MOLLIE WALTER
It was a wet windy morning. Mollie Walter sat with her needlework in the
little drawing-room of Stone Cottage, and looked disconsolately through
the French window at the havoc that was being wrought among the late
summer flowers in the garden. It was a bright little tight little
garden, with flower borders round a square lawn, and ground for
vegetables beyond a privet hedge. A great walnut tree overshadowed it,
and the grass was already littered with twigs and leaves. Such a garden
had to be kept 'tidy' at all costs, and Mollie was wondering how she
should be able to manage it, when the autumn fall of leaves should begin
in earnest. Her mother was in bed upstairs with one of her mild
ailments, which never amounted to actual illness. Mollie had left her to
sleep for an hour, and was hoping for a visit from Beatrix, to relieve
her loneliness. She had not minded being much alone until lately, but
now that she had more real friends than she had ever had in her life she
wanted them constantly.
There was a ring at the bell, and Mollie went out to open the door. Yes,
it was her dear Beatrix, looking more beautiful than ever, though her
long raincoat was buttoned up beneath her chin, and only her
flower-like face could be seen. But it was shining with happiness and
laughter, as she struggled with the wind to get her umbrella down,
before entering the little hall.
"Oh, what weather!" she exclaimed, as the door was shut behind her. "But
I had to come to tell you, Moll. It's all right. My darling old Daddy
has come to his senses. I'm not angry with him any more."
The two girls embraced warmly. "I knew you'd be pleased," said Beatrix,
laughing out of pure lightness of heart, as she took off her coat. "I
had to come and tell you. Oh, I'm as happy as a queen."
Presently they were sitting together by the window, and Beatrix was
telling her story. "I don't mind the six months a bit," she said when
she had finished. "I should have, at first, but I don't now. It's
getting out of all the horridness at home that I'm so glad of. I hated
not being friends with Dad; I hated it much more than he thought I did."
"But he _was_ unreasonable," said Mollie, who had not seen much of this
disinclination during the past weeks.
"Oh, I don't know. Well, perhaps he was, but there were excuses for him.
He does love me, and hated the idea of losing me. I believe he'd have
been the same about anybody. Anyhow, it's all over now, and I've
forgiven him. I'm going to reward him by being very good. I shan't talk
about Rene at all, except sometimes to you, my dear. When the six months
are over and he comes again, Dad will have got used to the idea. He
_must_ like him, you know, really. He is so nice, and so good. The idea
of _him_ being like a Frenchman in a horrid novel! Men are rather like
babies in what they can believe about each other, aren't they? I know a
lot about men now, having two such nice ones to love as Rene and Daddy.
Oh, I'm awfully happy now, Moll."
"I'm so glad," said Mollie sympathetically. "And six months isn't such
an awful time to wait. But don't you think that if you say nothing about
him Mr. Grafton will think you've forgotten him, and be very
disappointed when he finds you haven't?"
Beatrix laughed. "I expect that's what he wants, poor darling!" she
said. "Perhaps I shall say a little word now and then. And Caroline will
know that I love him just as much as ever. Daddy will find out about it
from her. He always does talk over everything with her."
"Is she very glad?"
"Oh, yes. She has to take Dad's part, but she's awfully sympathetic,
really, and I don't think she has ever really understood what all the
fuss was about. Nobody could, of course, because there isn't anything to
make a fuss about. The dear old Dragon thinks Dad must be right, but
then she's old, and I suppose she has never loved anybody very much and
doesn't know what it's like. Caroline doesn't either, though she thinks
she does. But _we_ know, don't we, Mollie?"
Mollie suddenly took up the work that had been lying on her lap, and her
face went red as she looked down at it. "I ought to know, by the amount
I've listened to about it from you," she said.
Beatrix laughed at her mischievously. "I don't think you'll hear very
much more," she said. "I'm contented now. I feel comfortable all over
me. I am going to begin to enjoy myself again. I shall go away on some
visits soon, but I don't want to just yet, because I love being here,
now that everything is all right at home."
Mollie's blush had died down. She left off using her needle and looked
at Beatrix. "Are you sure you love him just as much as ever you did?"
she asked.
