THE WEST END.
Now Gladys had her opportunity of seeing the beautiful side of life. Her
taste being naturally refined and fastidious, found a peculiar
satisfaction in the beauty of her surroundings. It was a very real
pleasure to her to tread upon soft carpets, breathe a pure air, only
sweetened by the breath of flowers, and to rest her eyes with delicate
combinations of colour and the treasures of art to be found in the
lawyer's sumptuous house. Never had she more strikingly betrayed her
special gift, of which Abel Graham had spoken on his death-bed, 'ability
to adapt herself to any surroundings;' she seemed, indeed, as Mina
Fordyce had said, 'to the manner born.'
She endeared herself at once by her gentleness of manner to every inmate
of the house, and very speedily conquered the boy Leonard's aversion to
'new girls.' In less than a week they were chums, and she was a frequent
visitor to his den in the attics, where he contrived all sorts of
wonderful things, devoting more time to them than to his legitimate
lessons, which his soul abhorred. But though she was invariably
cheerful, ever ready to share and sympathise with all the varied
interests of the house, there was a stillness of manner, a 'dreamy
far-offness,' as Mina expressed it, which indicated that sometimes her
thoughts were elsewhere.
The three girls were sitting round the drawing-room fire one wet,
boisterous afternoon, chatting cosily, and waiting for tea to come up.
Between Clara and Gladys there seemed to be a peculiar understanding,
although Mr. Fordyce's elder daughter was not the favourite of the
family. Her manner was too stiff, and she had a knack at times of saying
rather sharp, disagreeable things. But not to Gladys Graham. In these
few days they had become united in the bonds of a love which was to
stand all tests. Clara was sitting on a low chair, Gladys kneeling by
her side, with her arm on her knee. So sitting, they presented a
contrast, each a fine foil to the other. The stately, dark beauty of
Clara set off the fairer loveliness of the younger girl; neither
suffered by the contrast. These days of peace and restful, luxurious
living had robbed Gladys of her wearied listlessness, had given to her
delicate cheek a bloom long absent from it. Her simple morning gown,
made by a fashionable _modiste_ who had delighted to study her fair
model, seemed part of herself. She was a striking and lovely girl, of a
higher type than the two beside her.
'Oh, girls,' cried Mina, with a yawn, and tossing back her brown unruly
locks with an impatient gesture, 'isn't it slow? Can't you wake up? You
haven't spoken a word for half an hour.'
'Do you never want to be quiet, Mina?' asked Gladys, with the gleam of
an amused smile.
'No, never. I'm not one of your pensive maidens. One silent member in a
family is enough, or it would stagnate. Clara sustains the dignity, I
the life, of the house, my dear. Oh, I wish somebody would come in. I
guess half a score of idle young women in the other houses of this
Crescent are consumed with the same desire. But nobody ever _does_ come
in, by any chance, when you want them. When you don't, then they come in
in shoals. I say, Clara, isn't it ages since we saw any of them from
Pollokshields?'
'Yes; but you know we ought to have gone to ask for Aunt Margaret long
ago.'
'I suppose so. We don't love our aunt, Gladys. It's the misfortune of
many not to love their relations. Can you explain that mystery?'
'Perhaps they are not very lovable,' suggested Gladys.
'That's it exactly. Aunt Margaret is--Well, you'll see her some day, and
then you'll admit that if she possesses lovable qualities she doesn't
wear them every day. They are so rich, so odiously rich, that you never
can forget it. She doesn't allow you to. And Julia is about as
insufferable.'
'Really, Mina, you should not speak so strongly. You know papa and mamma
wouldn't like it,' protested Clara mildly; but Mina only laughed.
'It is such a relief on a day like this to "go for" some one, as Len
would say, and why not for one's relations? It's their chief use. And
you know Julia Fordyce has more airs than a duchess. George is rather
better, and he is so divinely handsome that you can't remember that he
has a single fault.'
Was it the firelight, or did the colour heighten rapidly in Clara's
cheek?
'Such nonsense you talk, Mina,' she said hastily.
'It isn't nonsense at all. Have we never exhibited the photograph of our
Adonis, Gladys?'
'I don't think so,' answered Gladys, with a smile. 'Suppose you let me
see it now?'
