The fears of the household, however, were not justified. Dolff dutifully
came home to lunch.
Janet, who, instead of being offended and dwelling upon his rudeness,
had not thought of him at all, save with a certain passing satisfaction
such as moves a woman involuntarily when she perceives that her own
appearance has had the effect which it ought to produce--continued to be
agreeably impressed during luncheon with the evident awe and admiration
which she elicited from the son of the house. He was very quiet, not
saying much, civil to his sisters, evidently disposed to please. His
appearance did not impress Janet. He was colorless, like the rest of his
family, with whiskers and a budding mustache, which, being very light,
scarcely showed upon his face: and his form was wanting in those fine
proportions which a girl’s imagination requires in a hero--the length of
limb and commanding height. Dolff was not short, but he was thick, which
neutralized his real stature. It is impossible to describe how civil he
was--to everybody, to Priscilla when she handed him the potatoes; even
to Ju--whom he called Julia. He inquired how she was getting on with
her--history. Evidently he did not know what study he ought to inquire
into, but selected that as most dignified. This continued during the
whole day; for Dolff, to the evident amazement of his family, came in
again at five o’clock and drank tea and ate bread-and-butter in large
quantities.
“I did not think you ever took tea, Dolff,” said his mother, amazed.
“Oh, I think it’s very good for a fellow,” said Dolff; “better
than--other drinks----”
“So do I, my dear,” cried his mother, fervently, and was about to make
further remarks, even perhaps to improve the occasion, had Gussy not
interposed with an imploring glance.
In the evening he suggested a game of backgammon with his mother; the
power of virtue could no further go. The ladies kept a close but
carefully-concealed watch upon him, expecting the moment when he would
break loose, when he would exclaim that he must go out and get a little
air, which generally meant that Dolff disappeared for the evening and
was seen no more. But he endured like a man these hours of severe
domesticity. He looked on while the ladies worked; he stood in front of
the fire and told them stories of Oxford, condescending so far to their
inferiority as to explain phrases and even to apologize for slang, as
well as to throw in several passing biographies of “men” from other
colleges with whom he had formed alliances. I could not assert
authoritatively that Mrs. Harwood, or even Julia, enjoyed these stories,
but they all expressed the utmost interest, plied him with questions,
and did everything that could be done to prolong the autobiographical
narrative. Occasionally a glance would pass between Mrs. Harwood and her
elder daughter--a glance of wonder and satisfaction. Dolff had turned
over a new leaf! Dolff had passed without apparent difficulty a long,
unbroken evening at home.
The next day Dolff continued in the same good dispositions. He even
arranged his books in the little room that was called his study, and
retired there for an hour or two to work, as he said. The ladies
scarcely ventured to express their delight.
“There is no doubt that Dolff must have turned over a new leaf,” said
Mrs. Harwood.
“It looks like it,” said Gussy, “but we must not build much on the first
night.”
The second night, however, was even better than the first. Dolff made an
offer to Julia to help her with her--history, which made that young lady
open her eyes with consternation.
“I’ll come and give you a lecture, if you like--if Miss Summerhayes will
let me,” he said. “I’m an awful dab at history. That’s my subject, don’t
you know. I’ve given up classics, and I’m going in for history--does a
fellow far more good in the world. I’ll give you a course of lectures if
Miss Summerhayes has no objection.”
“Oh, no,” cried Janet, demurely, bending her head over her work to hide
the laugh which she could scarcely restrain: for it would have been
difficult to imagine anything more unlike an academical lecturer than
Dolff as he stood, with his legs very wide apart, against the glowing
background of the fire. “It would be to my own advantage as well as
Julia’s,” she added, “if Mrs. Harwood would not think it too much----”
“Too much for--me?” asked Dolff. “Oh! mother would be delighted to think
I was doing something. I’ll come up to-morrow and see what you’re
about.”
“Well, Dolff, I am sure it is very good of you,” said Mrs. Harwood; “but
I daresay what you learn at the University, where you have the first men
to teach you, would perhaps be rather too much for a little girl.”
