HOW GERALDINE TOOK IT TO HEART
'This world is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who
feel.'--HORACE WALPOLE.
It may be doubted if either Audrey or her brother-in-law enjoyed their
walk to Hillside. Mr. Harcourt felt that he had failed signally in his
brotherly mission, and any sort of failure was intolerable to him. To do
him justice, he was thinking only of Audrey's future welfare. As he took
up the wide clerical-looking hat that he affected, and walked with her
down the terrace, he told himself sorrowfully that he might as well have
held his tongue; but, all the same, he could not refrain from speaking
another word or two.
'I do so wish I could make you see this thing as your friends will see
it!' he said, no longer laying down the law, but speaking in a tone of
mild insistence, as became a man who knew himself to be right. 'They may
not be so closely interested in the matter, but perhaps their view may
be less prejudiced. Think, my dear girl, what a serious, what a terrible
thing it would be if you were to discover too late that you had made a
mistake!'
'I should never own it to be one,' she said, trying to smile; but it
could not be denied that she found her brother-in-law a little
depressing; 'and you may be quite sure that I should abide by it. There
is a fund of obstinacy in my nature that no one seems to have discovered
but myself.'
Then Mr. Harcourt gave vent to an impatient sigh. He must leave her to
Geraldine, he thought; but even then he could not forbear from one
Parthian thrust.
'You will live to repent it,' he said very seriously, 'and then you will
remember my warning. You must not look to me to help you out of your
difficulties then, Audrey; I would have done anything for you now.'
'I will promise you that I will not ask for your help,' she returned, so
promptly that he looked quite hurt. And she hastened to soften her
words. 'If one makes a mistake of that kind, one must only look to one's
self.'
'I have always regarded your interests as identical with Edith's,' he
returned a little stiffly. 'I mean, I have always treated you as though
you were my own sister; but, of course, if you cannot rely on me as your
brother----'
But Audrey would not let him finish his sentence.
'Why, Percival,' she said gently, 'I do believe you are quarrelling with
me, just because I am taking you at your word. Are you not just a little
illogical for once? In one breath you tell me not to look to you for
help, and then you reproach me with unsisterly feelings. How are we to
understand each other at this rate?'
Then a faint smile played round Mr. Harcourt's mouth. It was true that,
in the heat of argument, he did not always measure his words; even
Geraldine had ventured to tell him so once.
'Well, well, we will say no more about it,' he returned somewhat
magnanimously; and though he could not pluck up spirit to turn the
conversation into another channel, he refrained from any more depressing
remarks. He gave her a friendly nod and smile as they parted in the
hall.
'You will find Geraldine in the morning-room,' he said; and Audrey was
much relieved that he did not offer to accompany her.
Mrs. Harcourt evidently regarded herself as an invalid that morning. She
was sitting in the corner of the big couch, in her pale-pink tea-gown.
She rose at her sister's entrance, however, and crossed the room with
languid steps.
'Did Percival bring you?' she asked, as she kissed her.
Audrey felt as though she were to blame when she saw Geraldine's heavy
eyes.
'I am afraid you are far from well, Gage,' she said a little anxiously,
for, after all, Geraldine was her only sister, and if things should go
wrong with her----. She felt a momentary compunction--one of those keen,
pin-like pricks of conscience--as she remembered how often she had been
vexed with her little ways.
Mrs. Harcourt looked at her mournfully.
'How can I be well?' she said, with reproachful sweetness in her voice.
'I do not think I had three hours' sleep last night. Percival got quite
concerned about me at last. Oh, Audrey, you have made me so very
unhappy!' and her eyes filled with tears.
'My dear Gage, I would not willingly make you unhappy for worlds!'
'But, all the same, it has been such a shock--such a cruel
disappointment to us both! Percival was nearly as upset about it as I
was. If you could have seen him walking up and down the room last night!
"She must be mad to throw herself away in this fashion!"--he would say
nothing else for a long time.'
'I am quite aware of Percival's sentiments,' returned Audrey coldly.
Her manner alarmed Geraldine. 'But you have not quarrelled with him for
telling you the truth?' she asked with unmistakable anxiety. 'Oh,
Audrey, you do not know how fond Percival is of you! He is as proud of
you as though you were his own sister. He has always looked forward to
your marriage. He used to say none of the men he knew were half good
enough for you; that you ought to have someone who would be in every way
your superior, and to whom you could look up.'
'Yes, and it is such a blessing that I can look up to Cyril.'
'But he is so young; and though he is nice--yes, of course, he is very
nice and good-looking and clever--still one wants more in a husband.
