This ebook was created in honour of Distributed Proofreaders’ 20th
Anniversary.
Transcriber’s Note
When italics were used in the original book, the corresponding text has
been surrounded by _underscores_. Bold text is surrounded by =equal
signs=.
Some corrections have been made to the printed text. These are listed in
a second transcriber’s note at the end of the text.
A YELLOW ASTER
BY
IOTA
“And if this fought-for climax _is_ ever reached
and science, creeping along the path of experiment,
so invades the realm of Nature that a blue chrysanthemum
or A Yellow Aster can be produced at
will, the question still remains, has Nature been
made more beautiful thereby?”
_IN THREE VOLUMES_
VOL. II
London 1894
HUTCHINSON & CO.
34 PATERNOSTER ROW
PRINTED AT NIMEGUEN (HOLLAND)
BY H. C. A. THIEME OF NIMEGUEN (HOLLAND)
AND
TALBOT HOUSE, ARUNDEL STREET
LONDON, W.C.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER XVIII. 1
CHAPTER XIX. 19
CHAPTER XX. 33
CHAPTER XXI. 59
CHAPTER XXII. 75
CHAPTER XXIII. 91
CHAPTER XXIV. 109
CHAPTER XXV. 122
CHAPTER XXVI. 133
CHAPTER XXVII. 161
CHAPTER XXVIII. 174
CHAPTER XXIX. 191
CHAPTER XXX. 203
A YELLOW ASTER.
CHAPTER XVIII.
“TO look at the fellow one would never give him credit for half the grit
he has,” thought Strange as he glanced round for a cab at the street
corner. “If I had money I should send him to Paris,” he went on as soon
as he had settled himself comfortably, “the Kensington methods are no
manner of use to him. It’s the deuce of a shame too, that he has to
attempt finished work for a living when he should be swatting over the
primaries; and that colour mania—that will get chronic and overgrow him,
and then God help him!”
As it happened Lady Mary was at home and quite wide-awake. As a rule
this was not the case until much later in the day, but just now various
things combined to keep off sleep.
When Strange was announced, she was sitting well screened from the small
bright fire, gazing in soft meditation at her plump white hands, with
the corners of her mouth slightly drawn downwards, and her smooth round
forehead wrinkled up in a way that would have gone to the heart of a
stone to see in such a picture of comfort as she was made to be.
“Humphrey!” she exclaimed, making a vain try at a spring and flopping
down again limply, “Humphrey!”
“Myself and no other,” said Strange, receiving her kiss cheerfully, and
settling himself into a chair after he had shaken it to see if it would
bear. “I needn’t ask you how you are, Aunt Moll, you look just as you
always did, like a catkin.”
“A what, Humphrey?” she enquired anxiously.
“A catkin, we used to call them goslings, soft, oval, pale gold, silky,
fluffy masses—you have a weakness for adjectives I know, judging from
the line in literature you patronize. The harshest wind has never been
known to ruffle a gosling, it always skips them, they always feel warm
to the touch, as if the sun were on them, they are delicious things. The
sun is always on you, Aunt Moll, ain’t it?”
“Ah, Humphrey, you little know, you can make but a faint guess at my
troubles, the death of my dear——”
“Aunt Moll, we’ll skip that!” interrupted Strange, with a twinkle.
He knew quite well what an unmixed relief the deceased peer’s removal
was to all his kith and kin, more especially to his wife.
“If you recollect, before I went to Algeria we agreed to let my uncle
rest undisturbed in his present retreat, which, from what we know of his
past, must be unexceptionable—whatever his faults may have been no one
can deny that he was a most exclusive person and had a very just notion
of his position.”
“Dear Humphrey! That flippancy! I had hoped that the many dangers you
have experienced, the many times you have come face to face with
death—and, Humphrey—with _Eternity_—would have brought the seriousness
of life before your eyes.”
“Aunt Moll, the sight of you there in that chair brings that view of the
case more clearly before me than ever the sight of death did.”
