THE CONCERT.
[Illustration: Chapter IV drop-cap B]
But this was more easily said than done. Mollie had a certain style
about her--the style which accompanies a perfectly-made body and a
well-ordered mind. But she had none of that peculiar appearance which
constitutes fashion. Her hair was simply knotted at the back of her
head, and was without fringe or wave. The only dress she had at her
disposal had been made two years ago. The sleeves were too large for
the prevailing mode, and the bodice was by no means smart. Mollie,
however, put on her unfashionable garment with the best faith in the
world, and tripped up to Kitty when her toilet was complete.
"How do you like me?" she said.
Kitty turned to her, and her brown eyes flashed fire.
"Oh, you must not go out looking like that," she was about to say. But
she suddenly stopped.
She herself was the very perfection of dainty neatness, of fashionable,
yet not too fashionable, attire. Her hair was picturesquely arranged.
Her hat was stylish; the very veil which hid and yet revealed the roses
on her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes was what the world would
call _the mode_. Beside this dainty and perfectly-arrayed little
personage Mollie looked almost dowdy.
"And I could change all that in a minute," thought Kitty. "It is just
to lend her my brown hat with its plume of feathers, and the jacket
which came home last week, and the deed is done. But shall I do it?
Gavon already admires her too much. Now is the time for him to see the
difference between us. She shall go as she is. I dare not run the
risk of losing him; and he likes her--oh, I know he likes her. This
day, perhaps, will settle matters; and Mollie, my darling Mollie, for
my sake you must not look your best."
Aloud, Kitty said in a careless tone,--
"Very nice, indeed, Mollie. And how do I look? What do you think of
your little sister?"
"How pretty your face is," replied Mollie, "and how neat your figure!
Do you remember how I used to scold you long ago for not walking
upright? You are very upright now."
But as Mollie spoke Kitty perceived that she had never glanced at the
fashionable dress. She only saw the soul in the bright eyes and the
happy smile round the lips. Gavon's voice calling them was heard from
below. They ran downstairs.
When they appeared, Captain Keith glanced from one sister to the other.
He was dimly conscious that a change, and that not exactly for the
better, had come over Mollie, and that Kitty looked, as she always did,
the perfection of charm. Nevertheless, the expression in Mollie's eyes
and the tone of her voice continued to arouse that strange, delicious
foreign feeling in his breast. He found that he liked to touch her
hand, and that he also liked to look into her brown eyes. He was not
yet aware of his own sensations. He only thought,--
"I am but tracing the extraordinary likeness and the extraordinary
difference between these two girls. Of course I know Kitty's dear
little phiz, and Mollie's is almost the same, feature for feature, and
yet there never were any two girls who have less in common."
The three arrived at St. James's Hall in good time. Gavon secured
seats for his party, and they soon found themselves listening to a fine
concert. Mollie had a passion for music, and as she sat now and
allowed it to fill both heart and soul, her eyes kindled, and the
colour came rich and deep into her cheeks. Gavon continued to watch
her almost stealthily. Kitty chatted whenever she could find a moment
to give her gay little voice a chance of being heard. Gavon sat
between the two; he answered Kitty, and talked with her, scolding her
now and then, and desiring her on many occasions to "hush," "not to
make so much noise," to "behave herself," and much more to the same
effect. As long as he spoke to her at all, poor Kitty was in the
seventh heaven of bliss. From her present position she could not see
how often he glanced at Mollie, and fancied that her little stratagem
to make her sister not look quite at her best was bringing the most
satisfactory results.
The first half of the concert was over, when a man pushed his way along
the line of people and dropped into a seat by Kitty's side. She
uttered an exclamation, half of annoyance and half of pleasure.
"How do you do, Miss Hepworth?" he said. "I have not seen you for a
very long time.--Ah, Keith, how are you?"
"I did not know you were in London, Major Strause," answered the girl.
"London is practically empty; but, all the same, this war news is
bringing many of us up," he replied.
Mollie looked round to see what the newcomer was like. She noticed a
somewhat thick-set man, with reddish hair and a very long moustache.
His eyes were of a light blue. His face was considerably freckled.
Mollie voted him at once commonplace and uninteresting, and would not
have bestowed any further thought upon him had she not observed a
curious change in Keith's appearance. His face turned first white,
then stern and sombre. He ceased to talk to Kitty, who was devoting
herself now, with all that propensity for flirting which was part of
her nature, to Major Strause.
"Do you know him well?" asked Mollie suddenly, in a low tone.
Keith gave a start when she addressed him. He turned and looked full
at her.
