EVERARD YIELDS THE POINT.
"Down on your knees,
And thank Heaven, fasting, for a good man's love."
_As You Like It._
"He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural."
_Twelfth Night._
It is given to few favored mortals to know such hours or moments of
intense happiness, that their cup of bliss seems well-nigh overflowing.
But such a moment had come to Moritz Ingram and Mollie.
When Gwendoline came to summon them to luncheon, two such radiant faces
beamed on her that she smiled back at them with joyous sympathy.
"Come here and congratulate me, Gwen," exclaimed her brother. "Mollie
has forgiven me for my little ruse; she knows an idealist must have
plenty of scope, and that everything is fair in love or war." And as
Mollie did not contradict this audacious statement, Gwendoline let it
pass without rebuke.
"Moritz, she is just perfect," she whispered, as Mollie left them and
went down the gallery, in search of Waveney. "Oh, I know," as they
watched the pretty, girlish figure with its awkward, lurching gait. "It
is a pity the dear child is so lame; but she is like a little stray
angel for loveliness. There, she has found her sister; we must leave
them for a few minutes together."
Mollie discovered Waveney standing in one of the window recesses,
looking down on the terrace. At the sound of footsteps, she turned
round.
"Well, Mollie," she said, trying to smile, but her lip quivered. "So the
Prince has come, after all, and my sweetheart is to be a great lady."
"Are you glad, Wave?" asked Mollie, with a loving hug, "really and truly
glad?"
Then Waveney's dark eyes filled suddenly with tears.
"Glad that my Mollie should have this beautiful home, and all these
fine things? My darling, what a question! Don't you know that I love you
better than myself? I could cry with joy to think that there will be no
more dull, anxious days in store for you, no worrying over Ann's
stupidity, and no fretting because sixpence would not go as far as a
shilling." Then, as Mollie laughed and kissed her, "I wonder what the
Black Prince would have said if he had seen that poor little
housekeeping book, drenched with tears?"
"Don't, Wave--please don't remind me of my silliness. Oh dear, how
unhappy I used to be! And now"--and here Mollie gazed with delighted
eyes down the splendid gallery--"to think that I shall ever be mistress
of this! It is just like a wonderful fairy story; for none of our
castles in the air--not even Kitlands--came up to this."
"Of course not," returned Waveney, energetically; "only Cinderella could
compare with it." And then, in a teasing voice, "Your ladyship will not
need to glue your face against shop-windows any more. You will have
diamonds and pearls of your own."
"Yes, and a pony-carriage, with cream-coloured ponies!" exclaimed
Mollie, joyously. "And Wave, just think! Moritz is going to give me
riding-lessons! Oh, his kindness and generosity are beyond words.
Darling, you must love him for his goodness to your poor little Mollie;
and Wave, remember, all this will make no difference. I think I care for
it so much because I shall be able to help you and father."
They were interrupted at this moment. Moritz carried off Mollie, and
Gwen proposed that they should follow. "For, while Moritz has been
dramatising," she observed, "you two poor things have been starving."
And Waveney could not deny that she was excessively hungry.
The old, grey-haired butler was in his place when they entered the
dining-room. Moritz stopped to speak to him.
"Tell Mrs. Wharton that I shall bring Miss Ward to see her this
afternoon," he said; and then they took their places.
Both the girls were a little subdued by the unwonted magnificence of
their environment, but they struggled gallantly against the feeling.
As Mollie ate her chicken, and sipped her champagne, she wondered how
soon she would get used to be waited upon by two tall footmen, and how
she would feel when she was first addressed as "My lady." "I hope I
shall not laugh," she observed to Waveney afterwards.
Waveney was wondering why she had never noticed that Moritz had rather
an aristocratic look. Their old friend, Monsieur Blackie, had always had
good manners; but now that he was in his own house, and at his own
table, she was struck by his well-bred air and perfect ease.
"He looks like a viscount," she said to herself, "and yet he is
perfectly his old self. Mollie was wiser than all of us, for she found
out that he was worthy of her love." And then Waveney fell into a
reverie over her strawberries. Her thoughts had strayed to a certain
dull, narrow house in Dereham. Thorold Chaytor's grave face and
intellectual brow seemed to rise before her. If she had his love, she
would not envy Mollie her rank and riches; she would envy no one. Even
now she had her secret happiness, for the words she had heard that
sorrowful night were for ever stamped on her memory. "Trouble? when
there is nothing on earth that I would not do for you, my darling!" How,
then, could she doubt that she was beloved?
