"VALESCA."
"`Oh, to think how I trusted you,'" repeated Major Winchester, "hum,
hum," and he read on a few sentences to himself consideringly.
"Yes," said Imogen, "and `Hubert', you know, is Mr Calthorp. Just
fancy! If only I were going to do it with you now, Major Winchester,
I--"
She stopped short. The sound of a door softly shutting startled her.
"What was that?" she said.
"Oh, nothing; some unfortunate actor seeking the solitude of the library
to study his part in," said Rex.
He went on reading for a minute or two. Neither he nor Imogen heard a
door overhead open, even more softly than the other one had closed.
"Fancy," Imogen repeated, "_Mr Calthorp_, Major Winchester. Now, if
you were it, I am sure I could do it better."
"For _your_ sake I wish I were, though the character is scarcely one
which recommends itself to me," he said. "But now, look here, my dear
child;" and he leant forward towards her a little, while he pointed out
a passage on the page; "when you come to--" And he proceeded to
emphasise a line or two.
The door above closed very, very gently, and two ladies slipped quietly
back into the up-stairs passage from which it opened. They were Mrs
Wentworth and Miss Forsyth. Imogen's mother was smiling with a slightly
self-conscious, slightly alarmed expression; Mabella was whispering
eagerly.
"There now," she said; "I am so glad you have seen for yourself. Wasn't
I clever?" Mrs Wentworth spoke half nervously.
"I hope you don't think any one else has seen them?" she said. "I am so
afraid of any gossip. You see, I have scarcely realised that Imogen is
more than a child--a mere child. I am afraid I am not a very efficient
chaperon as yet."
"Oh, it's all right. Major Winchester is discretion itself. I only
wanted to give you ocular demonstration of his devotion. It is not to
be wondered at; she did look irresistible when she glanced up at him
just now, did she not? But you know he is usually _so_ unimpressionable
and high and mighty. Only be _sure_ you never tell anybody that I made
you peep. You promise, don't you, dear Mrs Wentworth? I always feel
as if you were a girl like myself, you know. I cannot take in that you
are really the mother of a grown-up daughter."
Mrs Wentworth beamed.
"Of course I will never betray you," she said. "But she is so very
young. I do feel so at a loss."
"There is nothing to feel at a loss about," said Mabella quickly. It
would not have suited her at all for Mrs Wentworth to take others into
her confidence. "Imogen is quite charming. You must just make up your
mind that every man she comes across will be at her feet; she will have
any number to choose from, and she can afford to be _difficile_."
"Are you not too partial, dear Miss--?"
"You naughty woman," said the girl, playfully laying her fingers on Mrs
Wentworth's lips, "what was it you promised? Miss Forsyth indeed!"
"Well then, dear Mabella, if you really wish it," said Imogen's mother;
"are you not too partial?"
"You are so incredulous; other mothers would not be nearly so difficult
to convince," said Mab. "That's why I wanted you to see his high
mightiness's devotion with your own eyes; not that it's of any
consequence in itself. Imogen will do far better than that; it's only
to convince you of her fascination."
Mrs Wentworth gave a gentle little sigh.
"I suppose I must not hope to keep her very long," she said, "hard as it
will be to part with her. But if it is for her happiness, that is all I
think about. I would not ask or expect any extraordinarily brilliant
marriage for her. I should be quite content to give her to some really
good man, whom I could trust her to."
"Oh yes, of course, of course," said Miss Forsyth, with an undertone of
slightly contemptuous incredulity, which Mrs Wentworth was too simple
to perceive. "All the same, you must not be _too_ unworldly--too easily
pleased, you know. It is not every day one sees a girl like Imogen,
_so_ well brought up too."
"Dear Mabella, you _are_ too partial," Mrs Wentworth repeated.
"It is true that when I take to any one I can see no fault in them,"
said Miss Forsyth. "I think I may say of myself that I am a very
thorough-going friend--_and_," she added to herself, "a very
thorough-going enemy."
Half an hour or so later Imogen was up-stairs.
"Mamma," she said, as she glanced in at her mother, "I'm going out for a
few minutes' blow before luncheon. I won't be long."
"No, don't be late, darling," her mother replied; "the Squire does like
people to be punctual. It's one of the few things he _is_ strict about.
But come in for half a second, my pet. I have not seen you all the
morning. How bright and well you are looking!"
Imogen stooped to kiss her mother.