"You already hold a secret of mine," he said, "and I am about to make
you a present of another. The man who drugged me that night six months
ago is Major Strause."
Mollie had too much self-control to show the surprise which filled her.
"I have something I want to tell you," continued Keith. "Can I see you
somewhere alone?"
"Gavon, the music is going to begin again; do stop talking," cried
Kitty, in a restless voice.
A girl who made her name at that concert came to the front of the
stage, and her magnificent organ-like notes filled the building.
Mollie, however, much as she loved music, scarcely listened. It was
not only the tone in Gavon Keith's voice, but the words which he had
uttered, which filled her mind. Something was undoubtedly wrong.
The song came to an end, and in the _furore_ which followed Keith
seized the opportunity to bend again towards Mollie.
"I shall be in the front drawing-room to-night at seven," he said.
"Can you come down a few moments before the rest of the party?"
"I ought not," was Mollie's response.
"I ask it as a favour--a great personal favour. Will you refuse me?"
Mollie did not reply for an instant.
"I will come," she said then.
Major Strause did his utmost to make himself agreeable to Kitty, who,
after the first moment of excitement, paid him but scant attention.
Keith, having received Mollie's promise, was now quite ready to devote
himself to the little girl, and his gay remarks and her smart repartees
caused considerable laughter on the part of all the young people.
When the concert was over, Major Strause invited the entire party to
have tea with him at his club. Mollie looked at Keith, expecting him
to reply in the negative; but to her surprise he accepted the
invitation with apparent cordiality. They all went to the Carlton,
where the major entertained them; and as if thoroughly satisfied with
his conversation with Kitty, he now turned his attention to Mollie.
She told him she was a Sister of the Red Cross; whereupon he looked her
all over, and said, bowing as he spoke,--
"Then we may have the pleasure of meeting again, and under different
circumstances."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Why, my dear Miss Hepworth, need you ask? I mean that war is
inevitable: my regiment, and that also of my friend Captain Keith, will
be among the first ordered to the front. If you are a Sister of the
Red Cross--"
"I shall go to South Africa," replied Mollie. She spoke in a low tone,
and there was a thrill of enthusiasm in her voice.
"Then we are quite certain to meet again," he said, and he turned from
her to Kitty to address a remark on a totally different matter.
It was past six o'clock when the girls got home. Kitty was inclined to
dawdle downstairs; but Mollie, remembering her promise to Keith,
hurried off to her room. Kitty stayed behind for a moment. She
suddenly stretched out her hand to Keith, who took it in some
astonishment.
"Well, little girl, what now?" he asked.
"Tell me what you think of her," said Kitty.
"Think of whom?"
"My sister--my Mollie."
"I admire her very much; she reminds me of you."
"Oh, does she?" answered Kitty. She dimpled and smiled. "Is that
really why you are so much interested in her, Gavon?"
"It is one of the reasons," he replied, after a pause. "She reminds me
most wonderfully of you. But at the same time there is a great gulf
between you. Your sister has been trained in one of the finest
professions a woman can possibly take up. She has therefore a force of
character, an individuality which--"
"Which I lack. Oh, you need not apologize," said Kitty, looking half
amused, half sorrowful. "Mollie always, always had just what I lack.
But I thought--"
"Let your thoughts run in the old groove, Kitty," replied the young
man. "You are the most charming friend a man could possibly possess.
But I hear my mother's voice. We shall meet again at dinner."
Kitty mounted the stairs slowly.
"I wonder what Gavon really thinks about me, and about her," she said
to herself. "It was to me he spoke whenever he had a chance this
afternoon, but it was at her he looked. Did he wonder at her dowdy
dress? Darling Mollie was not at her best; and I felt such a wretch,
for I could have made her lovely. When once I am engaged to Gavon, my
Mollie shall want for nothing."
Kitty hummed a gay air as she entered the large bedroom which the two
girls shared. Mollie was arranging her hair before the glass, and the
lace evening dress which she had worn on the previous night lay on her
bed.
"What a hurry you are in!" cried Kitty. "We have oceans of time. We
need not begin to dress until seven o'clock."
"But I must dress at once," replied Mollie.
"Why?"
Mollie did not answer immediately.
"Why?" repeated Kitty, whose nerves were so strained that she could
brook no suspense of any sort.
Mollie thought quickly; then she turned and looked at her sister.
"I will tell you," she said. "Captain Keith wants to see me for a
minute or two. It is in connection with a matter which I happened to
hear about when I was at Netley--a matter of which you know nothing.