When luncheon was over, Moritz took Mollie to the housekeeper's room and
introduced her to Mrs. Wharton. Gwen accompanied them; and then they
went back to the picture-gallery, and Mollie and Waveney feasted their
eyes on the pictures and sculpture. It was pretty to see the girls when
they recognised poor old "King Canute." Mollie actually kissed the
canvas. "You dear old thing!" she said, apostrophising it. Wretched daub
as it was, crude in colouring and defective in execution, Moritz proudly
termed it the gem of the gallery.
"It helped me to win my Mollie," he said to Gwen, who was regarding it
dubiously. "I painted many a worse picture when we were at the Tin
Shanty, eh, Gwen?" And her assent to this was so emphatic that Moritz
felt decidedly snubbed; but he rose to the occasion nobly.
"Mr. Ward has not quite worked out his subject," he went on; "but his
idea is good, and I shall always venerate it as the failure of a brave
man. 'A gallery of failures.' Would that not be a happy thought, Althea?
Suppose you and I start a hospital, refuge, or whatever you like to call
it, for diseased works of art? We would buy them cheaply, at half-price,
and the poor things should live out their time." And here Moritz looked
round the company for approval.
"How about the survival of the fittest?" asked his sister, scornfully.
"Oh, that will be all right," he returned, easily. "Besides, we should
have no very fit specimens, in a gallery of failures. They would be in
all stages of disease. But just think, my dear, what an encouragement it
would be to the artists! 'If my failure is remunerative,' the poor
beggars would say to themselves, 'I must just try again, and do better
next time.'"
"You are very absurd, Moritz." But Gwen looked decidedly amused. And
Mollie, privately, thought it a clever idea.
When they had finished inspecting all the treasures in the gallery, Gwen
summoned them to tea. The tea-table was in the prettiest of the alcoves,
which was large enough to hold seven or eight people.
After this they went down to the gardens, and through a small fir-wood,
to the Silent Pool. Here the carriage was to meet them.
Mollie and Waveney were enchanted with the Silent Pool. The still, green
pool, surrounded by the dark firs, the beauty, the stillness, and the
solemnity of the spot, inspired them with awe. To Althea it was a
favourite and well-remembered place. She had visited it more than once,
in the old viscount's time. For it had never been closed to the public.
That still pool, with its dark, hidden depths, reminded her of her own
life, with its calm surface, and troubled under-current. "There are so
many lives like that," she thought, as she looked back at the solemn
scene. And then she followed the others, down the winding path, to the
little inn, which was known as the Brentwood Arms. Here Gwendoline bade
them an affectionate farewell. And then they drove off to the station.
"It has been the most wonderful day that I have ever spent in my life!"
exclaimed Molly, a little breathlessly.
"It has been a happy day to me," returned Moritz, in a low tone. "There
can only be one day more perfect, and that will be our wedding day,
Mollie."
When they reached Waterloo, Althea refused to allow Moritz to accompany
them to the Red House. Mollie was tired and over-excited, and must rest.
He was to come to them the following evening, to meet Mr. Ward and
Thorold. There was to be a sort of friendly re-union. It was Noel's
birthday, too. But there must be no more excitement for the present. And
Althea was so firm and inexorable that Moritz had to yield.
"I think we are all tired," observed Waveney. "But it has been a lovely
day." And then, in spite of Althea's advice to rest and be quiet, she
and Mollie discussed their delightful picnic. Only, as they drove down
High Street, and passed a certain house, Waveney became a little silent.
The blinds were up, and the lamp was lighted. Waveney distinctly saw a
tall figure standing by the window. Althea evidently recognized it, too.
"Thorold has come back early from the Porch House," she said. And then
she spoke on quite a different subject to Mollie.
The next few weeks were busy ones at the Red House. There were long
mornings of shopping, and endless interviews with dressmakers and
milliners; and the all-important business of the _trousseau_ occupied
the three ladies from morning to night.
Mollie took a child-like pleasure in it all. Prosperity did not spoil
her. She was still the same simple, light-hearted Mollie of old, and the
one drawback to her perfect happiness was the thought that Waveney could
not have it too. "I wish I could give you half my _trousseau_," she
said, quite piteously. But Waveney only laughed at her.
"Don't be a simpleton, Mollie," she returned. "Why, you foolish child,
there are actually tears in your eyes! Don't you know that all these
fine things--these satins and silks and laces--would be most incongruous
in my position? What could I do with them at Cleveland Terrace?"
"But you will be at Brentwood half your time," retorted Mollie. "Moritz
says he could not have the heart to separate us; and he is so fond of
you, Wave."
"Yes, dear; but all the same, I must not expect to be as smart as your
ladyship." And then Mollie made a face at her.