"Oh, yes, I do. Of course I do," said Beatrix. "It doesn't leave off
like that, you know. But I know how to wait. I'm much wiser than people
think I am. I'm thinking of him all the time, and loving him, and I know
he's thinking of me. He'll be so happy when his mother tells him that he
may come and ask for me again. And then he'll be allowed to have me, and
we shall both be as happy as happy all the rest of our lives. It's
lovely to look forward to. It's what makes me not mind waiting a bit--or
only a very little bit--now and then."
Mollie took up her work again. "If it were me, I think I should want to
hear from him sometimes," she said, "or to see him. And you did feel
like that at first."
"I know I did. Daddy not understanding, and putting everything wrong,
made me sore and hurt all over, and with everybody. I was horrid even to
Caroline, who is always so sweet. I think I was with you too, a
little--just at first."
"No, you never were with me. But you were with him, though you tried not
to show it. I never said so before, because I didn't want to trouble
you."
"Did it seem to you like that?" Beatrix said thoughtfully. "I'm so happy
now that I've forgotten. Well, I suppose at first I was hurt with him
too. I couldn't understand his giving me up so easily. It seemed to me
like that. But, of course, it wasn't. I ought to have trusted him. I
think you _must_ trust the people you love, even if you don't
understand. You see he's been dying for me all the time. Mme. de
Lassigny coming to Dad like that, and telling him--it's like having a
window opened. I can see him now, wanting me, just as I want him.
Perhaps I was a little doubtful about it, but I ought not to have been.
I shan't be any more. Oh, I do trust him, and love him."
There had been another ring at the front door bell while she had been
talking, and now Mrs. Mercer was shown into the room.
The little lady's manner was combined of effusiveness and nervousness.
She had come to see Mrs. Walter, if she was well enough, but wouldn't
hear of her being disturbed if she was resting. She could easily come at
another time. She was so pleased to see Beatrix looking so well. But
what a horrid change in the weather! It did look as if the summer had
come to an end at last. She had really thought of lighting a fire this
morning. No, she wouldn't sit down. She had heaps of things to do. If
Mrs. Walter couldn't see her she would come in later.
Mollie thought her mother would be pleased to see her, and went
upstairs. Mrs. Mercer did consent to sit down until she returned, but
her manner was as jerky as before. Beatrix liked her and would have been
ready to tell her the news that was filling her mind. But there was no
opportunity before Mollie came back. Mrs. Mercer went upstairs with her,
after shaking hands warmly with Beatrix, and saying that she supposed
she would have gone before she came down again.
Mollie looked rather disturbed when she came back into the room and shut
the door after her. Beatrix looked at her as she took her seat again,
and said: "Tell me about it, Moll. You know we're friends, and I've told
you everything about myself, and about Rene."
"Oh, well," said Mollie, with an intonation of relief. "I've told you
everything so far. I'm afraid she has come to make trouble."
"And her husband has sent her, I suppose. I don't think she'd want to
make trouble on her own account. She's nice."
"She _is_ nice, isn't she? All of you think so, don't you?"
"Yes, we like her. If it weren't for her horrid husband we should like
her very much. Unfortunately you can't divide them. She's too much under
his thumb."
"I don't think I should put it quite like that," said Mollie
hesitatingly.
"No, I know you wouldn't," said Beatrix quickly. "And that's why you can
never get it quite straight. He _is_ horrid, and he's horrid in nothing
more than the way he treats you."
"He has always been very kind to me--to me and mother too. _Really_
kind, I mean, up till a little time ago, before you came--and I don't
want to forget it."
"Yes, kind, I suppose, in the way he'd have liked to be kind to us. If
he had had his way we should have been bosom friends, and he'd have
half-lived in the house."
"We hadn't anything to give him in return, as you would have had. It
wasn't for that he was kind to us."
"My dear child, you know he's horrid--with girls. It was quite enough
that you were a pretty girl."
"But he wasn't like that with me, B. I should have known it if he had
been."
"No, you wouldn't, my dear. Vera Beckley never knew it till he tried to
kiss her."
Mollie flinched a little at this directness. "Don't you think she may
have made too much fuss about that?" she said. "He's years and years
older than she is--old enough to be her father."