'Of course. That was an unpardonable oversight, which his lordship would
never forgive. He is frightfully conceited, as most handsome men
unfortunately are. It isn't their fault, poor fellows; it's the girls
who spoil them. Here he is.'
She brought a silver frame from a cabinet, and, with an absurd
assumption of devotion, dropped a kiss on it before she gave it to
Gladys. Gladys sat up, and, holding the photograph up between the light,
looked at it earnestly. It was the portrait of a man in hunting dress,
standing by his horse, and certainly no fault could be found with his
appearance. His figure was a model of manly grace, and his face
remarkably handsome, so far as fine features can render handsome a human
face; yet there was a something, it might be only a too-conscious idea
of his own attractions, which betrayed itself in his expression, and in
the eyes of Gladys detracted from its charm.
'It is a pretty picture,' she said innocently. 'The horse is a lovely
creature.'
Then Mina threw herself back in her chair, and laughed till the tears
ran down her cheeks--a proceeding which utterly perplexed Gladys.
'Oh, Clara, isn't that lovely? If I don't tell George Fordyce that the
first time I see him! It'll do him all the good in the world. Only,
Gladys, he will never forgive you.'
'Why? I have not said anything against him.'
'No, you have simply ignored him, and that is an unpardonable offence
against my lord. You must let me tell him, Gladys. It is really my duty
to tell him, and we should always do our duty by our relations, should
we not?'
'I am sure I don't mind in the least if you do tell him,' replied Gladys
serenely. 'Do you think I said anything very dreadful, Clara?'
'Not I. Never mind Mina, dear. You should be learning not to mind
anything she says.'
'There's the bell. That's mother, I hope. We never miss mother more than
at tea-time,' said Mina, jumping up. Love for her mother was the passion
of her soul. It shone in her face, and betrayed itself in a hundred
little attentions which touched Gladys inexpressibly. Clara was always
more reserved, but though her feelings found slower expression they were
not less deep and keen; and though Gladys felt at home and happy with
every member of that singularly united household, it was to Clara, who
was so seldom the favourite outside, that her heart went out in love.
'It is not mother. It's callers, I do believe,' cried Mina, giving her
hair a tug before the mirror, and shaking out her skirts, while her face
brightened with expectation.
'Mr. and Miss Fordyce.'
Clara rose and went hastily forward to receive her cousins, while the
irrepressible Mina strove to hide her laughter, though her eyes danced
in the most suspicious manner. It was with rather more than ordinary
interest that Gladys regarded the new-comers. They were certainly a
handsome pair, and so closely resembling each other that their
relationship was at once apparent.
'To what do we owe this unexpected felicity?' inquired Mina banteringly.
'On such a day, too.'
'Yes, indeed; we quite expected to see you in the house we have just
left,' said Julia a little stiffly.
'Where, where?'
'Evelyn Stuart's. Have you forgotten this is her first reception day?'
'So it is, and we forgot all about it. Clara, whatever shall we do? Was
there a crowd?'
'Yes, an awful crowd.'
While answering Mina, Miss Julia inclined her head in recognition of
Gladys, to whom Clara introduced her. The slightest possible surprise
betrayed itself in the uplifting of her straight brows, as her keen,
flashing eyes took in every detail of the girl's appearance. Needless to
say, the new inmate of the lawyer's household had been freely discussed
by the Pollokshields Fordyces, and it was in reality curiosity to see
her which had brought them to Bellairs Crescent that afternoon.
'I should just say it was a crowd,' added George, giving his immaculate
moustache a pull. 'I was sorry for Stuart, poor beggar. Really, though a
fellow marries, he should not be subjected to an ordeal like you. I
don't see anything to hinder a fellow's wife from receiving folks
herself. It's an awful bore on a fellow, you know.'
He spoke languidly, and all the time from under his drooping lids
surveyed the slender figure and fair face of Gladys. She was so
different from the brilliant and showy young ladies he met in the
society they moved in, that he was filled with a secret admiration.
'So the unfortunate young woman who marries you, George, may know what
to expect. Do you hear that, girls? Be warned in time,' cried Mina.
'Won't you take off your cloak, Julia, and stay a little? Mother and tea
will be here directly.'
