TWO UNWISE WOMEN
This conversation haunted our young man all night, and drove him in the
morning to the tea-room, in serious pursuit of the right kind of woman,
if haply she might be found there. To his surprise and consternation the
bird had flown.
"Not ill, I trust?" he said in alarm, at the end of five restless
minutes, during which he had scarcely taken his eyes from the screen.
Sarah was arranging the flowers he had just brought her. She had
patiently waited for this question. "No," she said, with a nonchalant
air. "She _was_ ill--very ill indeed--but she is all right now."
"Is she--she is not away?"
"Just now she is. She wanted a change so badly, poor dear."
"With friends?"
"Yes. They are most kind to her. It was just what she wanted, for she
was quite worn out. The hard work at Cup time prostrated her."
"I'm awfully sorry to hear it. You are sure she is all right again?"
"Oh, quite. They weigh her every now and then, and she has gained half a
stone."
"In this hot weather, too! Evidently it is doing her good. The sea, I
suppose?"
"No. Mountains. At least I suppose they are mountains--I never was there
myself."
"You must miss her very much?"
"Dreadfully. And I am afraid she worries about us. But the room goes on
all right. Lucinda Allonby is a cat, but she is smart at waiting; and
her aunt is a good soul. She is regularly in the partnership now."
"Yes. Did you say your sister had gone to Healesville?"
"No, I didn't."
She laughed mischievously, and Anthony laughed too, his bronzed cheek
reddening.
"What then?" he pleaded. "Come, tell me, there's a good child."
"I should have thought you'd known," said Sarah, playing with his
growing impatience.
"How was I to know anything, away on the sea?"
"I should have thought Mrs. Oxenham would have written to you."
"Of course she has written to me. I got two letters from her last night.
But she has been out of town as long as I have."
"Not quite as long. She stayed a few days after you left, and then she
went home; and she took Jenny with her."
"_What!_" Anthony almost bounded from his chair. "Took Jenny to
Wandooyamba? As her guest?"
Sarah nodded carelessly. "Wasn't it good of her? She found Jenny looking
very ill, and she said she must have a change and rest. And we hurried
to get her clothes ready and fix up an evening dress for her, and off
she went, and there she has been ever since."
"Ever since," groaned Anthony; "while I have been dawdling on that
cursed yacht. If I'd only known----"
"I don't see," said Sarah demurely, "what it has to do with you."
She was a little sore about his long desertion, and wanted to know what
it meant before she permitted herself to be confidential.
He plumped down on his seat in front of her. "It has everything to do
with me," he said; "everything. Sarah--I am going to call you Sarah from
this moment--shall I tell you something?"
She looked at him, holding her breath.
"You must keep it a secret for a little while, until I know whether she
will have me. I am going to ask Jenny to be my wife."
He met her eyes boldly, for he had made up his mind; and she, seeing him
serious and determined, clasped her hands in a speechless ecstasy of
gratitude to Heaven for its goodness to her.
Then he went home and wrote a letter.
"DEAR POLLY,--
"Many thanks for yours, which I got both together last night. We
only returned yesterday, or I would have written before. I am glad
you found all well at home, and that the kiddies were pleased with
their presents. Give them my love. Tell Harry I will see about the
buggy and the stores at once; the latter shall go up by goods
train to-morrow. I suppose he wants the waggonette big enough to
hold you all--something like the old one, only lighter. It might
have been rather serious, that smash. He's too risky with his
half-broken cattle and his fancy driving, and that Emily always was
a fiend incarnate. If she belonged to me I'd shoot her.
"I didn't have such a gaudy time as you seem to think. I'm sure I
don't know what I went for, unless it was to get cool, which there
was little chance of in a boat so crowded. Lord Nettlebury made a
beast of himself as usual, regardless of the ladies, who pretended
not to see it just because it was Nettlebury. I told Maude they
disgraced themselves more than he did, by their indulgence of him;
but women are all alike--or nearly all. It was sickening to see
them fawning over the disgusting little brute, who ought to have
been pitched overboard.