Somehow I never realised these things until I was actually standing at
the altar with Percival and said those solemn words for myself: "For
better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health,
until death us do part." I felt then that if I had not been so sure of
Percival I would rather have died than have said those words.'
A faint shiver passed over Audrey as Geraldine spoke. She had never
heard her talk in this way before. 'Dear, dear Audrey,' she continued,
taking her sister's hand; 'can you wonder that I am anxious that you
should be as happy as I am, that it nearly breaks my heart to know that
you are taking this false step?'
A painful flush crossed Audrey's face. This was a worse ordeal than she
had expected. She had been prepared for reproaches, even for bitter
words; but this softness, this tearful and caressing gentleness, seemed
to deprive her of all strength, to cut away the ground from under her
feet. She was at once touched and grateful for her sister's forbearance.
'You are very good to me, Gage,' she said in a low voice; 'I know how
utterly I have disappointed you and Percival--and from a worldly point
of view I daresay you are both right. Cyril is poor, he has to work his
way up, he is not what people would call a good match; but then, you
know, I have always been terribly unpractical.'
'It is not only that,' sighed Geraldine; 'as far as Mr. Blake is
concerned, one cannot say much against him; he is very gentlemanly. I
suppose one would get used to him, though I shall never, never think him
good enough for you. But there are other objections: the idea that Mrs.
Blake will be your mother-in-law makes me utterly wretched.'
'Poor woman! she is so nice, and I am so fond of her. I often wonder why
you are so prejudiced against her, Gage; but of course it is all that
tiresome Mrs. Bryce.'
'No, indeed, it is not,' returned Mrs. Harcourt quickly. 'I do not want
to vex you, Audrey; things are miserable enough without our quarrelling,
and however unhappy you make me, I will never quarrel with my only
sister. But you must let me say this for once, that I cannot like Mrs.
Blake. From the first moment I have distrusted her, and I know Percival
feels the same.'
'But, Gage, do be reasonable. I am going to marry Cyril, not Mrs.
Blake!'
'When a woman marries she enters her husband's family,' returned
Geraldine in her old decided manner; 'you will belong to them, not to
us--at least,' correcting herself, as the thought of her daily visits to
Woodcote occurred to her, 'you will have to share your husband's
interests and responsibilities with regard to his family. You cannot
divide yourself from him without failing in your wifely duty.'
'I am quite of your opinion,' returned Audrey happily; 'Cyril's mother
and Kester and Mollie will be very dear to me. I never dreamt for one
moment of separating my interests from his.'
'If I thought you really loved him----' observed Geraldine, but here she
stopped, warned by an indignant flash in Audrey's gray eyes.
'You might have spared me that, Gage,' she said, rather sadly; 'I think
I have had enough to bear already from you and Percival. You have done
your best to depress and dishearten me; you have not even wished me
happiness.' Then Geraldine burst into tears.
'I don't want to be unkind,' she sobbed, in such distress that Audrey
repented her quick words; 'but you must give me time to get over this.
It is the first real trouble I have ever had.' And then, as Audrey
kissed her and coaxed her, she allowed herself to be somewhat consoled.
'You know you must think of yourself, Gage; you must not make yourself
ill about me. I am not worth it.' Then Geraldine did summon up a smile.
'And you will be good to Cyril? The poor fellow could not help falling
in love with me, you know.'
'Of course we shall behave properly to him,' returned Geraldine, drawing
herself up a little stiffly; 'you must not expect us to receive him with
open arms. Mr. Blake must know how entirely we disapprove of the
engagement; but, of course, as my father has given his consent, we have
no right to make ourselves disagreeable. You must give me a little time,
Audrey, just to recover myself, and then he shall be asked to dinner.'
'I hope you will not ask me at the same time!' exclaimed Audrey in
genuine alarm; and Geraldine looked rather shocked.
'Of course you must come with him! that is understood. You will be asked
everywhere if--if----' looking at her suggestively, 'you mean your
engagement to be known.'
'Most certainly! I object very strongly to secrecy under any
circumstances.'
'Then in that case you must be prepared for congratulations and a round
of dinners.'
'I prefer congratulations to condolences,' returned Audrey a little
wickedly; and then, as though to atone for her joke, she suddenly knelt
down before her sister and put her arms round her. 'Dear Gage, I do feel
such a wretch for having upset you like this. No wonder Percival owes me
a grudge. Now, do say something nice to me before I go--there's a
darling!' and, of course, Geraldine melted in a moment.