"Yes, of course, that's always the excuse. Moll darling, you haven't
lived enough in the world. You don't know men. Besides Vera didn't make
a fuss. Her people did, because they happened to catch him at it. It
must have been a glorious occasion. I wish I'd been there. She only told
us about it in strict confidence, and with the idea of opening _your_
eyes."
"I still think she needn't have thought so much of it; and Mrs. Beckley
needn't have, either. Anyhow, he has never kissed me. I don't think I
should have thought anything of it if he had."
"I don't suppose you would. That's what they rely on--men like
that--horrid old men. And you came here just after that had happened
with Vera. Naturally he'd be a bit careful."
"I think you're rather horrid about it, yourself, B. I certainly have
been angry the way he has behaved since, but I can't see that _that_
comes in, and I don't believe it does."
"Well, I'm quite sure it does. But what do you think he has sent Mrs.
Mercer here about?"
Mollie hesitated for a moment. "Mrs. Mercer has been talking lately,"
she said, "as if I had quite given them up since you came. You
know--little bits stuck in every now and then, when she's talking about
something else. 'Oh, of course, we can't expect to see much of you now,
Mollie.' All that sort of thing. It makes me uncomfortable. And she
wasn't like it at first. She was so pleased that I had made friends with
you."
"He has talked her over to it. That's what I meant when I said she was
under his thumb. Do you think he has sent her here then to complain to
your mother?"
"I think she is talking me over with mother."
"But Mrs. Walter was angry when _he_ interfered, wasn't she?"
"Oh, yes, she was. But she has made excuses for him since. He ought not
to have said what he did. But he meant well."
"I think it was disgusting, what he said; perfectly outrageous. And I
don't think he meant well either. It's all part of what I tell you. He
hates anybody having anything to do with you but himself." She changed
her tone. "Moll darling," she said coaxingly, "you might tell me about
it. I've told you everything about myself."
Mollie took up her work, and kept her eyes fixed upon it. "Tell you
about what," she asked. "I _am_ telling you everything."
"You do like him, don't you? It's quite plain he likes you."
"What, the Vicar?"
Beatrix laughed, on a thrushlike note of enjoyment. "You know I don't
mean the Vicar," she said. "What happens when you and he go off from the
tennis lawn together?"
"Oh, you mean Bertie Pemberton," said Mollie, enlightened, but still
keeping her eyes on her work. "They are going to give me some plants for
the garden, and we have been choosing them. He knows a lot about
flowers."
Beatrix laughed again. "Do you like him, Mollie?" she asked.
"Yes, of course I do," said Mollie. "But don't be silly about it, B.
Can't a girl like a man without--without----You're just like what you
complain about in the Vicar, and think so horrid in him."
"No, I'm not, my dear. The Vicar takes it for granted that he means
nothing except just to amuse himself with a pretty girl. I don't think
that at all. I know the signs. I've seen more of the world, and of men,
than you have, Mollie. I know by the way he looks at you, and by the way
he talks about you."
Mollie's face, which she never once raised, was pink. "It's very kind of
him to interest himself in me," she said. "What does he say?"
Beatrix laughed again. "You're awfully sweet," she said affectionately.
"He thinks you're so much nicer than all the smart young women in
London. That was one for me, but I didn't show any offence. I said you
were, and as good as gold. That seemed to surprise him rather, and I had
to tell him why I thought so. He wanted to hear all about you. I think
your ears must have burned. He thinks you're awfully _kind_. That was
his great word for you. You know, I think he's awfully nice, Mollie. All
the Pembertons are, when you get down beneath the noise they make. They
love their country life, and all the nice things in it."
Mollie raised her eyes at last. "That's what I do like about him," she
said, speaking steadily, but with the blush still on her cheeks. "I
think I've found out that he really has simple tastes, though I
shouldn't have thought it at first. He goes about a lot in London, but
he doesn't really care about it. He says he makes a good deal of money,
but what is the good of money if you're not living the life you want?"
There was a twinkle in Beatrix's eyes, but she replied gravely: "That's
what he told me. He's had enough of it. He'd like himself much better
living here on his allowance, and only going to London occasionally. I
think if you were to advise him to do that, Mollie, he would."
Mollie took up her work again hastily. "Oh, I couldn't very well advise
him about a thing like that," she said. "I don't know enough about it."
