Janet withdrew as quickly as she could from the drawing-room when she
had given Dolff the tea which he now took so regularly, and which his
family considered such a sign of mental and moral reformation. There was
indeed no chance of being left alone with him, which was the thing of
all others she most wished to avoid, for Mrs. Harwood could not go away,
and was always present when she had once been wheeled into the room; but
Janet knew that Dolff would ask her to come to the piano, and take
advantage of the withdrawal there to say things to her which made it
very difficult to keep him at arm’s length as she wished. She turned
away while he was talking to his mother, stealing out of the room,
knowing that her absence would be felt by both, but longing to escape,
feeling the agitation and excitement more than she could bear. And there
could be no doubt that to-night that agitation would be stronger than
ever, for Meredith was sure to come to talk over the dance, as was
almost necessary considering his intimacy in the house; and her heart
beat wildly when she thought of meeting him again in the presence of
them all, Gussy and Dolff, and the mother whose secret they had
discovered. All of the three were more or less wronged in that secret
alliance which had been formed between Meredith and Janet; an alliance,
was it, or a conspiracy? The girl shrank into herself for a moment when
she thought of this, and of the unsuspecting family who knew nothing of
it, and would receive Meredith with such warm kindness, and was so good
to herself. She shrank--but then forgot everything else in the
consciousness that she should meet him to-night--that once more they
would be in the same room, and that with his eyes at least he would say
to her many wonderful agitating things.
Perhaps this secrecy, and the absorbing excitement there was in meeting
him under the eyes of those who were so deceived, who were so little
aware of what was going on beneath, held Janet’s interest more than
anything else. A conspiracy has always a strange fascination in it, and
to carry on secret communications in the face of every scrutiny, and
balk suspicion, and baffle watchfulness, has, especially to the very
young, a piquancy which legitimate intercourse often does not have.
Janet could not escape the sense of guilt, but the interest, the
dramatic combinations that would be gone through in the evening, her own
position as the heroine of the situation, a place which Gussy thought
was hers, but which was not hers, was too strong, or Janet’s conscience
too weak to conquer. Everything yielded to the thought of what he would
say. How he would manage all the conflicting elements, whether he would
be able to say a word to her to tell her if he had received her letter.
It was far more engrossing, far more absorbing than any play.
And it may be imagined what a party it was that sat awaiting Meredith in
the bright room where Mrs. Harwood sat, with the dimmer one beyond,
where all the light centred in the white keys of the piano. Gussy was
full of an expectation, not quite serene indeed, but calmer than might
have been supposed; for, now that she knew all immediate change to be
impossible, she had schooled herself to think that what had been said
about a year was in itself a sort of decision upon which, since better
could not be, her position for the future might be founded. She awaited
his coming, accordingly, with more composure than usual, with a sort of
secret assurance, as almost her betrothed--kept from being so only by
that exaggerated sense of honor which made her impatient sometimes, yet
was nevertheless, in its way, in the mistaken way of men, a high
quality. To be able to think highly of the man she loves, although she
may think him mistaken, or even wrong--to believe that he is wrong in
what is, according to his lights, a chivalrous and high-minded way, is
always delightful to a woman. She had reasoned herself into this view of
the matter, and she sat accordingly in what poor Gussy thought was her
most becoming dress, with a countenance full of light and a heart full
of trembling comfort, awaiting her lover.
Dolff was a little sulky: he was disappointed and troubled that Janet
had run away from him after tea, just when they might have had, he said
to himself, a quiet hour, undisturbed by anyone, either for music or
talk. Now that fellow Meredith would come and take possession of the
piano, and make an exhibition of himself and his singing all
night--keeping everybody else out in the cold. Dolff thought that it was
not fair. He ought to be the first to be considered in the house; not a
fellow who has not even the pluck to speak out, who was dangling on
forever without coming to anything. That would never be Dolff’s case.
Difficulty in making up his mind was not a fault of his. He knew what he
wanted, and, by Jove, he would have it, too, whatever his mother might
say. They would want him to marry somebody with money, he knew; but
there was only one woman in the world whom he would ever marry, and what
did it matter to him whether they gave their consent or not?