“Oh! if that is all! I think you might trust me, mother, to break it
down into nice little scraps,” cried Dolff.
“It would only waste Ju’s time and keep her back from her--music and
other things,” said Gussy, suspicious, though she did not well know why.
“Oh, Gussy!--when you know you have always said I never should do
anything in music,” cried Julia, who saw prospects of fun and congenial
idleness in Dolff’s proposal.
Janet had suppressed her laugh, and was very grave over her needlework.
It was not for her to interfere.
“We’ll think it over,” said Mrs. Harwood; “you don’t always think the
same in the morning as in the evening, my dear boy. No doubt it would be
for Julia’s advantage, for I don’t think, any more than Gussy, that she
will ever do much at her music. I should like to see into it myself
first, and whether it wouldn’t interfere with your time, and if you
remain in the same mind, and so forth. We’ll think it over, Dolff.”
“I never knew that the mother considered herself clever about history
before,” said Dolff, with a laugh. “And what’s all this about music?
I’ve grown a great dab at music, too. You’ve had the piano open these
two nights. Who plays? or sings, is it? Oh! I suppose it’s you, Gussy.
Come along and let us hear.”
“I seldom sing alone,” said Gussy, with a blush.
“Well, come and sing with me. I’m your man. I’ve grown quite a dab at it
this term. Anything to make the time pass. I thought it was something
new when I saw the piano standing open.”
“It is nothing at all new, Dolff. Gussy has always had a very pretty
voice. She is shy about it by herself, so she generally sings in duets
or concerted pieces. But she has a very pretty voice, hasn’t she,
Janet?”
“Are you musical, Miss Summerhayes?”
“She has a very sweet voice,” said Janet. “It came out beautifully the
other night.”
“Are you musical, Miss Summerhayes?”
Janet paused, believing that some one would answer for her. Then she
said.
“I play a little occasionally.”
“You could rattle over a little accompaniment?” said Dolff. “Oh, it’s
not difficult--I could almost do it myself, only one can’t play and sing
too.”
Again Janet hesitated. She cast a glance round the silent company to
know what she was expected to do. But Mrs. Harwood gave no sign, and
Gussy was abstracted, listening for the step which did not come--and
which was so much more important than all the brothers in the world.
“Oh, yes, I think I could rattle over a little accompaniment,” said
Janet.
“Then come along,” cried Dolff, delighted. “I’ll fetch some of my songs
in a moment. They are not Gussy’s sort, and she would not care to play
for me, but the mother will like it, won’t you, mother? There’s a chorus
with most of them,” said Dolff, pausing half-way to the door. “Perhaps
Ju and you could tune up in the chorus? it’s not difficult, and it adds
to the effect.”
“I think, perhaps, I might tune up in the chorus, if it’s not very
difficult.”
“Oh, that’s famous,” cried Dolff, rushing out of the room.
Janet turned an ingenuous glance to her patronesses.
“Am I doing what you wish?” she said. “Perhaps you will tell me, dear
Mrs. Harwood, what it is best to do.”
“It will be horrible Christy Minstrels and things,” said Gussy; “if any
one should come, it would be rather dreadful to have the piano taken up
in that way.”
“At the same time,” cried Mrs. Harwood, “it would be strange if my Dolff
could not sing what he pleased in his own mother’s house.”
“Oh, if you take it in that way,” said Gussy.
She gave a furtive glance at the clock. It was getting late; the
probabilities were that no one would come to-night. And yet sometimes he
came quite late, sometimes he was detained by--business. It was strange
that he never should have appeared since that evening of triumph, when
they had shared the plaudits of their friends, and had been drawn so
close to each other, associated so completely in the common regard.
Gussy had felt that something more definite must come into her relations
with Charles Meredith after that, and she was restless and _distraite_,
unhappy yet subduing her unhappiness, above all things anxious not to
betray herself, or to let even her mother suspect what was in her mind.
