Mr Vane's house overlooked Regent's Park, and formed the corner house
of a white terrace boasting Grecian pillars and a railed-in stretch of
grass in front of the windows. The rooms were large and handsome, and
of that severe, box-like outline which are the despair of the modern
upholsterer. The drawing-room boasted half a dozen windows, four in
front, and two at the side, and as regards furnishings was a curious
graft of modern art upon an Early Victoria stock. Logically the
combination was an anachronism; in effect it was charming and
harmonious, for the changes had been made with the utmost caution, in
consideration of the feelings of the head of the household.
Mr Vane's argument was that he preferred solid old-fashioned furniture
to modern gimcracks, and had no wish to conform to artistic fads, and
his daughters dutifully agreed, and--disobeyed! Their mode of procedure
was to withdraw one article at a time, and to wait until the parental
eye had become accustomed to the gap before venturing on a second
confiscation. On the rare occasions when the abduction was discovered,
it was easy to fall back upon the well-worn domestic justification, "Oh,
that's been gone a _long_ time!" when, in justice to one's own power of
observation, the matter must be allowed to drop.
The eldest daughter of the household had married five years before the
date at which this narrative opens, and during that period had enjoyed
the happiness of a true and enduring devotion, and the troubles
inseparable from a constant financial struggle, ending with bankruptcy,
and a retreat from a tastefully furnished villa at Surbiton to a dreary
lodging in Oxford Terrace. Poor Edith had lost much of her beauty and
light-hearted gaiety as a result of anxiety and the constant care of two
delicate children; but never in the blackest moment of her trouble had
she wished herself unwed, or been willing to change places with any
woman who had not the felicity of being John Martin's wife.
Trouble had drawn Jack and herself more closely together; she was in
arms in a passion of indignation against that world which judged a man
by the standpoint of success or failure, and lay in readiness to heave
another stone at the fallen. At nightfall she watched for his coming to
judge of the day's doings by the expression of his face, before it lit
up with the dear welcoming smile. At sight of the weary lines, strength
came to her, as though she could move mountains on his behalf. As they
sat together on the horsehair sofa, his tired head resting on her
shoulder, the strain and the burden fell from them both, and they knew
themselves millionaires of blessings.
The second daughter of the Vane household was a very different character
from her sensitive and highly-strung sister. The fairies who had
attended her christening, and bequeathed upon the infant the gifts of
industry, common sense, and propriety, forgot to bestow at the same time
that most valuable of all qualities,--the power to awaken love! Her
relatives loved Agnes--"Of course," they would have said; but when "of
course" is added in this connection, it is sadly eloquent! The poor
whom she visited were basely ungrateful for her doles, and when she
approached empty-handed, took the occasion to pay a visit to a
neighbour's back yard, leaving her to flay her knuckles on an
unresponsive door.
Agnes had many acquaintances, but no friends, and none of the young men
who frequented the house had exhibited even a passing inclination to pay
her attention.
Edith had been a belle in her day; while as for Margot, every masculine
creature gravitated towards her as needles to a magnet. Among various
proposals of marriage had been one from so solid and eligible a _parti_,
that even the doting father had laid aside his grudge, and turned into
special pleader. He had advanced one by one the different claims to
consideration possessed by the said suitor, and to every argument Margot
had meekly agreed, until the moment arrived at which she was naturally
expected to say "Yes" to the concluding exhortation, when she said "No"
with much fervour, and stuck to it to the end of the chapter. Pressed
for reasons for her obstinacy, she could advance none more satisfying
than that "she did not like the shape of his ears"! but the worthy man
was rejected nevertheless, and took a voyage to the Cape to blow away
his disappointment.
No man crossed as much as a road for the sake of Agnes Vane! It was a
tragedy, because this incapacity of her nature by no means prohibited
the usual feminine desire for appreciation. Agnes could not understand
why she was invariably passed over in favour of her sisters, and why
even her father was more influenced by the will-o'-the-wisp Margot than
by her own staid maxims. Agnes could not understand many things. In
this obtuseness, perhaps, and in a deadly lack of humour lay the secret
of her limitations.
