Meanwhile Ronald and Margot were holding a conclave on the third floor.
"I must get away from home at once!" cried the lad feverishly. "I can't
write in this atmosphere of antagonism. I breathe it in the air. It
poisons everything I do. If I am to have only three more months of
liberty, I must spend them in my own way, in the country with you,
Margot, away from all this fret and turmoil. It's my last chance. I
might as well throw up the sponge at once, if we are to stay here."
"Yes, we must go away; for father's sake as well as our own," replied
Margot slowly. She leant her head against the back of her chair, and
pushed the hair from her brow. Without the smile and the sparkle she
was astonishingly like her brother,--both had oval faces, well-marked
eyebrows, flexible scarlet lips, and hazel eyes, but the girl's chin was
made in a firmer mould, and the expression of dreamy abstraction which
characterised the boy's face was on hers replaced by animation and
alertness.
"Father will be miserable to-night because he flared out at supper; but
he'll flare again unless we put him out of temptation. He likes his own
way as much as we like ours, and it's so difficult for parents to
realise that their children are grown-up. We seem silly babies in his
eyes, and he longs to be able to shut us up in the nursery until we are
sorry, as he used to do in the old days. As for our own plans, Ron,
they are all settled. I was just waiting for a quiet opportunity to
tell you. I have been busy planning and scheming for some time back,
but it was only to-night that my clue arrived. Jack, my emissary,
slipped it into my hand after supper. Read that!"
She held out a half sheet of paper with an air of triumph, on which were
scribbled the following lines:--
"Name, Elgood. Great walker, climber, etcetera. Goes every June with
brother to small lonely inn (Nag's Head)--Glenaire--six miles' drive
from S--, Perthshire. Scenery fine, but wild; accommodation limited;
landlady refuses lady visitors, which fact is supposed to be one of the
chief attractions; Elgood reported to be tough nut to crack; chief
object of holiday, quiet and seclusion; probably dates two or three
weeks from June 15."
Ronald read, and lifted a bewildered face.
"What does it all mean? How do this man's plans affect ours? I don't
understand what you are driving at, Margot, but I should love to go to
Scotland! The mountains in the dawning, and the shadows at night, and
the dark green of the firs against the blue of the heather--oh, wouldn't
it be life to see it all again, after this terrible brick city! How
clever of you to think of Scotland!"
"My dear boy, if it had been Southend it would have been all the same.
We are going where Mr Elgood goes, for Mr Elgood, you must know, is
the editor of _The Loadstar_--the man of all others who could give you a
helping hand. Now, Ron, I am quite prepared for you to be shocked, but
I know that you will agree in the end, so please give in as quickly as
possible, and don't make a fuss. You have been sending unknown poems to
unknown editors for the last two years, with practically no result.
It's not the fault of your poems--of that I am convinced. In ten years'
time every one will rave about them, but you can't afford to wait ten
years, or even ten months. Our only hope is to interest some big
literary light, whose verdict can't be ignored, and persuade him to
plead your cause, or at least to give you such encouragement as will
satisfy father that you are not deluded by your own conceit. I've
thought and thought, and lain awake thinking, till I feel quite tired
out, and then at last I hit on this plan,--to find out where Mr Elgood
is going for his holidays, and go to the same place, so that he can't
help getting to know us, whatever he may wish. Ordinary methods are
useless at this stage of affairs. We must try a desperate remedy for a
desperate situation!"
"I'm sure I am willing. I would try any crazy plan that had a
possibility of success for the next three months. But yours isn't
possible. The landlady won't take ladies. That's an unsurmountable
objection at the start."
But Margot only preened her head with a smile of undaunted self-
confidence.