Thus he mused, sitting as near as he could to Janet, talking to her
about the music. Talking about music threw dust in the eyes of his
mother and sister, and stopped any interference on their part--and _she_
understood well enough what he meant. She was so quick--at the first
word, almost before you were aware yourself, she knew what you meant.
She was the most wonderful creature that had ever been born; there was
none like her, none.
I wonder if Mrs. Harwood, sitting by the side of the fire, had any idea
what was going on in the minds of the young people who surrounded her,
and who were ready to start, at a word from her, to do anything she
wanted. They all thought she had not. Gussy believed that her mother,
save for the momentary surprise she had expressed, was entirely
satisfied with Meredith, and calmly considered him as one of the family.
Dolff thought that his rising passion for Janet would burst upon his
mother as a great discovery, calling forth her wrath and (ineffectual)
resistance when he should announce it to her. And Janet? Janet was the
only one who was not so sure. She was quicker in perception than either
of them; and there were looks in Mrs. Harwood’s eyes sometimes which did
not consist with the quiescence of her _rôle_ as a mere good-natured
mother of a family, living only to humor her children. Besides, Janet
was aware of the secret in this genial woman’s life. She knew that there
must have been something deeper, something more tragical in it than
anybody suspected.
Mrs. Harwood, motionless in her chair, taking every accident with such
perfect good-humor, smoothing everybody down, no doubt observing
everything, was the one in the party of whom Janet was afraid. But her
children were so well accustomed to her, so dutifully, habitually
disregardful of her, taking her for granted, as children do, that they
made little account of her watchfulness and knowledge. “Mamma takes no
notice,” they said and thought.
“I wish you’d just try over this thing with me, Miss Summerhayes. I want
to have it perfect,” said Dolff.
“Oh, please do give us a little respite, Dolff--we know all your songs
by heart.”
“I did not ask you,” said Dolff, with fraternal rudeness. “So do I know
all your songs by heart--and Meredith’s--and I don’t think much of them.
Besides, this is none of my old songs,” he said, with a little shyness.
“It’s one Miss Summerhayes looked up for me, and I know you’ll like it,
mother--something old and nice--not classical, which is not in my
way----”
“I should think not, indeed,” said Gussy, with scorn.
“Or the other, which I used to like: but I don’t care for them now. Miss
Summerhayes--oh,” he continued, rudely, “here’s that fellow; I suppose
we shall have to give it up for to-night?”
“There is no reason why you should give up, Dolff. You speak as if
Charley--who has far more sense--would ever interfere with you.”
“Oh, I know!” said Dolff, digging his hands into his pockets. He brought
the song he had intended to sing to Janet, and standing behind her chair
showed her how he had marked it in consonance with her teachings. “You
said this was to be very _piano_” said Dolff, “it’s not how the stupid
printers have done it, but I am sure you know best.”
This appeal to her, though she felt it almost intolerable, carried Janet
through the moment of Meredith’s entrance. Gussy rose to meet him, going
forward a step involuntarily with the instinctive air of being the
person most concerned. He shook hands with Janet as with the rest,
pressing her hand as she hoped he did not press the others, till she had
nearly cried out, and giving her a look under his eyebrows, which she
felt to mean that he had received her communication. And then he sat
down, and Dolff retreated, giving up to the superior influence. Meredith
brought in with him a changed atmosphere altogether. The humdrum family
routine, with all its little subdued oppositions and disagreements, but
dull surface of unity, quickened into interest. He divided his smiling
looks, his little flattering bantering speeches, among them all.
“Well,” he said, “let’s talk of last night. I suppose that’s still
uppermost in all our minds. I hope that you are all quite convinced that
it was the greatest possible success.”
“You know,” said Gussy, “we are not very sanguine people in this family.
We are always seized with secret doubts afterwards whether all our
friends were not making believe to enjoy themselves.”
“I cannot say that is my frame of mind,” said her mother; “yes, I
thought it went off very well. Everybody looked pleased; they ate a very
good supper, and there was no getting them out of the house. I don’t at
all think they were making believe.”
“Ah, mamma, but you’re not quite a Harwood, as I often tell you.”
“You are the best judge, Mrs. Harwood,” said Meredith, “for you look on
and see the game. We are all so much engaged in thinking of our own
parts that we never take in the whole.”
“I see, perhaps, more that I am supposed to see; but I don’t pretend to
be omniscient, Charley, as you give me credit for.”
