THE FIRST WOOER.
Gladys was writing a long letter to her guardian, setting forth in
eloquent terms what she wished to do for the working girls of the East
End, and asking him for some sympathy and advice, when the housemaid
knocked at the door.
'A gentleman for me, Ellen? Yes, I shall be there presently,' she said,
without looking at the card on the salver. 'Is Miss Peck in the
drawing-room?'
'No, ma'am; she is taking her rest. Shall I tell her?'
'Oh no. Who is it?'
She added another word to her letter, and then read the name on the
card. The maid standing by could not help seeing the lovely access of
colour in the fair cheek of her mistress, and, as was natural, drew her
own conclusions.
Gladys rose at once, and proceeded up-stairs. She did not, as almost
every other woman in the circumstances would have done, go to her own
room to inspect her appearance or make any change in her toilet. And, in
truth, none was needed. Her plain black serge gown, with its little
ruffle at the neck, which would have made a dowdy of almost anybody but
herself, was at once a fitting and becoming robe. Her lovely hair, which
in the early days had hung in straight heavy plaits over her back, was
now wound about her head, and kept in place by a band and knot of black
velvet. She moved with the calm mien and serious grace of a woman at
ease with herself and all the world. A faint hesitation, however,
visited her when she stood without the closed door of the drawing-room.
That curious prevision, which most of us experience at times, that
something unusual was in store, robbed her for a moment of her usual
self-possession; but, smiling and inwardly chiding herself for her own
folly, she opened the door and entered the presence of her lover. She
knew him to be such, it was impossible to mistake his demeanour and his
attitude towards her. There was the most lover-like eagerness in his
look and step as he came towards her, and under his gaze the girl's
sweet eyes drooped and her colour deepened.
'This is quite a surprise,' she said gaily. 'Why did you not bring some
of the girls with you?'
'I haven't seen them for ages, and Julia has a dance on to-night for
which she is saving herself. Besides, perhaps, I wanted to come quite
alone.'
'Yes?' she said in a voice faintly interrogatory. 'And you had to walk
from the station, too? If you had only wired in the morning, I could
have come or sent for you.'
'But, you see, I did not know in the morning I should be here to-day. It
is often the unexpected that happens. I came off on the impulse of the
moment. Are you glad to see me?'
It was a very direct question; but Gladys had now quite recovered
herself, and met it with a calm smile.
'Why, of course; how could I be otherwise? But, I say, you said a moment
ago you had not seen any of the girls for ages; it is only forty-eight
hours since we met in your aunt's drawing-room.'
'So it is,' he said innocently. 'I had quite forgotten, which shows how
time goes with me when you are out of town. Are you really going to bury
yourself here all winter?'
'I am going to live here, of course. It is my home, and I don't want any
other. A day in Glasgow once a week is quite enough for me.'
'Hard lines for Glasgow,' he said, tugging his moustache, and looking at
her with a good deal of real sentiment in his handsome eyes. She was
looking so sweet, he felt himself more in love than ever; and there was
a certain 'stand-offishness' in her manner which attracted him as much
as anything. He had not hitherto found such indifference a quality among
the young ladies of his acquaintance.
'I have just been writing to your Uncle Tom, telling him I want to spend
a great deal of money,' she began, rather to divert the conversation
than from any pressing desire for his opinion, 'and I don't feel at all
sure about what he will say. Your aunt does not approve, I know.'
'May I ask how you are going to spend it?' he inquired, with interest.
'Oh yes. I want to institute a Club for working girls in Glasgow, and a
holiday house for them here.'
'But there are any amount of such things in Glasgow already, and I
question if they do any good. I know my mother and Ju are always down on
them, and there's truth in what they say, too, that we are making a god
out of the working class. It is quite sickening what is done for them,
and how ungrateful they are.'
Gladys winced a little, and he perceived that he had spoken rather
strongly.
'I know there is a good deal done, but I think sometimes the methods are
not quite wise,' she said quietly. 'I am going to run my Club, as the
Americans say, on my own lines. You see, I am rather different, for I
have been a poor working girl myself, and I know both what they need and
what will do them most good.'
'You seem rather proud of the distinction,' he said involuntarily. 'Most
women in your position would have made a point of ignoring the past.
That is what half of Glasgow is trying to do all the time--forget where
they sprang from. Why are you so different?'
'I do not know.' Her lips curled in a fine scorn. 'As if it mattered,'
she said half-contemptuously,--'as if it mattered what anybody had
sprung from. I was reading Burns this morning, and I felt as if I could
worship him if for nothing more than writing these lines--
"The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that."'
'That's all very good in theory,' he said a trifle lazily; 'and besides,
it is very easy for you to speak like that, with centuries of lineage
behind you. I suppose the Grahams are as old as the Eglintons, or the
Alexanders, or even the great Portland family itself, if you come to
inquire into it. Yes, it is very easy for you to despise rank.'
'I don't despise it, and I am very proud in my own way that I do belong
to such an old family; but, all the same, it doesn't really matter.
There is nothing of any real value except honour and high character,
and, of course, genius.'
'When you speak like that, Gladys, and look like that, upon my word, you
make a fellow afraid to open his mouth before you,' he said quickly, and
there was something very winning in the humility and deference with
which he uttered these words.