"Don't keep me, mamsey dear," she said, "Major Winchester is waiting for
me. I only ran up for my hat and jacket. You wouldn't have said I was
looking bright and well if you had seen me half an hour or so ago. I
was in the depths of despair about my part. Indeed, I was almost making
up my mind to throw it all up."
"And are you in better spirits now, dearest? I am sure they would all
be dreadfully disappointed if you gave it up. You will certainly be the
central figure in it, by what I hear."
"Oh, mamsey dear, you mustn't believe such nonsense," said Imogen. "I
truly can't act a bit, and--I'm not at all sure but that some people
would be glad if I give it up. However, I think it will go a little
better now. Major Winchester has been so kind, so painstaking and
patient with me about it--he has been coaching me for ever so long down
in the library."
"Indeed, dear. I am very glad you have got him to help you. He has
really been your good fairy here ever since we came."
"Yes, truly he has," said Imogen. "And he _is_ so nice. I had no idea
he was such a hero, mamma. You should hear the stories Trixie was
telling me of the wonderfully brave things he has done. And Trixie, you
know, is by no means one of his admirers in a general way. But I
mustn't keep him waiting. Good-bye, mamsey darling," and off she flew,
a perfect picture of sunny brightness.
"Dear child!" thought her mother. "_She_ seems as happy as possible.
It is really wonderful--such a child as she is to have made a conquest
of a man like him. He _does_ seem rather old for her, but yet--if _she_
is content; and of course it is not a connection one could in any way
ever feel _ashamed_ of. Still, I hope he will not think of
precipitating matters: it would be almost more honourable if he were to
wait till she has seen a little more of the world. If I could manage to
give her a London season next year; but I hardly see how I can. Mrs
Helmont has her hands quite full with her own daughters, and she says
their London house is too small for visitors. I wonder if there is any
one else I could look up; or if we let our Eastbourne house, and could
take a little one temporarily in London, as Imogen wishes."
Whereupon her mind set off on an interesting journey of practical
details, ways, and means.
"The nicest of all," she decided, reverting to the original subject of
her meditations, "would be if Major Winchester were to speak to _me_ in
the first place. If there were an understanding between him and me, it
would all be so much easier; perhaps he will speak to me. Of course, I
_may_ have to allow an engagement almost at once. Dear, dear! how
astonished everybody will be; it is not often nowadays that a girl so
young--But really I must get my letters written and not waste time."
The said letters contained more than one hint of coming events, for Mrs
Wentworth found it impossible altogether to repress her sense of
maternal exultation.
And several times during the next few days her heart beat faster, and
she was conscious of a flutter of pleasurable expectation, when Rex
happened to approach her or seemed to be seeking her society.
"I must give him all the opportunities I can," she reflected. But she
was not clever enough to do so with the real adroitness and apparent
nonchalance such tactics require. Miss Forsyth saw through the little
manoeuvres, and enjoyed them with strange, almost impish acuteness,
though her pleasure could not be shared, as she had too small faith in
Trixie's powers of discretion to draw her attention to them.
But Major Winchester himself, though the least suspicious or
self-conscious of human beings, was uncomfortably aware of a certain
change in Mrs Wentworth's manner.
"What can it be?" he asked himself. "She is a nice woman, though not a
very wise one. Surely she is not a silly old coquette at bottom. I
should be very sorry to think so, for that child's sake."
But the very suggestion of such a misgiving tinged his manner in turn
with a faint constraint, which gave colour to Mrs Wentworth's
prepossessions.
The very evening before that of the grand representation a little scene
of this kind occurred. The full-dress rehearsal, for the benefit of the
upper servants and some of the out-of-doors retainers and neighbouring
small tenants on the estate, had just taken place; and while the actors
were changing their dresses Major Winchester, who had good-naturedly
volunteered to be prompter, strolled into the drawing-room in search of
Florence. She was not there; but Imogen's mother was standing by the
fire. He was moving away, when Mrs Wentworth recalled him.
"No; Florence is not here," she said, in answer to a word or two that he
had let fall; "but she will be back directly. She went to say something
or other about the lights, I think. She was speaking to Mr Villars
about them."
"Ah, yes, that is all right then; it was that I wanted her for. They
must be changed." And out of a sort of reluctance to seem abrupt or
discourteous, he lingered for a moment.
"Do stay a little and talk about the acting. It seemed to me _so_
successful. You are all so busy I never see any of you. Of course, I
don't pretend to be anything of a judge; but it really is very good now,
is it not?"
She spoke simply, and Major Winchester, who was really interested in the
play, sat down and replied with his ordinary natural and simple
cordiality.