"She'll take _me_!" she declared complacently. "She can't refuse me
shelter for a night at least, after such a long, tiring journey, and
I'll be such a perfect dear, that after twenty-four hours she wouldn't
be bribed to do without me! You can leave Mrs McNab to me, Ron. I'll
manage her. Very well then, there we shall be, away from the madding
crowd, shut up in that lonely Highland glen, in the quaint little inn;
two nice, amiable, attractive young people with nothing to do but make
ourselves amiable and useful to our companions. Mr Elgood can't be
young; he is certainly middle-aged, perhaps quite old; he will be very
tired after his year's work, and perhaps even ill. Very well then, we
will wait upon him and save him trouble! You shall bicycle to the
village for his tobacco and papers, and I'll read aloud and bring him
cups of tea. We won't worry him, but we'll be there all the time,
waiting and watching for an opportunity. One never knows what may
happen in the country. He might slip into the river some day, and you
could drag him out. Ronald, wouldn't it be perfectly lovely if you
could save his life!"
The two youthful faces confronted each other breathlessly for a moment,
and then simultaneously boy and girl burst into a peal of laughter.
They laughed and laughed again, till the tear-drops shone on Margot's
lashes, and Ronald's pale face was flushed with colour.
"You silly girl! What nonsense you talk! I'm afraid Mr Elgood won't
give me a chance of rescuing him. He won't want to be bothered with
literary aspirants on his summer holiday, and he will guess that I want
his help--"
"He mustn't guess anything of the kind until the end of the time. You
must even never mention the word poetry. It would neither be fair to
him, nor wise for ourselves. What we have to do is to make ourselves so
charming and interesting that at the end of the three weeks he will want
to help us as much as we want to be helped. I understand how to manage
old gentlemen I've had experience, you see, in rather a difficult
school. Poor father! I must run down to comfort him before I go to
bed. I feel sure he is sitting in the library, puffing away at his
pipe, and feeling absolutely retched. He always does after he has been
cross."
Ronald's face hardened with youthful disapproval. "Why should you pity
him? It's his own fault."
"That makes it all the harder, for he has remorse to trouble him, as
well as disappointment. You must not be hard on the pater, Ron.
Remember he has looked forward to having you with him in business ever
since you were born, and it is awfully hard on him to be disappointed
just when he is beginning to feel old and tired, and would be glad of a
son's help. It is not easy to give up the dream of twenty years!"
Ronald felt conscience-stricken. He knew in his own heart that he would
find it next to impossible to relinquish his own dawning ambitions, and
the thought silenced his complaints. He looked at his sister and smiled
his peculiarly sweet smile.
"You have a wide heart, Margot. It can sympathise with both plaintiff
and defendant at the same time."
"Why, of course!" asserted Margot easily. "I love them both, you see,
and that makes things easy. Go to bed, dear boy, and dream of Glenaire!
Your chance is coming at the eleventh hour."
The light flashed in the lad's eyes as he bent his head for the good-
night kiss--a light of hope and expectation, which was his sister's best
reward.
Ron had worked, fretted, and worried of late, and his health itself
might break down under the strain, for his constitution was not strong.
During one long, anxious year there had been fear of lung trouble, and
mental agitation of any kind told quickly upon him. Margot's thoughts
flew longingly to the northern glen where the wind blew fresh and cool
over the heather, with never a taint of smoke and grime to mar its God-
given purity. All that would be medicine indeed, after the year's
confinement in the murky city! Ron would lift up his head again, like a
plant refreshed with dew; body and mind alike would then expand in
jubilant freedom.
Margot crept down the darkened staircase, treading with precaution as
she passed her sister's room. The hall beneath was in utter darkness,
for it was against Agnes's economical instincts to leave a light burning
after eleven o'clock, even for the convenience of the master of the
house. When Mr Vane demurred, she pointed out that it was the easiest
thing in the world for him to put a match to the candle which was left
waiting for his use, and that each electric light cost--she had worked
it all out, and mentioned a definite and substantial sum which would be
wasted by the end of the year if the light were allowed to burn in hall
or staircase while he enjoyed his nightly read and smoke.
"Would you wish this money to be wasted?" she asked calmly; and thus
questioned, there was no alternative but to reply in the negative. It
would never do for the head of the house to pose as an advocate of
extravagance; but all the same he was irritated by the necessity, and
with Agnes for enforcing it.
Margot turned the handle of the door and stood upon the threshold
looking across the room.
