chair and met Ethel halfway across the room.
Taking the girl’s head between her hands, she drew it forward and
imprinted a tender kiss on the pure young brow.
“My love, we congratulate you,” she said simply, but her voice
trembled, and the smile that accompanied her words was closely allied
to tears.
“Can you ever forgive me for having kept it secret from you for four
whole weeks?” demanded Ethel tremulously.
“My dear,” replied Miss Matilda, with a touch of stateliness, “Mr.
Keymer has already been good enough to explain that it was only by his
express desire you consented to do so. He had his reasons. Not a word
more is needed.”