Dear little girl, if you are worth your salt you will not be jealous."
Kitty's face turned very white.
"But I am jealous," she said then, slowly. "I suppose I am not worth
my salt. I am jealous--horribly so. O Mollie, don't go to him; don't,
Mollie! Mollie, do stay here, for my sake."
"I am sorry, Kitty. I have promised Captain Keith to give him a few
moments, and I cannot break my word. You must trust me, and not be a
goose."
Kitty crossed the room slowly. Her very steps trembled. She reached
her bed and flung herself on it. When she raised her face after a
moment or two, the tears were streaming down her cheeks.
"This is intolerable," thought Mollie. "I never could have guessed
that my little sister would be so silly. The best thing I can do is to
take no notice." So she checked the impulse to go up to Kitty, take
her in her arms, and fuss over her and pet her, and went on with her
own toilet.
As the clock was on the stroke of seven she turned to leave the room.
She had just reached the door when Kitty gave a cry.
"Mollie," she said.
Mollie went up to her at once.
"Dress yourself like a good child and come down when you are ready,"
was her remark. "And let me say one thing: _Don't be a little goose_."
Mollie closed the door behind her, and Kitty covered her face with her
hands. She shivered.
"Is it true?" she murmured. "Is it possible that after all these
months and years, and all these hopes and all these dreams, I am doomed
to see him love another, and that other my own sister? Oh, it is too
cruel! It will kill me--it will drive me mad!" She clenched her hands
till the nails penetrated the tender flesh. Then she opened them wide,
and looked at them with self-pity.
"It is too cruel," she said to herself. "Even now he is talking to
her, telling her secrets. He never told me a secret in all his life.
He has always just been the very dearest of the dear, but he has never
yet told me even one secret. He has not known her twenty-four hours,
and already he is confiding in her. I won't stand it. I wonder what
they are talking about. Why should I not know? I have a right to
know--every right. I am all but engaged to him. All my friends think
that I shall marry Gavon. His own mother thinks it--I know she does.
And Gavon--oh, he must, he must know what I feel for him! He must
return my love! Life would be intolerable without him. If he has a
grain of honour, he will engage himself to me, and soon, very soon. It
is not right, therefore, that he, an almost engaged man, should tell
secrets to another woman. Those secrets belong to me. Oh, how I have
loved Mollie! but just now I hate her. Mollie darling, it is true--I
hate you! I hate that calm face of yours, and that gentle smile, and
those cool, comforting hands. And I hate your manner and the way you
talk. I hate your very walk, which is so dignified and so full of
confidence. You have all that I never had, and in addition you have
got my pretty features, my eyes, my lips, my teeth, the same coloured
hair, the same colour in your cheeks. It isn't fair, Mollie darling,
it isn't fair. Life is too hard on Kitty if you take from her just the
one only man she could ever love. I know what I'll do. I'll dress in
a jiffy, and I'll go into the back drawing-room. I know how I can slip
in--just by that door that is so seldom opened. I will stay there, and
I'll hear everything. They won't look for me; but even if they do it
doesn't matter, for there is that in me which--oh dear, am I mad?"
Kitty sprang from the bed. She rushed to her washstand, poured out
some hot water, laved her face and hands, and then arranging her hair
with one or two quick touches she put on her black net evening dress.
She was too excited to think of her usual ornaments. Her little round
throat had not even a solitary string of pearls encircling it. Her
arms were destitute of bracelets. She opened her door softly, and put
out her head to listen. There was not a sound. The thickly carpeted
passages and the stairs were empty. The first dressing gong had
sounded, and there was yet quite a quarter of an hour before dinner.
Catching up her skirts to prevent even the rustle of the silk as she
flew downstairs, Kitty reached the drawing-room floor. She opened a
door which was seldom opened; it led into the small back drawing-room,
a room which in its turn opened into the conservatory. The back
drawing-room was seldom lighted, except when Mrs. Keith expected
company. It was quite dark now, and Kitty, agile and watchful, flung
herself on a sofa in a corner, where she knew she could not be seen.
She bent a little forward and listened with all her might.
"I have told you all that I can tell you, and you understand?" said
Keith.
These were the first words that fell on her ears. Keith's voice
sounded a great way off, and Kitty perceived to her consternation that
her sister and Captain Keith were standing at the other end of the long
drawing-room. In order not to miss a word, she was obliged to leave
her first hiding-place and steal more towards the light. The couple,
however, were too absorbed to notice her.
"I have told you," repeated Keith; "you know all that is necessary now."