It was as she had imagined. On the big leather chair beside the
tireless grate sat Mr Vane, one hand supporting the pipe at which he
was drearily puffing from time to time, the other hanging limp and idle
by his side. Close at hand stood his writing-table, the nearer corner
piled high with books, papers, and reviews, but to-night they had
remained undisturbed. The inner tragedy of the man's own life had
precluded interest in outside happenings. He wanted his wife! That was
the incessant cry of his heart, which, diminished somewhat by the
passage of the years, awoke to fresh intensity at each new crisis of
life! The one love of his youth and his manhood; the dearest, wisest,
truest friend that was ever sent by God to be the helpmeet of man--why
had she been taken from him just when he needed her most, when the
children were growing up, and her son, the longed-for Benjamin, was at
his most susceptible age? It was a mystery which could never be solved
this side of the grave. As a Christian Mr Vane hung fast to the belief
that love and wisdom were behind the cloud; but, though his friends
commented on his bravery and composure, no one but himself knew at what
a cost his courage was sustained. Every now and then, when the longing
was like an ache in his soul, and when he felt weary and dispirited, and
irritated by the self-will of the children who were children no longer,
then, alas! he was apt to forget himself, and to utter bitter, hasty
words which would have grieved _her_ ears, if she had been near to
listen. After each of these outbreaks he suffered tortures of remorse
and loneliness, realising that by his own deed he had alienated his
children; grieving because they did not, could not understand!
Except, perhaps, Margot! Margot, the third little daughter, whose
coming in the place of the much-desired boy had been a keen
disappointment to both parents. The mother had been doubly tender to
the child, as if to compensate for that passing pang; but Mr Vane
recalled with contrition that he himself had remained indifferent and
neglectful until two or three years later, when at last Ronald had made
his tardy appearance. Then ensued constant visits to the nursery, to
examine the progress of the son and heir; and after the daily
questioning and inspection it was impossible to resist bestowing some
little attention on the bewitching curly-headed, chubby-cheeked little
damsel who clung to his trouser leg, and raised entreating eyes from the
altitude of his knee. Mr Vane felt guiltily conscious of having
neglected this child, and now in the content of gratified ambition he
proceeded to make good that neglect by petting her to her heart's
desire, until as time went on it became an open question whether his
daily visits were not paid even more to the girl than to the boy.
Ronald remained his father's pride, but Margot was his joy, his pet,--in
years to come his comfort and companion.
There was more of the dead mother in this last daughter than in either
of the elder sisters; she had her mother's gift of insight and
understanding.
This was not the first time of many that she had crept downstairs after
the household was in bed, to play David to his Saul, and to-night, as he
turned his eyes to the doorway and recognised her slight figure, it was
not surprise which he felt, but rather a shamed and uneasy
embarrassment. "Margot! It's very late! Why are you not in bed?"
She shut the door and crossed the room to his side.
"I wanted to talk to you!"
"To remonstrate, I suppose, for what I said at supper! You and Ron are
angry, no doubt, and feel yourselves badly used. You have come to fight
his battles, as usual."
"No. I don't want to fight at all. Just to talk to you a little while,
and say I'm sorry."
She seated herself on the arm of his chair as she spoke, and leant her
shoulder carelessly against his; but he edged away, still sore and
suspicious.
"Sorry for what?"
"For you! Because _you're_ sorry. Because I knew you'd be sitting
alone, doing nothing else but being sorry. So I came down to put my
arms round your dear old neck, and kiss your dear old head, and tell you
that I love you. Badly!"
Yes! Margot understood. In just such pretty simple words would his own
Margaret have chased away the black spirit years ago. Mr Vane puffed
at his pipe, staring fixedly across the room, to conceal the sudden
moistening of his eyes, but his figure sank back into its old place, no
longer repulsing the caress.
"It's a hard task for a lonely man to manage a family of children. He
gets all the kicks, and none of the thanks!"
"That's exaggeration, dear--which you are always protesting against in
others. We are tiresome and self-willed, but we know very well how much
we owe to you, and your care for us. It hurts us as much as it hurts
you when we disagree; but we've got to live our own lives, father!"
"And you imagine that you know better how to set about it than a man who
has lived more than twice as long, and has had ten times the
experience?"