Gladys was not unmoved by them, and had he followed up his slight
advantage, he might have won her on the spot; but at the propitious
moment Ellen brought in the tea-tray, and the conversation had to drift
into a more general groove.
'To return to my project,' said Gladys, when the maid had gone again, 'I
have one of my old acquaintances among the working girls here just now.
I expect she will help me a good deal. She was the friend of poor Lizzie
Hepburn, whom we have lost so completely. Is it not strange? What do you
think _can_ have become of her?'
'I'm sure I couldn't say,' he replied, with all the indifference at his
command.
Gladys, busy with the tea-cups, noticed nothing strange in his manner,
nor did his answer disappoint her much. She was quite aware that he did
not take an absorbing interest in the questions which engrossed so much
of her own thought.
'The saddest thing about it is that nobody seems to care anything about
what has become of her,' she said, as she took the dainty Wedgewood
teapot in her hand. 'Just think if the same thing had happened to your
sister or either of your cousins, what a thing it would have been.'
'My dear Gladys, the cases are not parallel. Such things happen every
day, and nobody pays the least attention. And besides, such people do
not have the same feelings as us.'
Gladys looked at him indignantly.
'You only say so because you know nothing about them,' she said quickly.
'I do assure you the poor have quite as keen feelings as the rich, and
some things they feel even more, I think. Why, only to-day I had an
instance of it in the girl I have staying here. Her loyalty to Liz is
quite beautiful. I wish you would not judge so harshly and hastily.'
'I will think anything to please you, Gladys,' said George fervently.
'You must forgive me if I am a trifle sceptical. You see, a fellow has
his opinions moulded pretty much by his people, and mine don't take your
view of the lower classes.'
Again he was unfortunate in his choice of words. Gladys particularly
disliked the expression, 'lower classes,' and his apologetic tone did
not appease her.
'They judge them harshly because they know nothing about them, and never
will. One has to live among them, as I have done, to learn their good
qualities. It is the only way,' she said rather sadly.
George set down his cup on the tray, and lingered at the table, looking
down at her with a glance which might have disconcerted her.
'You are so awfully good, Gladys,' he said, quite humbly for him. 'I
wonder you can be half as civil as you are to a reprobate like me.'
'Are you a reprobate?' she asked, with a faint, wondering smile.
'I'm not as good as I should be,' he added frankly. 'But, you see, I've
never had anybody put things in the light you put them in. If I had, I
believe it would have made all the difference. Won't you take me in
hand?'
He threw as much significance as he dared into his last question; but
Gladys apparently did not catch his meaning.
'I don't like to hear you speak so,' was the unexpected reply. 'It is
like throwing the blame on other people. A man ought to be strong enough
to be and to do good on his own account.'
'If you tell me what you would like me to do, I'll do it, upon my word,'
he said earnestly.
'Oh, I have no right to do that, but since you ask, I will say that you
have not very far to seek your opportunities. Your Uncle Tom told me the
other day you employed nearly seven hundred men and women at your mills.
If that is not a field for you to work in, I don't know what is.'
George Fordyce bit his lip ever so slightly, and half turned away. This
was bringing it home indeed, and the vision of himself taking up a new
_rôle_ among his own workpeople rather disconcerted him.
'Now you are offended,' said Gladys quickly; 'and, please, it is not my
fault. You asked me what you should do.'
'Offended with you! No such thing. You could never offend me. Can't you
see, Gladys, that the very reason I would be better is _you_, and you
alone. I want to please you, because I want to win you.'
There was no doubt at all about his meaning now. The passion with which
he spoke brought a blush to the girl's cheek, and she rose hurriedly
from her chair.
'Oh, you must not say such things to me, please.'
'Why not? Every man has the right to speak when he loves a woman as I
love you. Could not you care for me, Gladys? I know I am not half good,
but I'll try to be better for your sake.'
'I have liked you very well. I do like you,' she answered, with a
trembling frankness,--'only, I think, not quite in that way.'
'If you like me at all, I shall not despair. It will come in time. Give
me the hope that you'll try to think of me in that way,' he pleaded
passionately; and Gladys slightly shook her head.
'Try?' she repeated. 'I do not know much, but it seems to me that that
should be without trying.'
'But you need not give me a final answer now. Let me wait and try to win
you--to be more worthy of you. I know I am not that yet, but you know
we've got on awfully well together--been such chums--I'm sure it would
all come right.'
He looked very handsome and very winning, pleading his cause with an
earnestness which left no doubt of his sincerity. Gladys allowed him to
take her hand, and did not draw herself away.
'If you will let me alone a long time--a year, at least--and never speak
of it, I will give you an answer then. It is a very serious thing, and
one must be quite sure,' she said slowly; and that answer was more than
George Fordyce had dared to hope for. There was more deliberation and
calmness in her disposal of the question than would have satisfied most
men, but he had fared better than he expected, and left the house
content.
As for Gladys, she felt restless and unhappy, she did not know why; only
she knew that never had her thoughts reverted with such lingering
persistence to the past, never had its memories seemed more fraught with
sweetness and with pain. She was an enigma, she could not understand
herself.
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