On the morning after the conversation between the brother and sister
recorded in the last chapter the young poet paced his attic sitting-
room, wrestling with lines that halted, and others which were palpably
artificial. Margot's accusations had gone home, and instead of
indulging in fresh flights, he resolved to correct certain errors in the
lines now on hand until the verses should be polished to a flawless
whole. Any one who has any experience with the pen understands the
difficulty of such a task, and the almost hopeless puzzle of changing a
stone in the mosaic without disturbing the whole. The infinite capacity
for taking pains is not by any means a satisfying definition of genius,
but it is certainly one great secret of success.
Ronald's awkward couplet gave him employment for the rest of the
morning, and lunch-time found him still dissatisfied. An adjective
avoided his quest--the right adjective; the one and only word which
expressed the precise shade of meaning desired. From the recesses of
his brain it peeped at him, now advancing so near that it was almost
within grasp, anon retreating to a shadowy distance. There was no help
for it but to wait for the moment when, tired of its game of hide-and-
seek, it would choose the most unexpected and inappropriate moment to
peer boldly forward, and make its curtsy.
Meantime Margot had dusted the china in the drawing-room, watered the
plants, put in an hour's practising, and done a _few_ odds and ends of
mending; in a word, had gone through the programme which comprises the
duties of a well-to-do modern maiden, and by half-past eleven was
stepping out of the door, arrayed in a pretty spring dress, and her
third best hat. She crept quietly along the hall, treading with the
cautious steps of one who wishes to escape observation; but her
precautions were in vain, for just as she was passing the door of the
morning-room it was thrown open from within, and Agnes appeared upon the
threshold--Agnes neat and trim in her morning gown of serviceable fawn
alpaca, her hands full of tradesmen's books, on her face an expression
of acute disapproval.
"Going out, Margot? So early? It's not long past eleven o'clock!"
"I know?"
"Where are you going?"
"Don't know!"
"If you are passing down Edgware Road--"
"I'm not!"
The front door closed with a bang, leaving Agnes discomfited on the mat.
There was no denying that at times Margot was distinctly difficult in
her dealings with her elder sister. She herself was aware of the fact,
and repented ardently after each fresh offence, but alas! without
reformation.
"We don't fit. We never shall, if we live together a hundred years.
Edgware Road, indeed, on a morning like this, when you can hear the
spring a-calling, and it's a sin and a shame to live in a city at all!
If I had told her I was going into the Park, she would have offered
stale bread for the ducks!" Margot laughed derisively as she crossed
the road in the direction of the Park, and passing in through a narrow
gateway, struck boldly across a wide avenue between stretches of grass
where the wind and sun had full play, and she could be as much alone as
possible, within the precincts of the great city.
In spite of her light and easy manner, the problem of her brother's
future weighed heavily upon the girl's mind. The eleventh hour
approached, and nothing more definite had been achieved in the way of
encouragement than an occasional written line at the end of the printed
rejections: "Pleased to see future verses," "Unsuitable; but shall be
glad to consider other poems." Even the optimism of two-and-twenty
recognised that such straws as these could not weigh against the hard-
headed logic of a business man!
It was in the last degree unlikely that Ronald would make any striking
success in literature in the time still remaining under the terms of the
agreement, unless--as she herself had hinted--desperate measures were
adopted to meet desperate needs. A scheme was hatching in Margot's
brain,--daring, uncertain; such a scheme as no one but a young and self-
confident girl could have conceived, but holding nevertheless the
possibilities of success. She wanted to think it out, and movement in
the fresh air gave freedom to her thoughts.
Really it was simple enough,--requiring only a little trouble, a little
engineering, a little harmless diplomacy. Ronald was a mere babe where
such things were concerned, but he would be obedient and do as he was
told, and for the rest, Margot was confident of her own powers.
The speculative frown gave way to a smile; she laughed, a gleeful,
girlish laugh, and tossed her head, unconsciously acting a little
duologue, with nods and frowns and upward languishing glance. All
things seem easy to sweet and twenty, when the sun shines, and the scent
of spring is in the air. The completed scheme stood out clear and
distinct in Margot's mind. Only one small clue was lacking, and that
she was even now on the way to discover!