'I do pray, with all my heart, that you may be happy,' she sighed, and
then they kissed each other very affectionately. 'Give my love to
mother, and tell her I am not well enough to come to her to-day,' were
Geraldine's parting words as Audrey left her.
Mr. Harcourt came out of his study the moment he heard the door close.
'Well,' he asked, with a shade of anxiety in his tone, 'have you made
any impression, my dear?'
'No, Percy,' returned his wife sadly. 'She is bent on taking her own
way--the Blake influence is far too strong.'
'Ah, well,' in a tone of strong disgust, 'she is making her own bed, and
must lie on it. It was an evil day for all of us when your father
engaged Blake for his junior classical master. I wanted him to have
Sowerby--Sowerby is the better man, and all his people are
gentlefolks--but there is no turning the Doctor when he has got an idea
in his head: no one but Blake would do. And now mischief has come of it.
But, all the same, I won't have you making yourself ill about
it--remember that, my love. You have got me to think about, and I don't
choose to have my wife spoiling her eyes after this fashion. It is too
damp for you to go out, for there has been a sharp shower or two; but I
have half an hour to spare, and can read to you if you like.' And to
this Geraldine gratefully assented.
It may be doubted whether she heard much of the brilliant essay that Mr.
Harcourt had selected for her delectation, but it was very soothing to
lie there and listen to her husband's voice. The sentences grew involved
presently, and there was a humming, as though of bees, in the quiet
room. Mr. Harcourt smiled to himself as he went on reading--the sleep
would do her more good than the essay, he thought; and in this he was
right.
When Mrs. Ross received her daughter's message she at once prepared to
go up to Hillside, and spent the remainder of the afternoon there.
Geraldine had awakened from her nap much refreshed, and was disposed to
take a less lugubrious view of things. She was certainly somewhat
depressing at first, and her mother found her implied reproaches
somewhat hard to bear; but she was still too languid and subdued to
speak with her usual decision.
'I suppose that we shall have to make the best of it,' she observed
presently, in a resigned tone of voice. 'It will always be a great
trouble to me--but one must expect trouble in this world, as I said to
Percy just now. I am afraid we have been too happy.'
'Oh, my dear! you must not say such things.'
'It is better to say them than to think them. Percy never minds how much
I complain to him, if I will only not brood over worries by myself. He
says that it is so bad for me.'
'Percival is quite right, my love;' and Mrs. Ross looked anxiously at
her daughter's pale face. 'But you know your one duty is to keep
yourself cheerful. Try and put all this away from your mind, and leave
Audrey to be happy in her own way. Mr. Blake is really a very nice
lovable fellow, and I am quite fond of him already, and so is your
father--and I am sure your father is a good judge of character.'
'Yes, mother dear; and you must not think Percy and I mean to be
tiresome and disagreeable. It is not the young man so much that we
mind--though we shall always think Audrey is lowering herself in
marrying him--but it is that odious Mrs. Blake.'
Then, for the moment, Mrs. Ross felt herself uncomfortable. Mrs. Blake
had called on her that very morning, while Audrey was at Hillside, and
in spite of her mildness and toleration she had been obliged to confess
to herself that Mrs. Blake's manners had not quite pleased her.
Geraldine managed to extract the whole account of the interview, though
Mrs. Ross gave it rather reluctantly.
'And I suppose she was absurdly impulsive, as usual, mother?' she asked,
when Mrs. Ross had finished a somewhat brief narrative.
'Well, yes. She is always rather effusive; people have their own style,
you see.'
'Only Mrs. Blake's is, unfortunately, a very bad style.'
'I daresay you are right, my dear, and I certainly prefer a quieter
manner; and it was not quite good taste lauding your father and me to
the skies for our goodness in allowing the match. Poor woman! I daresay
she was a little excited; only it was a pity to let her feelings carry
her away--still, she was very nice about Audrey.'
'She will be her daughter-in-law, you know.'
Then Mrs. Ross winced slightly. She was glad that Mrs. Charrington was
that moment announced--she was a pleasant chatty woman, and always paid
long visits: Geraldine was her special favourite. As the news of the
engagement had not yet reached her, the talk was confined to certain
local interests: a new grant of books to the library, the difficulty of
finding a butler, and the lameness of one of Dr. Ross's carriage-horses;
and Mrs. Ross was in this manner relieved from any more awkward
questions.
Her husband was her only confidant, and to him she did disburden
herself.
'I do wish that Mrs. Blake were a different sort of woman, John,' she
observed that night. 'She is very handsome and amusing; but she is
certainly too unrestrained in her talk.'