"Yes, things have improved wonderfully these last few days," he said.
"I think it often is so in these cases. Amateurs warm to the work, and
a sense of desperation makes even the weaker members forget _themselves_
at the last, which, after all, is half the battle."
He smiled as he spoke, for there flitted across his mind's eye several
amusing episodes in the recent struggles after dramatic art.
"Your daughter," he went on, "has really improved surprisingly. I own I
was rather nervous about her till quite at the end. But it went so very
fairly to-night that I think we need have no misgivings. Besides, after
all, there is no terribly critical audience to fear; every one will, I
hope, _wish_ to be pleased."
Mrs Wentworth's expression took a touch of offence at Major
Winchester's tone about Imogen.
"I heard several people saying that `Valesca' was the gem of it all,"
she said, and Rex, glancing at her, detected his mistake. "She really
is too silly," he reflected; "she cannot imagine that child, pretty as
she is, to be a Mrs Siddons in embryo." But his quick kind-heartedness
made him add aloud: "I can well believe that, as far as _appearance_
goes, that opinion will be pretty general. The dress, too, is
remarkably becoming to Im--to Miss Wentworth. Still, dramatic power,
even in a small degree, is a distinct _gift_, like talent for music,
sculpture, or any art. It cannot be acquired, though it may be
developed."
He was already rather beyond his hearer's range, though his words were
intended as an explanation. But they had the effect of smoothing down
her ruffled plumage--or rather, perhaps, his manner did so.
"Of course, he does not want me to imagine for an instant that he
_could_ say anything derogatory to Imogen," she reflected. "And after
all, unless he felt quite a peculiar interest in her, he would not speak
so frankly," and her tone was quite itself again as she replied.
"I am sure Imogen should be, and is, most grateful to _you_, Major
Winchester. She has said ever so many times that she never could have
managed it but for your help. _I_ think she acted beautifully
to-night,"--and the simplicity with which she said this pleased
Rex--"but then I am not nearly clever enough to be a judge."
"I myself did really think it very--extremely pretty," he said. "And it
has been a great pleasure to me to help her, I need scarcely assure
you."
"You have been our good angel ever since our first arrival here," said
Mrs Wentworth. "Dear Imogen was saying so only yesterday. Altogether,
when I remember our distress that wet morning at the station, and your
appearing just at the right moment--it was quite romantic." She
hesitated a little. "Now is his time," she thought. But Major
Winchester did not seem on the alert, and he again detected the slight
tendency to "gush" in her tone, which had before this disappointed him
in Imogen's mother. "I am always so, I fear, really, foolishly anxious
about my darling child," she went on. "My only one, and--alone as we
are."
"But after all, it ended all right, did it not?" he said. "Miss
Wentworth did not take the least cold, nor did you yourself, I think."
"Oh no," she replied, "none whatever. I was not only thinking of cold
and such things. I--of course, I am _always_ anxious about her. And
this visit here--a sort of `coming out' it really was--and among
comparative strangers--"
"Still, after all, it has turned out all right," he repeated, still with
that vague instinct of annoyance. "At least," he went on, as his own
misgivings and anxiety concerning Imogen's friendship with Beatrix
occurred to his mind--"at least, I hope so. I--I have done what I
could," but here he hesitated. It scarcely came within the lines of
loyalty to his hosts to discuss them with an outsider, and an outsider
concerning whose discretion his doubts were grave.
"I am sure of that. Oh yes, indeed," said Mrs Wentworth, with a
recurrence of gush in her tone. "As Miss Forsyth was saying only
yesterday, Imogen is really a most--"
"Excuse me," said Rex, much more stiffly than he had yet spoken, "one
thing I must ask of you, Mrs Wentworth, and that is not to repeat to me
any of Miss Forsyth's remarks on _any_ subject whatsoever. As regards
Miss Wentworth, so far as you are good enough to allow me to advise, I
was going to say I wish she had made, I wish still she could make, more
of a friend of Florence. Believe me, I am not influenced by prejudice
or anything of that sort in saying so. For the future, too--"
Unconsciously to himself the stiffness had melted away again as he
spoke. Mrs Wentworth's perceptions were not of the quickest; still she
could not but hear the contempt in his voice when he spoke of Mabella.
Against this, however, she was, so to say, forearmed by Miss Forsyth's
own plausible regrets that Major Winchester, a man for whom _she_ had
the profoundest respect, should dislike her so.
"It may have been partly my own fault," she had said, with a sigh. "I
know I have been wild and foolish; but some one has made mischief too, I
feel sure."