Lady Mary again looked anxious, her nephew always made her feel like
that, his eyes seemed to rake her from stem to stern and to find some
mute amusement in the process. Suddenly she gave a little start.
“What have I been thinking of?” she murmured. “Humphrey,” she began
again, “we must speak of your prospects.”
She was bubbling over with them as it happened, besides, they would keep
him off her.
“What are you thinking of doing now?”
“What I have always been thinking of doing and have never done yet,
making the result of my face to face encounters with death—_and
Eternity_—of some practical value to the world in general and to myself
in particular, by filling my trousers’ pockets, which at this present
moment contain one pound six and threepence, and that’s mostly due for
beer.”
“Humphrey! Have you heard nothing? Your letters?”
“I never read them. For Heaven’s sake, speak, divulge, I’m ready for
anything!”
“Your great-uncle is dead—died last month. Before he went he confessed a
heavy sin that had lain for years on his soul, poor dear creature. That
great lanky son of his, about whom, as you know, I always had a nasty
feeling, as if he were not altogether quite right, as if somehow he was
not one of us. This now proves to have been a quite prophetic instinct,
he turns out to be—ahem—illegitimate, and you, you, Humphrey, are the
heir.”
“I say! It’s beastly hard lines on Tom!”
Strange was quite as staggered with the news, as any other younger son
in his condition would have been. It vibrated through and through him,
but as one cannot clothe thunder in harmonies any more than one can a
tumultuous muddle of sensations in speech in the presence of a woman
inclined to gush and stoutness, he swallowed his muddle and was
flippant.
“Humphrey!” said Lady Mary with dignity, wondering a little if Humphrey
himself were quite right. “This minute you have ten thousand a year, and
you, my nephew, are Sir Humphrey Strange.”
“Am I? You’ll be astonished to hear I don’t feel a bit like it, I feel
exactly as I did before. Is there any difference to the naked eye, if
so, do you mind telling me?”
Lady Mary stirred uneasily and crossed her hands.
“Dear Humphrey!” she cried at last, with a soft wailing bleat, “I
confess I did expect some show of proper feeling from you on this
occasion. It is a shock to me to see you in your present frame of mind,
it seems like flying in the face of Providence, and may end in bringing
down a judgment on your head.”
Lady Mary sighed and continued, lowering her voice to a coo, “When I
heard the news, Humphrey, I went down on my knees and prayed that my
poor sinful uncle might be forgiven for foisting that counterfeit young
man off on our family, and that you, my nephew, might face your
responsibilities with a seriousness befitting the occasion. My dear, if
you knew what it costs me to kneel, now that I have grown a little
stout, you might perhaps appreciate this act.”
Humphrey grinned.
“Aunt Moll, my feelings are always too deep for expression, it would
upset you for a month if I were to give you the merest glimpse of the
emotions that are ravaging me this minute. These inward upheavals are
frightfully wasting, your acts of prayer and thanksgiving are a fool to
them—There doesn’t happen to be any tea going, does there?”
“Tea! Is it five o’clock? What can have happened? Pray ring. The misery
I have to endure with servants! I wonder my hair isn’t even greyer than
it is, and my poor face more worn.”
“Your hair is as brown as a nut, and there isn’t a crease in your dear,
soft young face. What was wrong with you when I came in, the corners of
your mouth were turned the wrong way?”
Lady Mary reflected as she made his tea.
“Ah, it was Gwen, she has thrown aside another most unexceptionable
match, the third in three months.”
“Gwen, what?”
“Gwen Waring, she is with me for the season.”
“Ah, that queer, sulky, imperturbable, long-legged girl, belonging to
those wonderful young fossils at Waring Park. I shouldn’t have thought
she’d have got the chance to throw over any match, let alone three
unexceptionable ones——”
“Humphrey!”
“What’s up? Gru!—”
He sprang to his feet.
A tall superb girl with a face like a hothouse flower, was standing in
the middle of the room, looking at him with a cool aloofness that made
his blood run cold. She had heard every word, she must have, his voice
was a big one.