'We must take folk as we find them, Emmie,' returned Dr. Ross quietly.
'Mrs. Blake is not your sort. In spite of having a grown-up son, she is
not quite grown-up herself: middle-aged people ought not to talk out all
their feelings as though they were children. But she is a very pleasing
person for all that.'
'So I always thought; but she tires one. Not that I would let Audrey
know that.'
'Oh, Audrey would keep a dozen Mrs. Blakes in order,' was her husband's
response; and then Mrs. Ross said no more.
Geraldine kept her word, and about a week later Cyril Blake received a
civil little note, asking him to dine at Hillside on the following
evening.
'We shall be quite by ourselves. It will be only a family party--just my
husband's brother, Mr. Walter Harcourt, and his wife;' for the Walter
Harcourts had come on a visit.
Cyril looked a little grave as he showed the note to Audrey.
'I suppose I must go; but it will be very terrible. I don't mind telling
you, Audrey, that I am awfully afraid of your sister.'
'Poor fellow!' returned Audrey, with one of her charming smiles; 'I wish
I could spare you this ordeal. But I can give you one bit of comfort:
Gage will behave very nicely to you.' And though Cyril still felt a
little dubious on this point, he was obliged to own afterwards that she
was right.
The evening was a far pleasanter one than he expected. Mr. Harcourt was
thawed by his brother's presence, and though there was a slight
stiffness and reserve in his manner to Cyril, there was no
aggressiveness; and Geraldine was too much of a gentlewoman to behave
ungraciously to any guest. Both of them were quite civil to Cyril,
though they could not be said to be demonstrative, and there was no
attempt to treat him as one of themselves.
Mr. Walter Harcourt was a barrister, and was rapidly rising in his
profession. He was considerably younger than his brother, and had
recently married a wealthy young widow. He was a clever talker, and his
stock of legal anecdotes kept them all well amused. He and Audrey were
old friends, and at one time Geraldine and her husband had privately
hoped that their acquaintance might ripen into a tenderer feeling.
As soon as the ladies reached the drawing-room, Mrs. Walter Harcourt,
who was a pretty, vivacious little woman, observed confidentially to
Geraldine:
'My dear, I must congratulate you. That future brother-in-law of yours
is one of the handsomest men I have ever seen. I always thought Walter a
good-looking fellow, and I daresay you thought much the same of
Percival; but both our husbands looked very ordinary people beside him.
In fact, Walter was quite clumsy.'
'Nonsense, Maggie!' returned Geraldine, glancing behind her to see if
Audrey were within earshot. 'How can you make such absurd comparisons?
Of course Mr. Blake is good-looking; but, for my own part, I always
distrust handsome men.'
'They are generally such fools, you see. I hate talking to a man who is
too self-engrossed to pay me attention. But Mr. Blake is thoroughly
nice. I must go to Audrey and tell her how much I admire her _fiance_.'
'Thank goodness, that is over!' exclaimed Cyril fervently, as Audrey
joined him in the porch. 'I have not had a word with you yet.'
Audrey smiled as she gathered up her long dress and stepped out into the
dark shrubberies.
'It was very pleasant,' she observed tranquilly. 'The Walter Harcourts
are clever, amusing people. You got on capitally with both of them; and,
Cyril, I am sure Gage was as nice as possible.'
'Oh yes!' he returned quickly; 'and I admire her excessively; but, all
the same, I shall never feel at my ease with her.' And, as Audrey
uttered a protest at this, he continued seriously: 'Of course, I know
what Mrs. Harcourt thinks of my presumption; her manner told me that at
once. "You are not one of us"--that is what her tone said to me; and yet
she was quite kind and civil. Oh, Audrey'--interrupting himself, and
speaking almost passionately--'if I were only more worthy of you! But
have patience with me, and your people shall respect me yet.'
'Dear Cyril, please do not talk so!' and Audrey stole closer to him in
the October darkness. 'You have behaved so beautifully to-night, and I
felt, oh! so proud of my sweetheart. And if I am content, what does it
matter what other people think?'
'Forgive me, darling,' he returned remorsefully; 'I am only sometimes a
little sore because I can give you so little.'
And then his mood changed, for the subtle comfort of her sweet words
was thrilling through him; for he was young, and the girl he worshipped
from the depths of his honest heart was alone with him under the dim,
cloudy skies. Was it any wonder that the world was forgotten, and only
the golden haze of the future seemed before them, as they walked
together through the quiet streets to Woodcote?