Moritz had not forgotten his little Samaritan, and Althea had her
orders. Besides the beautiful bridesmaid's dress, a tailor-made tweed,
and two pretty evening frocks were provided for Waveney; and then,
indeed, Mollie was content.
There was so much to do that it was not until the beginning of July that
Waveney and Mollie went back to Cleveland Terrace to spend the last few
weeks with their father and Noel. The wedding was to be from the Red
House, and it was already arranged that they were to return a week
before the marriage.
All this time Moritz had haunted his cousin's house morning, noon, and
night, and had refused to consider himself in the way. Every few days
Everard dined there, and now and then Thorold was invited to meet him.
Everard was now quite at home at the Red House. Almost insensibly he had
relapsed into the old intimacy with Doreen and Althea. He forgot he was
only a poor drudge of a drawing-master. He forgot his shabby dress-coat,
and pitiful little economies. Brighter days were in store for him; his
little Mollie was to be the wife of a nobleman, and Waveney was coming
back to him to be the light of his home; and there was little doubt in
his mind that Noel would distinguish himself and pass his examination.
"I feel better days are coming," he said once to Althea. She was his old
friend and confidant; he would often speak to her of his children's
future, and her gentle sympathy never failed him.
It was Althea's advice that he sought, when Moritz told his future
father-in-law that he intended to allow him an income. Everard, who was
as proud as he was poor, was sorely perturbed in his mind when he heard
this.
"What am I to do?" he said, in a vexed voice, when he found himself
alone with Althea that evening. They were all in the garden
together--Ingram, and Thorold Chaytor, and Joanna, as well as Moritz.
They had broken up in little groups, and Everard and Althea had strolled
down a side path behind the Porch House.
"I wish you would give me your advice," he went on, "for I am in a
terrible fix. Ralston is the most generous fellow I ever met; he wants
me to give up my teaching and accept an income from him. The fact is,"
continued Everard, rather bitterly, "he is unwilling that his
father-in-law should be only a poor devil of a drawing-master. It is
just his pride, confound him! But, as I tell him, I have my pride, too.
I am afraid I hurt his feelings, though he was too kind to tell me so."
"Moritz is very sensitive," returned Althea; "in spite of
eccentricities, he is very soft-hearted; his generosity amounts to a
vice; he is never happy unless he is giving."
"Oh, that is all very well," replied Everard, in rather a huffy voice.
"But if I do not choose to be indebted to my son-in-law, surely my
feelings must be considered as well as his."
"True, my dear friend." But Althea smiled as she spoke. "But it seems
to me, if I may speak frankly, that your pride is at fault here. Moritz
wishes to be a son to you; he will be your Mollie's husband; he has more
than he can spend--every year he is likely to grow richer, for, as you
know, they have found coal on the Welsh property; he and Mollie will be
rolling in money, and----" Here she hesitated.
"And Mollie's father will be out at elbows. Why do you not finish your
sentence, Miss Harford?"
"No; I should not have put it that way," returned Althea. "But I think
it will be rather hard on Moritz, and doubly hard on Mollie, if you
refuse the gift that their filial love offers you. Mollie knows how you
loathe teaching. It is the crown of her happiness that her marriage will
enable her to help you and Waveney. Moritz intends to give her a
magnificent allowance for her own private use, and directly they were
engaged he informed her that he intended to settle an income on her
father. Mr. Ward, you cannot be proud with your own children. Why not
accept your son-in-law's kindness? I am sure you will not repent it."
And then Everard yielded.
Mollie and Waveney were overjoyed when they heard that Althea's counsel
had prevailed, and Moritz was excessively pleased; he was even disposed
to encroach a little on his privileges, only Althea begged him to be
cautious.
"You and Moritz must bide your time," she said, one day, to the little
bride-elect; "you have both gained a victory, and you must be content
with that for the present. Your father told Waveney the other day that
nothing would induce him to leave Cleveland Terrace. Your mother died
there," she continued, in a low voice, "and I suppose that is why he is
attached to the house."
"Yes; but it is such a dingy, dull little place," returned Mollie,
sadly, "and Moritz meant to buy such a pretty house, and furnish it so
beautifully. But I suppose we shall have to wait."
"Indeed, you must. But cheer up, Mollie; new carpets and curtains, and
light, tasteful papers will soon transform Number Ten, Cleveland
Terrace, into a charming abode--indeed, I do not believe you will
recognise it."
"And Ann is to be sent away? You are sure of that, Miss Althea?"
"Yes, and two good servants are to replace her. Waveney will have no
trouble with her housekeeping. Now I hear Moritz's voice, and you know
his lordship objects to be kept waiting!" And at this hint Mollie
blushed beautifully and ran away.