If, a year or two later, you could have persuaded Mrs. Cloud to tell you
her thoughts, she would have said that she always considered the
engagement ring to be at the bottom of the whole wretched business. If
Laura had begun by being firm ... but Laura, she could not help feeling,
had been lamentably wanting in backbone where Justin was concerned....
For Justin had his faults.... She was his mother, but she was not like
some mothers.... She was perfectly willing to admit that Justin had his
faults.... Oh, well—you could scarcely call them faults, perhaps that
would be too strong, but—well, he was inclined to be dreamy sometimes:
he had certainly been dreamy over the engagement ring.... But still, she
could not help feeling that that was Laura’s fault.... Laura should have
been firm....
Oh, of course, if Laura liked Justin to ride rough-shod over her, well
and good! But then she should not have turned upon him afterwards! And
that was just it—if they had been openly engaged it was quite reasonable
that they should have had their differences: their slack months, so to
speak, would not have mattered in the least.... The engagement ring
would have fixed their status. But as it was....
If Laura had had proper pride, if she had even shown that she was
disappointed—for, of course, she must have been disappointed——Oh! (Mrs.
Cloud’s smile would deprecate her worldliness) if she had done no more
than talk for a day or two of how fond she was of rubies or of pearls or
whatever it was—why, then Justin would have got the idea well into his
head, and the ring would have been bought! Nobody could say that Justin
was not generous.... He must have spent pounds on the books he brought
back that very day for Laura.... But still—they weren’t an engagement
ring and nothing would make them one....
Thus far—but you would never have got it out of her—a reminiscent Mrs.
Cloud.
But besides Mrs. Cloud there had been Brackenhurst to consider.
Brackenhurst also had wanted an engagement ring. Without that
certificate Mr. Cloud and Miss Laura Valentine might ‘understand’ each
other—Brackenhurst had arranged long ago for them to do that—but it
could not call them engaged. Indeed, it had at last, in desperation,
circulated the rumour that old Mr. Valentine had Put his Foot Down. Old
Mr. Valentine, who still called his grey-haired daughter and the niece
who sometimes came to stay ‘the girls,’ who locked the front door,
winter and summer, at ten o’clock, and thereafter sat up for strayed
revellers in his skull-cap and dressing-gown, with a candle in one hand
and his great gold watch open in the other, and an expression upon his
face that few cared to encounter twice—old Mr. Valentine, it was said,
had permitted no public engagement until Laura was one-and-twenty.
It was a useful rumour, one that satisfied Brackenhurst and did not
displease Mrs. Cloud. Because, you see, it would have been difficult to
explain to the incredulous that there was no engagement ring on Laura’s
finger because—because—well, to tell you the truth (Aunt Adela would
have done it more unctuously than Mrs. Cloud), the fact was that dear
Justin kept on forgetting to buy one! And Laura—a good girl, but,
between you and Aunt Adela, with curious ideas sometimes—apparently
didn’t mind! Yes. Unconventional. Very. And so was Mr. Cloud. Oh, of
course, if they were satisfied——But personally—Aunt Adela would not say
so to every one—but personally, she must say—yes, exactly!
Aunt Adela would have enjoyed herself.
You do understand that it was pure absent-mindedness on Justin’s part?
When Justin told his mother the news and the first congratulations were
over, and Mrs. Cloud had kissed him and he had re-sketched to her in
delightful detail his ideas for the future, and Mrs. Cloud had neither
assented nor dissented, but with her wise smile had listened and changed
the subject and talked to him about Laura till he began to
fidget—because, after all, he knew all about Laura, there was nothing
_new_ to say of Laura exactly—after that pleasant talk had died out and
they had sat silent a while, Mrs. Cloud had turned in her chair and
begun to ask lighter questions and so touched upon the subject of the
ring.
“Oh—the ring!” Justin opened his eyes. He had been staring at the light
window till he was nearly asleep. “Oh, of course. A ring! Yes, I hadn’t
thought of that. I’ll run up to town tomorrow.”
Then he had asked his mother’s advice, and they had discussed the rival
merits of pearls and emeralds and old settings, till Justin, always
thorough, and growing interested, had got down the _Encyclopædia_ and
the dictionary with plates. He had broken off in the middle to go and
fetch his Laura, very full indeed of his subject. And Laura had arrived,
with a shy, glowing look about her that had touched Mrs. Cloud; but they
were not allowed to do more than kiss each other before Laura was
engaged in discussion with Justin as to whether the biblical jasper were
the modern diamond, and if not why not? They got quite heated about it.