"Danesbury is the best of fellows--mad on his little English
_fiancee_, and with no eyes for anybody else. They chaffed him
unmercifully, but he liked it. She has wonderfully improved him. He
says they are going to live in the country when she comes out, and
he's looking for a place in this colony not too fatiguingly far
from town. He's in the right there. Melbourne isn't wholesome. I'm
sick of it myself--that is, I'm sick of streets, which are the same
everywhere, and of sea, and of men and women who make a child's
game of life. I want a sniff of the bush air before I settle down,
and I think I'll run up to you to-morrow night, when I've seen
about Harry's commissions. We have hardly had a good talk since I
came back, and the kids will be forgetting me. Our stepmother has
been rather getting on my nerves lately; it will be a relief to be
out of her reach for a day or two. And my liver (perhaps that's why
I've been so bored) wants horse exercise after so much loafing. Hal
and I will have some rides together, tell him. I suppose the poor
little beggars have done school, and are in the full swing of
holidays by now. They won't object to a few more toys for Santa
Claus's stocking, I daresay. I will bring you up some fish in ice,
if I can get them fresh enough.
"Yours affectionately,
"A. CHURCHILL."
The writer of this letter posted it at the G.P.O. while spending his
afternoon about town, buying buggies and Christmas presents for his
sister's family, consequently it went up country by the five o'clock
express, and Mrs. Oxenham received it before noon next day. No answer
was expected or required, and therefore Tony was surprised and annoyed
to get a telegram from her, just as he was thinking it time to change
his clothes for his journey, to say,--
"Come to-morrow if equally convenient. Meet you night train."
"What the deuce--oh, here, Jarvis, hold on a bit. Confound the--what on
earth does she mean? Can't have got that great house full of guests, so
that there isn't a corner for me to sleep in--that would be too absurd.
Going out, perhaps--but she wouldn't stop me for that. Can't be
Jenny--she'd stop me altogether if she meant _that_. It's a dashed
nuisance anyhow."
The packing was stayed, and he mooned away to the club, because he
didn't know what else to do with himself. He was lost for want of
occupation, and ridiculously angry at having to kick his heels for
twenty-four hours for no earthly purpose that he could see. There was
nothing to do or to interest one--there never is under these
circumstances; his journey put back at the last moment, he was stranded
until it could be put on again. So he drifted to the club.
There he found his father. It was the old gentleman's habit to play
tennis after business, to keep his fat down--a habit formed long years
before the lawn variety of the game had been invented; and Tony found
him hard at it, and watched him listlessly.
As soon as Mr. Churchill was aware of his son's presence, he exclaimed:
"Why, I thought you were off to Wandooyamba to-night!"
"Going to-morrow," returned Tony.
And when the game was over, the father said, "Come out and dine with us
to-night, boy. You are deserting us altogether these days, and I've got
a lot of business I want to talk over with you."
Tony recognised that it was his duty to accede, because he really had
been neglecting his father (but that was Maude's fault); and he acceded
accordingly, as cheerfully as he could. Jarvis having been informed by
telephone, the two gentlemen took tram together, and were presently
seen by Maude from her bedroom window sauntering up the garden,
affectionately arm in arm. She dashed aside the gown that had been
chosen for the evening, and called for Mrs. Earl's latest--a white
brocade, full of gold threads, that was very splendid.
Anthony had leisurely dressed himself in the clothes he kept at Toorak
for these chance occasions, and was pulling his coat lappets straight
over his big chest when he heard her knock on his door.
"That you, mother?" he called. "How are you?"
"Oh, Tony! Are you ready, Tony?" she called back.
"Yes--no, not quite, I sha'n't be long."
"Do--do make haste and come downstairs. I've something I want to say to
you--very particularly--before the others come down."
"All right. I won't be a minute."
He thought he would dawdle on until he heard the "others"--_i.e._, his
father--on the stairs; then he thought he might as well hear what the
wonderful secret was. It was never safe to put her off. She was liable
to burst at wrong times if kept bottled up too long.