A woman must never betray what she expects, in so far at least as this
goes. She went into the other end of the room, voluntarily withdrawing
to a distance where she could not hear any step outside, with a
fantastic hope that when she was thus out of the way it might come: and
moved about, displacing some small pieces of furniture, rustling among
the music on the piano, which was chiefly _his_ music with his name upon
it, in order to give him a chance of arriving unheard. Poor little
device of the strained nerves and sick heart! No one suspected what was
in Gussy’s mind except the last person whom she could have desired to
know it--Janet, who followed her movements with a half-contempt,
half-sympathy. Janet herself was fancy free; though she was immensely
interested in Charles Meredith and his present movements, it was solely
with the interest which is felt in a story, to see what would happen
next; and she had all a girl’s indignation against the woman who thus
let herself go and depended upon a man’s decision for her happiness. At
Janet’s age a girl resents and scorns such a renunciation of the
woman’s rights: yet follows the sufferer with an inalienable pity and
wonder, too.
Dolff came back excited with a sheaf of songs.
“Now, Miss Summerhayes, if you will be so good,” he said. He threw off
the pile of music that was on the piano. “Oh, that’s all classic stuff,”
he said, “I can see with half an eye--and as dull as ditch-water--“C.
Meredith”--it seems all to belong to C. Meredith. I hope you’ll find
mine a little more lively, Miss Summerhayes. It’s Meredith and Gussy
that carry on all that, ain’t it?” he said, with a wink and whisper.
“Oh, you needn’t be afraid--I know.”
Janet sat down at the piano without making any reply, and Julia stood by
as audience. Dolff placed himself at one side, facing towards the
further room in which his mother was sitting. He had turned her chair
round a little, that she might see the performance, which, indeed, was
supposed to gain in effect from the looks and gestures of the performer.
And then there ensued the most curious exhibition of native fatuity,
vanity, and simplicity that could be imagined. Janet (perhaps even more
important than any other spectator) had the privilege of seeing his
face, too, and all the grimaces he made, as he stood facing an imaginary
audience. The ladies listened to him in a silence which was almost
awful.
Janet, whose hands were busy now, was in no way responsible for Dolff:
and the one who could see everything that was ridiculous in the
exhibition without being humiliated by it was the one who was best off.
But for Mrs. Harwood, listening with a gasp to her son’s performance,
seeing his contortions of face, his gestures, his complacency, the
moment was terrible. And even Julia, though she was not much more than a
child, and disposed to receive all her brother did as admirable, gazed
at him open-mouthed with horror in her face. Gussy had given him but one
look, and then had strayed out into the hall. She was not capable of
judging. Her mind was too much distracted with other thoughts. She went
into the hall with a pretence of something to do there, and even into
the dining-room on the other side, where all was dark, yet where she
penetrated, to carry back a vase with flowers, groping her way. It was
so near the garden, the hall door, the outer road. Nobody could pass or
come to the gate without being audible. Poor Gussy pretended even to
herself that her sole object was to take back the flowers which had been
moved into the drawing-room by mistake, though they belonged to the
decoration of the dinner-table. She knocked against the displaced chairs
and the corner of the table as she went in in the dark, thus preventing
herself from hearing any sound outside; and when those noises were still
her heart beat so loudly as to drown all sound--of the less importance,
as there was no sound to hear!
“Dolff,” said Mrs. Harwood, “that is surely a new style for you. I don’t
remember ever hearing you sing songs like these before.”
“I have been having some lessons,” said Dolff; “they are all the rage
just now. You never learn anything else in Oxford.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Harwood; but she said no more, and Dolff, who did not
care very much for her opinion, turned to Janet.
“You don’t do yourself justice, Miss Summerhayes,” he said. “You played
that first-rate. You must have heard Arthur Roberts, or some of them, to
do it as well as that.”
“No,” said Janet, “I never heard of Arthur Roberts. Who is he?” a
question which made Dolff laugh--“scream with laughing,”--he said to
himself.
“Oh, you _are_ original! Who is Arthur Roberts?--that is a good one! Who
is Shakespeare? You might just as well ask one question as the other.
But you play as if--as if you had been all your life at the Vic. I never
heard any one play so well before.”