"Yes," answered Mollie. Then she said, "But a half-confidence is worse
than none."
"I have good reasons for withholding the rest," was Keith's answer. "I
have resolved to keep it a secret."
"On account of--Kitty?" was Mollie's remark.
It was received with a puzzled stare by Captain Keith. He stepped a
little away from her, and then said emphatically,--
"Yes, for Kitty's sake, and for my mother's sake. What is the matter?
Why do you look at me like that?"
"I don't believe in keeping these sort of things secret," said Mollie.
"It would be very much better to make a clean breast of the whole
affair. It is never wrong to tell the truth. I have always acted on
that motto myself."
"It is easy for a woman to act on it," replied Keith; "with a man
things are different."
"They ought not to be," said Mollie, with passion. "It is, I firmly
believe, the right and the only right thing to do. Now you to-day--"
"Ah, I understand; you must have thought me inconsistent. I was,
doubtless, in your opinion too--cordial."
"You certainly were."
"I could not have done otherwise. Kitty would have been amazed.
Whatever one's inclinations, one has to think of the feelings of
others."
Before Mollie could reply to this Mrs. Keith entered the room.
"Why has not John lit the lamp in the small drawing-room?" was her
first remark.
At these words Kitty softly opened the seldom-used door and fled. She
rushed to her room.
"Now I know; now I know!" she panted. "Yes, I know everything. Mollie
thought him too cordial, and he said that he did not wish to hurt my
feelings, whatever his own inclinations might be. Oh, can it be
possible that Mollie is false to me? But there! hearing is believing."
The dinner gong sounded, and Kitty was forced to go downstairs. Her
cheeks were bright, and she looked remarkably pretty; but her head
ached badly. She sat in her accustomed place, close to Captain Keith.
He began to talk to her in the light, bantering, and yet affectionate
style he generally adopted when in her presence. She gave him a quick
glance and shrugged her shoulders.
"I have a headache," she said abruptly; "I would rather not speak."
"My dear child," exclaimed Mrs. Keith, "I hope you are not going to
have influenza!"
"And I trust I am," replied Kitty, in a defiant voice. Then seeing by
the astonished pause that she had said something even more _outré_ than
usual, she looked round the company and gave a ghastly smile. "I mean
it," she said; "it would be such a good opportunity for Molly to nurse
me."
"But you can have the horrid thing half a dozen times," said Keith.
"Come, Kit, do be pleasant. It won't do you any harm, even if you have
a headache, to laugh at my jokes."
"You are like all men--horridly selfish," retorted Kitty. And then she
added, as if to put the final cap on her rudeness, "And your jokes are
never worth laughing at. You descend to puns; could any human being
sink lower? Oh, talk to Mollie, if you must talk to any one. I mean
what I say--I would rather be silent."
Keith shrugged his shoulders. He was fond of Kitty, and was sorry to
see her put out.
"What can be the matter?" he said to himself. He knew her well enough
not to place much faith in the headache.
The rest of the dinner was a dismal failure, and when it was over Kitty
retired to the back drawing-room. Nothing mattered, she said to
herself; Gavon, after all, did not care for her. He was polite, civil,
even affectionate, because he did not want to hurt her feelings.
Meanwhile Mrs. Keith, in the other room, was talking to Mollie.
"Gavon tells me that there is not a doubt that war will be declared
immediately," she said. "There are moments when all mothers have to
crush their feelings; but when it is the case of an only son it is
terribly difficult. It is hard to see him go away into danger, and to
feel that he may never return!"
"And yet you would be the very last woman on earth to keep him back,"
replied Mollie.
"That is true," answered Mrs. Keith. "I would not restrain all that is
noble and good in him for the world." She looked around her. "Kitty!"
she cried. There was no response. "Where can the child be?" she said
suddenly; "she seemed ill at dinner."
"She ought to go to bed if she has a headache," said Mollie. "I will
go and speak to her. Ah, I see her in the back drawing-room. She is
reading something."
"Then don't disturb her," said Mrs. Keith. "Sit near me, Mollie; I
like to talk to you. Ah, here comes Gavon.--Gavon, go and have a chat
with poor little Kitty; for some reason or other, she is very much put
out."
Keith crossed the room and sat down by Kitty.
"How is the head now--any better?" he asked.
His tone was always sympathetic; at this moment it was dangerously so.
Kitty swallowed her tears and looked full up at him.
"It is not my head," she said.
"I thought not," he replied with a laugh, which, in spite of himself,
was uneasy. "Something has ruffled the small temper. Is not that so?
