“Savage at heart, and false of tongue,
Subtle with age, and smooth to the young,
Like a snake in his coiling and curling.”
T. Hood.
|So you have been to the Abbey?” he said, smiling benevolently upon her.
“Yes,” she replied, her blue eyes looking straight into his. “And we
have seen Ralph. He was there, too, just behind us. He walked back with
us.”
Sir Matthew frowned slightly. Then, recollecting the presence of the
servants, he beckoned Evereld to his study.
“Come in here, my dear,” he said, in his soft voice. “You are quite
right to tell me all so frankly, and it is natural enough that you
should be pleased to meet your old playfellow. But you must remember
that things are not now as they once were.”
“Ralph and I shall always be friends,” said Evereld, gently, but with a
firmness which startled her guardian. “Things are not altered between us
because we don’t live under the same roof now. How could that alter us?”
“My dear, it is for Lady Mactavish and myself to decide who shall or who
shall not be your friends,” he said, with quiet decision.
“That may be,” said Evereld, “as far as new friends are concerned, but
I cannot unmake a friend to order--no, not even if the Queen commanded
it.”
They both smiled a little. Sir Matthew paced the room in silence.
“I must not forbid her to hold any communication with him,” he
reflected, “or let her feel that I am a tyrant and they a couple of
martyrs. After all, she is so young and simple and innocent; no mischief
will come of it.”
“Has Ralph found work?” he inquired, not unkindly.
“Yes,” she said, “at Washington’s theatre; and perhaps he is going on a
Scotch tour.”
“Good!” said Sir Matthew, approvingly. “After all, he has talent, and
will make himself a name in time. His best chance would be to marry some
experienced actress older than himself. That has answered very well in
one or two cases. His birth and education would go for something, and if
he plays his cards well the stage may make his fortune. By-the-by, Bruce
Wylie is to dine with us to-night. You like him, do you not?”
“Oh, yes,” said Evereld, “I like him very much.”
And Sir Matthew, satisfied with the warmth of her tone, dismissed her
with a paternal kiss, and an injunction to put on her prettiest gown in
honour of the festival.
Bruce Wylie was certainly the most attractive and amusing of the men
who visited the Mactavishes. He had the easy, comfortable air of an
old friend, and he came and went at all hours, yet never seemed to be
present when he was not wanted. His fair hair and short, fair beard
contrasted rather curiously with his dark, keen eyes. He had a brisk,
kindly, pleasant manner, and a particularly winning voice. There
was about him, too, a saving sense of humour, and the rather heavy
atmosphere of Sir Matthew’s household always seemed less oppressive when
he was present. He was a first-rate _raconteur_, and Evereld was never
tired of listening to his stories.
It was all in vain that she tried to see him with Ralph’s eyes. She
decided in her own mind that his hard experience of the world had made
Ralph somewhat cynical and distrustful. He had convinced her with regard
to Sir Matthew, but to belief in Bruce Wylie she still clung with all
the loyalty of her fresh, innocent youth.
And yet the ladies had only left the dining-room a few moments when
Bruce Wylie revealed a very different side of himself.
“Ewart’s little girl is looking prettier than usual tonight,” he
remarked, as he picked out the preserved apricots from a small dish
in front of him, leaving only bitter oranges and citrons for those who
might come after.
“Yes,” said Sir Matthew, “Southbourne has done wonders for her. She had
better have another six months there.”
“Was she not eighteen in the autumn? She will want to come out next
season.”
“I don’t think it,” said Sir Matthew. “She is happy enough there, and
we shall do well to keep her from the heiress-hunters till she is safely
betrothed to you.”
“Poor little soul!” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively. “There would be no
danger in letting her see a little of the world first.”
“We won’t risk that,” said his companion. “What’s to prevent her falling
in love with some young fellow and refusing to look at you. If she ever
lost her heart, she would be the veriest little shrew to manage--there
would be no taming her. We might prevent her marrying till she was of
age, but you know what revelations would come about when her affairs
were looked into. No, no; she must be safely married to her worthy
solicitor, Bruce Wylie, as soon as possible after she leaves school.”
Bruce Wylie seemed lost in thought. Sir Matthew watched him,
half-suspiciously. They were friends and confederates, but the company
promoter trusted no one in the world implicitly.
“You are thinking that it is a risky venture,” he said, quietly, “but
under the circumstances it’s far the best thing that can be done. If the
South African affair goes on as well as it promises, her money will be
safe enough in the long run; and if a smash comes, why her money will be
gone, but our names and reputations will be safe, and no great harm will
come of it.”
“I was not thinking of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “There’s another side
to the business, and one can’t altogether overlook it. I am fond of the
little thing, and I honestly believe she likes me, but if anything of
this should ever leak out, if, after we were married, her suspicions
were roused, why then, as you say, I can imagine that the taming process
might be difficult. Spite of her china-blue eyes, there’s a pretty spice
of determination in Ewart’s little girl.”
“My dear fellow, you astonish me,” said Sir Matthew, impatiently. “With
enough on your mind to burden most men heavily, you can yet find time to
worry over the matrimonial squabbles that may ruffle your future peace.
When once she’s your wife you’ll be able to do what you please with
her.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “It’s just those little,
gentle women with hardly a word to say for themselves who are always
astonishing people by hidden stores of force and courage and daring at
some critical moment.”
“The only possible difficulty with Evereld would be her friendship for
Ralph Donmead,” said Sir Matthew, “and, as ill luck will have it, the
fellow turned up again to-day.”