Margot hesitated.
"In a way--no; in a way--_yes_! We know ourselves, daddy, as even you
cannot do, and it is impossible for one person, however kind and wise he
may be, to lay down the law as to what is to be the object of other
lives. We all have our own ambitions; what could satisfy one, would
leave another empty and aching. Agnes, for instance, and me! How
different we are! Her idea of happiness would be a house worked by
machinery, where every hour the same things happened at precisely the
same moment, and there were never any cataracts and breaks, and nobody
ever came down late to breakfast. _I_ should like to have breakfast in
bed, and a new excitement every single day! We are not all cut out of
one pattern, and we are not children any longer, dear. Sometimes you
forget that. When _you_ were twenty-three, you were married, and had a
home of your own."
"Ron is not twenty-one."
"When you were twenty-one, did you want your own way, or were you
willing for other people to decide for you?"
Mr Vane sighed, and moved his head impatiently.
"Here we are back again at the same old argument! It's waste of time,
Margot. I can't alter my ideas, but I'll try to keep a tighter rein
over myself for the next few months. We mustn't have any more scenes
like to-night."
"No." Margot spoke as gravely as himself. "We mustn't, daddy, for your
sake as well as ours, and therefore I think it wise to remove the cause
of your irritation. You said we might go away to the country together,
Ron and I, and we have decided on Scotland--on a glen in Perthshire, six
miles from the nearest station, where the landlady of a quaint little
inn takes in a few boarders. It will be very primitive, I expect, and
we shall live on cream and porridge and mountain air, and grow brown and
bonnie, and study Nature as we have never had a chance of doing before.
Six miles from a station, daddy! There's seclusion, if you like!"
Mr Vane knitted his brow, uncertain whether to approve or object.
"How did you come to hear of this place, if it is so out of the world?"
"Jack heard of some people who like it so much that they have gone back
again and again." Margot paused for a moment, and then added
resolutely, "They go to fish. Probably they will be there again this
summer. They are two brothers--one of them is quite old. I don't know
anything about the other. Of course, wherever we stay we shall meet
other people--but you don't mind that, do you, dear? You can trust us
not to associate with any one who is not what you would approve?"
"Oh yes. I am not afraid of you in that way, and Ron is sensible enough
where you are concerned. He'll take care of you. I wouldn't allow you
to stay at a big hotel without Agnes or some older woman, but you are
welcome to your little inn, if it takes your fancy. If it rains all
day, in Highland fashion, Ronald may discover that there are
compensations even in Regent's Park. How soon are you off?"
"The middle of June, if all's well, and we'll stay on as long as we are
happy and enjoying ourselves. Then there will be your holiday to
consider, dear. I thought it would be such a good idea if you took Jack
with you, while I went to the seaside with Edith and the boys. Jack and
you agree so well, and have so many tastes in common. You would make
splendid _compagnons de voyage_!"
Mr Vane drew back in his chair to stare at her beneath frowning brows.
"If there is one thing in this world more objectionable than another,
it's a managing woman!" he cried emphatically. "Don't you develop into
one, Margot, if you wish to keep any influence over me. I've seen
danger signals once or twice lately, and I tell you plainly--I won't
stand it! Be satisfied with what you have gained, and carry Ron away to
your Highland glen, but leave my holiday alone, if you please. I'm
quite capable of choosing a companion for myself if I need one."
"Yes, dear," said Margot meekly; but her smile showed no sign of
contrition. She had heard this terrible indictment times without
number, but as yet there had come no waning of her influence. As she
felt her way carefully up the dark staircase a few minutes later, she
smiled to herself with complacent satisfaction; for not only had the
Scotch trip received the parental sanction, but the first step was taken
towards securing a holiday for poor tired Jack. Mr Vane might protest,
but the idea once suggested would take root in his mind, and by the time
that it developed into action he would imagine that it was entirely his
own inspiration. What did it matter? For Jack's sake even more than
his own it was better that he should be so deluded; and Margot was
happily above the littleness of desiring to monopolise the credit for
her ideas. So long as a point was gained, she was more than content to
remain inconspicuously in the background.