So Mab's new friend did not resent his rather imperious request as she
might otherwise have done, and the vague, uncompleted sentence at the
end of his speech--"for the future,"--aroused in her all sorts of
pleasant surmises.
"You are so kind, so very kind, dear Major Winchester, to take so much
interest in my Imogen," she murmured. "Yes, I wish she knew more of
Florence, as I see you think highly of her. Of course she is a good
deal older--"
"Florence cannot be older than that other girl," said Rex, rather
gruffly. "And _her_ age does not seem to be any objection to her as a
friend."
"Imogen is not a particular friend of Mabella's," said Mrs Wentworth,
quietly. "In fact she--I think she has rather taken a dislike to the
poor girl. _I_ like her, I confess, very much. I am sorry for her; she
seems to me much misunderstood; and of course, if a little friendly,
elder-sisterly sympathy can do her any good, or be any help to her--"
Major Winchester could not help smiling. Mrs Wentworth's simplicity
was sublime.
"My dear lady," he said, "you are years--centuries younger than Miss
Forsyth. I cannot agree with you about her, I am sorry to say; but that
does not signify. I am only uncommonly glad to hear that Miss Wentworth
is rather of my way of thinking than yours in this matter."
He rose as he spoke, but Mrs Wentworth was reluctant to let him go.
"How stupid men are!" she thought to herself. "When could he have a
better opportunity of taking me into his confidence?"
"Thank you so much, Major Winchester," she said. "You may indeed trust
me. I shall consider all you have said as quite, _quite_ between
ourselves."
Rex almost started. He looked and felt bewildered. He had had no
intention whatever of establishing any private understanding with the
amiable lady; it was about the very last thing he desired.
"I must go," he said. "Florence will be looking for me elsewhere. It
really doesn't matter in the least if you repeat anything I have said.
Do not feel any constraint about it, I beg of you."
But Mrs Wentworth chose to take it her own way.
"I see where Imogen has learnt her dislike to Mabella," she thought to
herself. "Ah, well--it really does not signify. But how oddly Major
Winchester expresses himself sometimes."
The theatricals were pronounced a great success. Nothing of any
consequence went wrong, and the audience, composed of all the society to
be got together within a reasonable radius of The Fells, professed
itself delighted. This was the festive and sociable season in the north
country, of course; several of the large neighbouring houses were nearly
as full of guests as Grey Fells Hall itself, and their respective hosts
were most ready to be grateful for this entertainment on a large scale.
So the unfavourable criticisms, if there were any, were not made in
public, and congratulations and compliments were the order of the day.
"It wasn't half so dreadful, after all, as I expected," said Imogen,
throwing herself down on a couch standing in a passage just outside the
temporary green-room. "Now it is over, I almost feel as if I should
like to do it again."
She was speaking to Major Winchester. He could not help laughing at her
exceedingly untechnical way of expressing herself.
"I am afraid there is nothing of the `born actress' in you, Miss
Wentworth," he said. "`Do it again,' oh dear!"
"Well, `act it,' `play it'--what should I say?" she replied childishly.
"Oh dear, I am so hot. And we are going to dance; did you know?"
"For your sake I am glad to hear it, if you are fond of dancing," he
said.
"I have only danced at school with the other girls," Imogen replied
dubiously. "But even that was very nice. Only this dress is so heavy.
And it's fixed that we are to keep our dresses on for the rest of the
evening."
"It is heavy, and hot, too, I daresay. But _il faut souffrir pour etre
belle_, you know," he added lightly, "and it certainly is very pretty
and becoming."
He touched, as he spoke, some of the richly-coloured draperies of the
fantastic costume. Imogen flushed with pleasure.
"Do you really think so?" she said. "I am so pleased. Do you know,
Major Winchester," she added, half shyly, "I believe that is the very
first compliment you have ever paid me!" Rex looked at her kindly. She
was very sweet, very lovely just then.
"What a dear child she is!" he thought to himself. For the best of men
are but men, and he was keenly sensitive to beauty. He stroked the
little hand that lay on the couch beside him, and Imogen's colour
deepened still more.
"And after all," he said, "I fear my compliment, such as it was, was
more for `Valesca' than for Imogen."
"Never mind," said she, her voice trembling a little, "Imogen thought it
very nice."
"Imogen is very sweet and--" he replied, but suddenly started up,
exclaiming, with a complete change of voice:
"Robin, my boy! Where have you dropped from? I had no idea you were in
the neighbourhood."