“D------ him!” exclaimed Bruce Wylie. “How was that?”
“Saw her at the Abbey, and had the audacity to walk home with her. She
told me all about it with the utmost frankness, and without so much as a
change of colour. I don’t think there is any mischief done yet, but the
less she sees of him the better. It seems that he is doing pretty well
on the stage; at least, I gathered so.”
“Well,” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively, “it is always easy to set a
scandal afloat about an actor, and if she seems losing her heart to him
that is the line we must take.”
And therewith the two friends fell to talking of other business
arrangements.
*****
When Ralph turned away from the house in Queen Anne’s Gate, the
happy excitement of the past hour suddenly gave place to a sobering
realisation of things as they were. He, Ralph Denmead, a super at a
pound a week, had had the audacity to fall in love with a girl of
whose fortune he had, indeed, very vague ideas, but who had always been
considered an heiress. That was a situation he liked very little, but
it was characteristic of him that he did not sink into any very great
depths of depression. He was not easily depressed, having been born with
one of those equable tempers which are as delightful as they are rare.
Then, too, his very indifference to money for its own sake, the habit
he had inherited from his unworldly father of a positive dislike of all
display and a contempt for all but the simplest tastes, came now to
his aid. Extremes meet. And the marriage, which would have seemed a
perfectly simple and desirable arrangement to a selfish fortune-hunter,
seemed also perfectly possible to Ralph with his unconventional way of
looking at things. He disliked her fortune, would gladly have foregone
it altogether, but saw no reason in the world why it should stand as a
barrier between them. If she loved him all would be well. He hoped she
did love him, but was not certain. Only in that last quiet good-bye
of hers something in its very self-control had given him hope; for the
first time she seemed to shrink a little from showing how much she felt
the parting. She was wholly unlike the little girl he had left sobbing
in the schoolroom at Sir Matthew’s country cottage a few months before.
As he thought of this, a sort of wild desire to succeed in his
profession, and to succeed quickly, took possession of him. His present
position at the foot of the ladder seemed no longer tolerable. Patient
plodding had been well enough earlier in the day, but now the fiery
impatience of youth began to get the better of him. He turned eagerly
to Ivy. They had by this time reached Westminster Bridge, and the cold,
fresh wind from the river and the wider view seemed in harmony with
his eager longing for a fuller, freer life, for an escape from the dull
routine of his present work.
“Tell me more about this Scotch tour” he said, eagerly. “Do you think
there is really a chance of our getting into the company? Does your
grandfather think Skoot a decent sort of fellow?”
“Oh yes,” said Ivy, her face lighting up radiantly. “Come and talk to
him about it. He has seen both the manager and his wife: he used to know
them long ago. Oh, do think it over again. Just fancy how beautiful it
would be to see Scotland! We would go to Ellen’s Isle together and see
the Trossachs!”
Ralph laughed. “I fear there are no theatres on the shores of Loch
Katrine,” he said.
“Well,” said Ivy, looking disappointed, “we should at any rate see
mountains, and the travelling would be such fun. I have never been
on tour in my life, hardly ever out of London even. Come in and see
grandfather and talk about it.”
Ralph was persuaded to follow her into the dreary, little house, and
much to Ivy’s satisfaction her grandfather was awake and seemed in
excellent spirits. He was inclined to see everything in the world
through rose-coloured spectacles, and was about as fit to advise any one
as a baby of three years old. But his venerable aspect and his smiling
benevolent face were, nevertheless, impressive and Ralph listened
eagerly to all that he said. It was quite true that he had known this
manager and his wife many years ago: they were most estimable people.
Skoot himself had real talent, his wife not much more than a pretty
face, but they were thoroughly worthy people; she was a woman with whom
he could trust Ivy, he had never heard a word against her. He should
miss Ivy, but the landlady would take care of him and the experience
and even the change of air would be very good for the child. He strongly
advised Ralph to try and get into the Company, it was a chance which did
not occur every day. He would give him a letter of introduction and he
could see the manager to-morrow.
At any other time Ralph would have perceived that the old man’s advice
while he was under the influence of the opium was worth nothing at all.
But now the bland, comfortable voice and hopeful auguries weighed with
him. He accepted the offer of the introduction, and the Professor, urged
by Ivy, who brought him ink and paper and put the pen between his limp,
lazy fingers, actually wrote the letter. After that Ralph bade them
good-bye, went home to dress for the evening, and then set out for the
Marriotts’ house where he had been kindly invited to dine; while Ivy
went to the dress rehearsal of the pantomime. In the evening he talked
over his prospects with Miss Marriott and her niece, giving a very
roseate description of the Scotch proposal. The ladies both advised him
to close with so good an offer; Mr. Marriott would not commit himself,
only counselling him to be sure to have his agreement drawn up in a
legal way, and suggesting that he might take the advice of Washington.
But this, as Ralph knew, would not be so easy; for Washington was a busy
man and though greatly beloved by all his employés had little to do with
them personally. Moreover in his heart of hearts Ralph knew that the
great actor would counsel him to plod on patiently, and every moment he
felt that this had become less possible to him.
The end of it was that he seized the very first opportunity of seeing
Theophilus Skoot, and finding him a very decent-looking man, exceedingly
hopeful as to the business they would do in Scotland, and quite willing
to come to terms, he signed the agreement for a six months’ provincial
tour for which he was to receive a salary of two pounds a week, and
went back to Paradise Street in excellent spirits to receive Ivy’s
congratulations.