“With an eye for everything,” he said, laughing--“for our vagaries, all
and sundry, and for the supper, and for Vicars and who knows how many
private matters besides.”
“Vicars,” said Gussy; “he is the least of mamma’s cares, I should think.
He is the most invaluable person for such a party as we had last night.
He is the best servant I ever saw, though one might think, as he does so
little household work, that he would get out of the way. But he doesn’t.
He never forgets anything----”
“Oh, that’s a great deal to say,” said Meredith, again with a laugh. “I
think I’ve seen occasions on which he has been caught out.”
Mrs. Harwood took no notice of this, though her attention quickened.
“Vicars,” she said, tranquilly, “is a very old servant; but I think you
may give me some credit, for I superintended everything last night.”
Meredith gave Janet a look. Did anybody see it, could anyone notice it,
but herself? The secret that they both knew seemed to burn between them
like a link of fire.
“Everything,” he said, “is a big word.”
The laugh with which he accompanied this seemed to Janet full of
suggestion, and as if he intended his hearers to understand that there
was something beneath; but this was probably only her excited
consciousness, for he began at once to plunge into details of how Miss
Robinson danced all the evening with Mr. Green, and the hard ado he
himself had to prevent two rival mothers from coming to blows.
“For I hope you all saw how I devoted myself to supper and the old
ladies,” he said.
“You did not dance very much, I perceived,” said Gussy.
“No; and chiefly with the plain people, the people who had no partners.”
He sent a laughing glance towards Janet. “Indeed, I think I may give
myself credit for having quite fulfilled my _rôle_ of the next
friend--the next after the son of the house.”
“Dolff does not understand his duties in that way,” said Mrs. Harwood.
“He dances with all the prettiest people, and never goes near the
dowagers; but Charley, I think, is taking too much credit to himself.”
“You seem to me,” said Dolff, returning from the outer room still with
his hands in his pockets, “to be making a great deal of talk about
nothing. I didn’t see that it required such dreadful exertions to make
the dance go off. It went off of itself, as dances usually do, so far as
I can see.”
“Dolff settles the matter like a Daniel come to judgment. Well, I can
only say for myself that last night is one that I shall remember all my
life. For finding out more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of
in anyone’s philosophy, commend me to a dance.”
“Finding out?” said Gussy, with a look of surprise.
“Oh, yes; the hearts are uncovered like the shoulders, and all the
corners of the house open. Don’t you agree with me, Miss Summerhayes?”
Janet fell a thrill of terror come over her. What did he mean? Was he
going to disclose their discovery, to demand explanations?
“I don’t think,” she said, faltering, “that I--wanted to find out
anything. It was a very nice dance.”
“That’s what I say,”, said Dolff. “I don’t understand metaphysics. But
it was not quite such a nice dance as I hoped,” he said once more,
stooping over Janet’s chair.
It is probable that this last little speech was not intended to be
heard, but there was a pause at this moment, and as a matter of fact it
was audible enough. Mrs. Harwood and Gussy both looked towards the
speaker, whose boyish face was a little flushed as he looked down upon
the governess. It diverted their attention from the fact that there was
something strange, not quite comprehensible, in what Meredith had said.
They were not susceptible about the discoveries that could be made in
their house; perhaps, Gussy thought, though his language was a little
strange, that all he said was directed to herself, to impress upon her
the communications of last night, and to make it more and more evident
to her that, little as had been said then, he considered the evening a
turning-point in his life. She was very willing to adopt this view. It
flattered all her feelings, and confirmed her wishes. He was wrong, oh,
very wrong, in that point of honor of his; but he was very anxious. And
that, notwithstanding the visionary necessity that sealed his lips, she
should fully understand him she threw herself into the discussion and
led him on to the gossip of which he was a master, and which amused Mrs.
Harwood. They took all the ladies and their toilets to pieces, and
Meredith had various stories, funny and otherwise, to tell of the men.
In society of every kind the characters of the absent are often torn to
pieces with no particular motive, or one which is half good, to divert
the minds of the audience from more important things. The friends of the
Harwoods suffered in this way, because the situation had become, nobody
knew how, somewhat strained, and the conversation, no one could
understand wherefore, uncomfortably significant--and this holocaust was
offered up with the usual advantageous results.