Mrs. Cloud sat by and listened, and thought how clever they both were,
and that Justin was the cleverer but that Laura talked faster: and
occupied herself the while with taking the exact size of Laura’s third
finger from her left-hand glove. The evening was a very pleasant one,
though upon the whole more instructive than romantic. Of all three, I
suppose, Mrs. Cloud went to bed the happiest. Laura dreamed of a bare
hill-side and the scent of thyme and of a bird singing in the sun.
Justin dreamed of nothing at all. But Mrs. Cloud dreamed quite
shamelessly of grandchildren.
Justin went up to town the next day, only for a couple of hours, with
the measurements in his pocket. He spent most of his time at South
Kensington and the Jermyn Street Museum, and did not get back within the
week. His crazes were always as thorough as they were sudden. He forgot
all about his birds’ eggs and enjoyed himself very much: and brought
back, as I told you, besides a new toothbrush, a most wonderful and
expensive book on precious stones, Cellini’s treatise, Jones on finger
rings, and a bound volume of the _Connoisseur_ as a little present for
Laura.
She was spending the afternoon with his mother on the day of his return,
and after tea he laid his gifts in triumph before her. Laura could look
at such books for their own sake where Mrs. Cloud looked at them for
Justin’s; but neither motive mattered at the moment, for Justin was
still so delighted with them that at first he would hardly let any one
else look at them at all. Laura, over his shoulder, was as unwearied in
asking questions as he in answering, and he had more or less unburdened
himself, to her intent ears, of all he had seen and learned and
adventured, before Mrs. Cloud, verging on impatience with the cool ways
of your modern lovers, could find a pause in which to ask about a matter
of importance.
“And what else did you bring home, Justin?” She had unpacked his bag
herself, but it was not there. Her eyes were doubtfully on his slim
pockets.
He turned over his purchases.
“Jones—_Connoisseur_—Cellini——Oh, yes, and there’s a _Punch_ in the
hall—” he turned to Laura again: “—as big as a plum—and a colour! In one
case alone. Oh, you’ve got to come up with me, Laura. You’ve never seen
anything like it. Funny—I’ve passed that room dozens of times and never
noticed before. But, of course, I was always after eggs.”
Mrs. Cloud gave up trying to lead the conversation where she wanted it
to go. She cut across it.
“Justin, I’m sure Laura is longing to see her ring.”
Justin frowned absently.
“Ring? What ring? Oh—the ring! Oh, I say, Laura—I’m awfully sorry! I’m
afraid I never gave it another thought.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Laura brightly.
Mrs. Cloud said nothing emphatically, which disturbed Justin more than
any disapproval of Laura’s would have done. He turned blankly from his
books.
“I shall be up again in a few days,” he assured them. “Or I could
write,” he suggested unhappily. He hated writing letters.
He paused. He had an inspiration.
“I suppose you or Mother wouldn’t be going up?” he wondered hopefully.
Mrs. Cloud said nothing more emphatically than ever.
“I’ll go straight up again tomorrow,” he decided, an eye on his mother.
Laura laughed.
“What nonsense! Why, you’re only just back! And I found a corncrake’s
nest yesterday. Bother the old ring!”
His face cleared. He liked Laura.
“Well—if you wouldn’t mind waiting till Tuesday, we might both go up. A
corncrake? Which field? Any good for a photograph? The Museum’s shut on
Mondays. And then we could choose it together. After all, there’s no
hurry, is there?”
“Of course not,” said Laura.
Mrs. Cloud could have shaken her.
They went up together on Tuesday, and, according to both of them, had a
ripping time. But when Mrs. Cloud, alone with Laura the next day, took
the girl’s two hands in her own, and openly and gravely looked at them,
she found the left hand as bare as the right.
“Laura!” Mrs. Cloud’s voice implied that she was not at all pleased with
Laura.
Laura twinkled.
“Mrs. Cloud, we were too busy. We had such a glorious day. We hadn’t
time, simply.”
“It’s ridiculous!” Mrs. Cloud’s tone was sharp. She was annoyed with
Justin, and she felt that it was too bad of Laura to put her in the
position of being annoyed with Justin. “You might have reminded him,”
she said.
Laura looked at her.
“Oh—I might.” Her tone was expressionless.
Mrs. Cloud’s gesture disclaimed all future responsibility for any one at
all in the world whatever.
“He’ll think of it some time or other,” Laura soothed her, with another
twinkle. She sat smiling to herself over Justin and his ways and her own
odd delight in humouring them. Then a new thought took her and she
laughed outright. “Oliver would have had it in his pocket,” she said,
“months beforehand. Poor Oliver!”
She wondered idly what should bring him into her head again. She had not
thought of him for so long. She was astonished to find herself
considering him indulgently, all irritation inexplicably dissipated.
“Oliver?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Cloud’s eyebrows were expressive.
“Was he——” she ventured.
Laura nodded.
“Really!”