What is the matter, my dear little coz?"
"Don't call me that."
"Why not? You are my cousin after a fashion."
"I am not, and I don't want to be."
Captain Keith coloured.
"Come," he said, "this is serious. I did not think--I mean when you
were--yes, cross at dinner, I did not suppose that it would last. But
you use words which it is difficult to understand. What have I done to
offend you, Katherine? Have we not always been good friends?"
"What have you done?" she answered. She trembled all over, and in her
agitation blurted out words which she had thought never to utter. "You
are false, and I thought you true," she said. "Why did you lead me to
believe--"
"Hush!" he said sternly. He laid his hand for a moment on hers.
"Little girl, you will say something which you will regret all your
life. Don't talk to me while you are angry. Recover your
self-control; then I will listen as long as ever you please."
"Oh yes, my pain is nothing to you!"
"I beseech you to exercise self-control. Do be silent for the present,
I beg, I implore of you."
"What do you mean?" she said. "Your manner frightens me."
He dropped his voice.
"Kitty," he said, "I want you to be courageous and strong, and to help
my mother. An hour of sore trial is close to her, and I have not told
her yet. I do not want her to hear until the morning. Kit, little
Kit, my regiment is under orders to sail for South Africa on Saturday
week--just ten days from now. I have just ten more days in the old
country, and during these ten days, Kitty--"
"O Gavon!" she cried, "if you go--"
"What?"
"Take me, oh, take me with you!"
"Kitty!" His tone was a shocked exclamation. He stood up also and
backed away from her.
"I know what you feel," she said recklessly. "You have shown it all
too plainly. I will speak now if I have to be silent all the rest of
my life. Were you blind, Gavon, not to see that I--that my heart is
breaking?"
"Poor little girl! But the mother would not go to South Africa, and
you could not go without her."
"Oh, don't you, _won't_ you understand?" she repeated.
He shrugged his shoulders, looked at her as she gazed up at him with
all her burning passion shining in her eyes, and then sat down to face
the inevitable.
"I cannot pretend to misunderstand you, Kitty," he said then; "I do
know what you mean. You ought not to have spoken. No girl should put
a man in such a position."
"A man thinks nothing of putting a girl in such a position," she
retorted, with spirit.
"I have not done so." He longed to say something more, but checked
himself. "Yes, you have made a mistake," he said. Then, endeavouring
to calm his voice, "And a man cannot take his wife into the
battlefield. War is inevitable. This is no time to think of--"
"You don't love me--that is what you mean," said Kitty.
He hated to give her pain. Perhaps he was weak enough to have said
words just then which he might have regretted all his days, but just at
that moment a vision of Mollie, as she had looked when he spoke to her
before dinner, returned to him.
"It is true that I do not love you in that sort of fashion, Kitty," he
said then. "I am fond of you, my dear; but you must know, you must
guess, that there is a difference."
"Oh, so wide!" she cried. She stretched out both her arms. "There is
a love which fills the heart, which covers the horizon, which colours
every single thing one does; and there is also what people call an
ordinary friendship or attachment. How dare people speak of the two in
the same breath? You, Gavon, give me an ordinary friendship. In
return for my pretty speeches, and my songs, and my gaiety, and my fun,
you give me an ordinary friendship. And I give you--oh, just
everything!" Kitty spread her arms wide. Her face was pale, the tears
had partly dried on her cheeks, and her eyes looked larger and more
full of soul than he had ever seen them before.
"I am not worthy of it, Kitty," said the young man, and he bowed his
head.
She looked at him as he did so, and then one of her queer impulses came
over her. He was shocked and yet touched by her words; she would undo
everything by her next confession.
"Before dinner," she said, "I was mad with jealousy. You wanted to see
Molly--Molly whom you have not known twenty-four hours. I felt that I
could not bear it. I came in here, and I overheard--"
"What, what?" he asked. He sprang to his feet and seized her arm.
"I didn't hear everything," she continued, backing away from him. "But
you told her a secret. You alluded to something which had happened to
you long ago. And she accused you of being too cordial--too-- Oh, I
know what she meant. What you said to her and what she said to you
gave me my headache. But it was not really headache; it was heartache.
I won't talk to you any longer now. Good-night."
He caught her hand as she was leaving the room.
"In spite of these painful words on both sides," he said, "may not our
old friendship continue?" He looked full at her. She did not speak
for a moment; then she said,--
"When do you sail?"
"Saturday week."
She began to count the days on her fingers; then with a broken-hearted
smile she left the room.