'I daresay we have half an hour--have we, George? You are not going back
to the mill, are you?'
'Not I; my nose has been pretty much at the grindstone for the last
month. And now, girls, what's the best of your news? We're waiting to be
entertained. How do you like the West End of Glasgow, Miss Graham?'
'Very much, thank you,' answered Gladys, and somehow she could not help
speaking distantly. There was something about the young man she did not
like. Had she looked at Clara just then she would have seen her eyes
filled with a lovely, wavering light, while a half-trembling
consciousness was infused into her whole appearance. These signs to the
observant are not difficult to read. Clara loved her handsome cousin,
and unfortunately he was not blind to the fact.
'We are going to Troon first week in May, Julia,' she said quickly. 'Has
Aunt Margaret thought or spoken of your going yet?'
'She has spoken of it, but we haven't encouraged it,' replied Julia
languidly, as she drew off one of her perfectly-fitting gloves, and
displayed a long firm white hand, sparkling with diamonds. 'I know she
has written to the housekeeper to have Seaview aired, but I suppose it
depends on the weather.'
'If you are all going down, it wouldn't be half bad, Julia. We must see
what the mater says. Does Miss Graham go with you?'
'Of course,' replied Clara, with a smiling glance at Gladys.
She replied by an answering smile, so swift and lovely that George
Fordyce looked at her with a sudden access of admiration. Gladys shrank
just a little under the continued persistence of his gaze; and when he
saw it, it added a new zest to his interest in her. He was accustomed to
find his admiration or attention always acceptable to the young ladies
of his acquaintance, and the demeanour of Gladys was at once new and
interesting to him. He determined to cultivate her acquaintance, and to
awaken that fair, statuesque maiden into life.
Just then tea came up, and, rising lazily, he began to make himself
useful to his cousin Clara, murmuring some nonsense to her over the
tea-table, which deepened the lovely light in her eyes. He enjoyed
seeing the delicate colour deepening in her face, and excused himself
for bringing it there on the ground of cousinship. But when he carried
her cup to Gladys, he remained by her side, while Julia entertained the
other two with a description of the bride's drawing-room and reception
gown.
'It's an awful romance, Miss Graham, upon my word it is,' began George,
standing with his back to the others, and looking down most impressively
into the girl's face,--'your story, I mean, of course. Uncle Tom has
told us how you, the heiress of Bourhill, have lived in the
slums--positively the slums, wasn't it?'
Now, though his words were not particularly well chosen or in good
taste, his manner was so impressively sympathetic that Gladys felt
insensibly influenced by it. And he _was_ very handsome, and it was
quite pleasant to have him standing there, looking as if there was
nobody in the world half so interesting to him as herself. For the very
first time in her life Gladys felt the subtle charm of flattery steal
into her soul.
'I suppose you would call it the slums,' she answered. 'My uncle lived
in Colquhoun Street.'
'Don't know it, but I guess it was bad enough, and for you, too, who
look fit for a palace. And did you live there all alone with the old
miser?'
'Don't call him that, please; he was very kind to me, and I cannot bear
to hear him hardly spoken of, she said quickly. 'There were three of us,
and we were very happy, though the place was so small and poor.'
'Who was the third?'
He managed to convey into his tone just sufficient aggressiveness as to
suggest that he resented the idea of a third person sharing anything
with her.
'Walter Hepburn, my uncle's assistant.'
Had she looked at him then, she must have been struck by the strange
expression, coupled with a sudden flash, which passed over his face.
'Ah yes, just so. Well, I'm glad the fates have been kind, and brought
you at last where there's a chance of being appreciated,' he said
carelessly. 'Nice little girls my cousins--awfully good-hearted little
souls, though Mina's tongue is a trifle too sharp. Yes, miss, I'm
warning Miss Graham against you,' he said when Mina uttered his name in
a warning note.
'Now, to punish you, I shall tell you my latest anecdote,' Mina said;
and, heedless of the half-laughing, half-eager protest of Gladys, she
related the incident of the portrait, with a little embellishment which
made him appear in rather a ridiculous light.
In the midst of the laughter which the relation provoked, Mrs. Fordyce
entered the room.
[Illustration]