This magnificent dominant creature, before whom he felt as a worm, was
only an enlarged completed edition of the “sulky, long-legged” slip he
used to catch fitful glances of, in his stays with his aunt.
If only he hadn’t classified her in such cool pleasant tones! It was not
often the fellow felt at such a disadvantage. If the girl had made a
joke now, or even looked as if she could make one! But she knew better
than to joke, she had her tactics ready to her hand, and she was
determined his impertinence should be brought home to him.
Her own classification never troubled her in the least, it was the
good-humoured sneer at her parents which touched her. Was she always to
suffer for being the product of such a house?
The next few minutes Strange felt younger than he had done for ten
years.
“Lady Mary has been telling me of your good fortune,” she remarked
kindly, sipping her tea, and looking at him in as motherly a way as so
very splendid a person could look. “You must be quite excited—I suppose
you are already making a hundred plans?
“I seem to know you quite well,” she went on, not giving him the chance
to reply, “Lady Mary is always telling anecdotes of ‘her boy’, very
entertaining ones they are too, and I should fancy characteristic.”
She helped herself to more cream and regarded him coolly.
“When she reads prayers, she always makes a special and very full
mention of you.”
Lady Mary winced abjectly and looked deprecatingly at her nephew, but
his eyes were fastened on Gwen. His aunt felt she had escaped for once.
She settled herself into her pillows, and wondered vaguely what would
happen next.
She had a horrid feeling that there were breakers ahead somewhere, but
as she never by any chance could see farther than her own nose, she
decided not to make any effort at sighting them, but to drift on with
faith.
“Very considerate of my aunt!” said Strange, in a pause.
“Oh, that is only one instance of her consideration and the least
important. She has done much more than that for you, she is like John
the Baptist without the skins and locusts, she has ‘been preparing the
way before’ you, and you have only to appear to be mobbed, Sir Humphrey.
There’s not a matron nor a maid in London who doesn’t babble of you;
your name is rippling off a hundred tongues at this very minute; you are
the hero of a hundred teas. All this came on after a long round of calls
Lady Mary and I paid last Monday,” she continued, scanning him. “I had
only heard your name before, in the outward world, that is—the Baronetcy
never affected Lady Mary’s prayers and anecdotes, they were always with
us—in a queer aside way, as if one hinted at dark things that had better
not be unearthed. Ah, but that is all changed! You have no notion though
how exhausting the process has been to Lady Mary.”
She stopped at last.
“No,” he said, looking at his aunt, “I certainly hadn’t perceived any
symptoms of a cave-in about her. Monday, did you say, Miss Waring? Would
you mind letting me have your visiting list for that day, Aunt Moll? I
suppose I know some of the people, and my soul’s one desire for years
has been to pose as an afternoon-tea hero. I shall just have time to get
a foretaste of the joys this afternoon. Good-bye, Aunt Moll, pray don’t
look anxious on my account, my morals are tough enough to run the
gauntlet of all the teas in London, and my digestion is unimpaired.
Good-bye, Miss Waring,” he said, bowing gravely in her direction, “thank
you for standing by my aunt on Monday’s warpath, I am gratified to see
_you_ are in no sort of way exhausted by the process. Damnation!” he
muttered as he got out into the street, “she smells of a hothouse with
her overpowering beauty and her insolent airs, and that cool inexorable
way of hers. Oh, Aunt Moll, you’ll rue the day you made me a by-word. To
think I had to swallow all that, and let a girl bait me!”
He laughed aloud.
“And so I am the coming _parti_! Good Lord! I’ll be fine practice for
the ‘sport,’ anyway they’ll find me shy game. I’ll go home, finish a
chapter or two, dose Tolly, and then I’ll dine.
“Hullo!” he exclaimed suddenly, “things are looking up for Charlie, he
can go to Paris now when he likes. I wonder how I can reduce his high
stomach to seeing it in that light!”