Mrs. Cloud had never liked Oliver, but she nevertheless felt a new
respect for Laura on his account. And then, inevitably—
“Does Justin know?”
Laura shrugged her shoulders. She was discovering, with a touch of
bewilderment, how much she had changed in less than three months. For,
instead of being terrified at the mere chance of Justin’s knowledge, she
thought that it didn’t matter after all if he did, one way or another,
hear a disturbing rumour or two. Of course, she would never tell him
herself, but if Mrs. Cloud——In fact, she would rather like Justin to
know what Oliver had thought about her three months ago. That Oliver
might have his own feelings on the subject simply did not occur to her,
any more than she knew why she should like Justin to know. But she knew
that she did wish it and that she was tempted to use Mrs. Cloud to
accomplish her wish; also, that for some reason or other, she was
feeling vaguely ashamed of herself. For it was about an upright and
sensitive spirit that the Maya-veil of love had been cast. Laura would
have been an honest soul if she had not been a woman. As it was she at
least tried to change the subject with—
“Do you know when Rhoda and Lucy come back, Mrs. Cloud?”
Mrs. Cloud would not be diverted.
“I cannot understand Justin,” said Mrs. Cloud. Her eyes were on Laura’s
hand again.
Laura flushed.
“It doesn’t mean anything—to a man,” she said defensively, “no more than
a tie-pin.”
“It’s so unlike Justin.” Mrs. Cloud assured herself that she believed
what she said.
“Oh no, Mrs. Cloud.” Laura’s eyes were shrewd as well as wistful. “He
always forgets details. You know what he is. You see, it is a detail to
him. It means just nothing.” She lifted her chin. “I’m glad. I like him
that way.”
Mrs. Cloud was frowning, very near anger for once. And yet.... Oh, it
was extraordinary of Justin ... but she could not think that it was all
his fault.... Laura had no business to encourage him....
“I shall speak to Justin,” she said stiffly.
Laura caught her arm with that unseemly naked hand of hers, as if Mrs.
Cloud were rising on the instant.
“Oh no, Mrs. Cloud. Please! I should hate you to. I should simply hate
it. I don’t want it—that way. If you said anything to him——Oh,
please—you wouldn’t, would you?”
“I can say what I like to my own son, Laura,” said Mrs. Cloud fiercely.
“I know. I know. Of course. But——”
“But what?” said Justin’s mother.
“But—_I’m_ going to marry him,” said Laura, softly, but quite
desperately.
At that they were silent, their eyes in their laps. They were both hot
and sore, though they could not have told why: and they both said to
themselves over and over again that they must make allowances—make
allowances.
Suddenly Laura put her hand on Mrs. Cloud’s knee.
“Mrs. Cloud—dear Mrs. Cloud—I didn’t mean—I only wanted——”
“What do you want, Laura?”
“I don’t want him prompted,” said Laura rather pitifully. “I want him to
give it to me because he wants to give it to me. Not because it’s the
thing to do. I want——” She laughed. “I want too much, don’t I?”
“Men look at things so differently,” said Mrs. Cloud in her turn. Her
anger had come and gone again like a puff of summer wind.
“Yes, I know.”
“He’s very fond of you, my dear,” said Mrs. Cloud.
“Yes. But men——Oh, I wish we were all women,” cried Laura. “Things would
be so much simpler. One could just talk them out. But you can’t talk
your own language to a man, can you? We’re like those Indian princes at
the Durbar from the north and the south, whose only common language was
English. Even Justin and I talk English, I suppose, not our own
languages. At least—I’d talk mine, only Justin gets bored.” She laughed
suddenly. “But I’m getting a smattering of his,” said Laura with
satisfaction, “more than he thinks. I’ll—I’ll surprise him some day,
p’raps! _Am not I thine ass?_ Wouldn’t Justin jump?” Her eyes danced.
She looked as wicked as a cat—no Laura of Justin’s acquaintance at all.
“What’s the matter with you, child?” cried Mrs. Cloud bewildered, and at
that her mood changed and her face with it. She slipped down on to the
floor, half sitting, half kneeling at Mrs. Cloud’s feet, and began (an
old privilege) to play with the loose rings on the beautiful hand with
its blue raised veins and its skin like a dried petal, twisting them
this way and that to make them sparkle.
“Mrs. Cloud?” began Laura at last.
“Well?”
“Mrs. Cloud?” Still Laura hesitated. “Do you think——Is it always—two
languages? When one’s married a long time, is it different?”
“Oh, marriage is a new country altogether.” Mrs. Cloud was smiling
again. “You both get—naturalized, I suppose.”
They sat in silence thinking their thoughts, till at last Laura gave a
great, happy sigh.
“It will be lovely, being married to Justin,” said Laura dreamily.
“It ought to be,” said Mrs. Cloud.
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