"Hasn't he asked your advice?"
"No, not exactly. He has only just mentioned it, and I said----"
"What did you say?"
"I said perhaps he would be happier living quietly in the country. I
thought a quiet country life was the nicest of all."
"It wouldn't be very quiet where any of the Pembertons were, but----"
"Oh, but they only talk so loud because old Mr. Pemberton is so deaf.
They are quite different when you are alone with one of them. Nora has
told me a lot about herself. I like Nora very much, and I'm rather sorry
for her in a way. She seems so independent and satisfied with
everything, but she likes having a girl friend, all the same. Of course
I don't love her as I do you, B; but I do like her, awfully. It's she
who's really my friend at Grays."
"Is it?" said Beatrix, and laughed again, gently.
At that moment Mrs. Mercer was heard coming downstairs. She took her
leave on the same note of hurried aloofness as that on which she had
entered, and immediately afterwards Mrs. Walter knocked on the floor of
her room above in summons of her daughter.
Beatrix kissed Mollie good-bye. "Don't be frightened, darling," she
said. "We can easily get the better of Lord Salisbury between us. Come
to tea this afternoon and tell me all about it."
Mrs. Walter, sitting up in bed with a dressing-jacket on her thin frame,
looked flustered. "I think there is something in what she says, Mollie
dear," she said at once. "I want to talk to you about it."
"I knew she had come to talk about me," said Mollie. "I told Beatrix
so."
"Well, that is one of the things," said her mother. "Aren't you and
Beatrix rather inclined to encourage each other in setting yourself
against--against----"
"What, against the Vicar, Mother?"
"I didn't mean that. But there's Beatrix certainly setting herself
against her father's wishes, and----"
"Oh, but Mr. Grafton has given way. She came to tell me so. She is not
to see M. de Lassigny for six months, but after that they are to be
allowed to be engaged."
Mrs. Walter was rather taken aback. "Oh!" she said. "Mrs. Mercer didn't
know that."
"But what has it got to do with Mrs. Mercer, Mother? Or with the
Vicar?--because, of course, it is he who has sent her. You know that the
Graftons don't like the way in which he tries to direct them in their
affairs. I told you that they had told me that. Surely it isn't for him
or Mrs. Mercer to interfere in such a thing as B's engagement--and to
try to do it through me!"
"I don't think they have any idea of interfering, but they do take a
great interest in you, Mollie; and, of course, they were everything to
you before the Graftons came. I can't wonder that they are a little hurt
that you make such a very intimate friend of Beatrix, and that they feel
themselves shut out now. At least--that Mrs. Mercer does. I don't think
it is so much the Vicar. And you are wrong in thinking that he sent her.
She said expressly that she came of her own accord. He didn't even know
that she was coming."
"Oh!" said Mollie. She had a dim idea that he had had a good deal to do
with her coming, all the same, but did not express the doubt, or even
examine it.
"Mollie dear," said Mrs. Walter, with a sudden change of tone. "Is there
anything between you and young Pemberton? I've hoped you would have said
something to me. But you know, dear, it _does_ seem a little as if
everything were for Beatrix Grafton now."
Mollie was stricken to the heart. Her mother's thin anxious face, and
the very plainness which sits heavily upon women who are middle-aged
and tired, when they are without their poor armour of dress, seemed to
her infinitely pathetic. She folded her mother with her warm fresh young
body. "Oh, my darling," she said through her tears. "I love you better
than anybody in the world. I shall never, never forget what you've done
for me and been to me. I've only told you nothing because there's
nothing to tell."
Mrs. Walter cried a little too. She had struggled for so many years to
have her child with her, and it had seemed to her, with the struggle
over, and peace and security settling down upon them both in this little
green-shaded nest of home, that she had at last gained something that
would fill the rest of her days with contentment. 'Some day' Mollie
would marry; but she had never looked so far forward. It had been enough
for her to take the rest and the love and companionship with gratitude
and an always increasing sense of safety and contentment in it. But it
had already become a little sapped. She was glad enough that her child
should have found friends outside, as long as she remained unchanged at
home, but the friction about it had disturbed her in her dreams of
peace, and she wanted to be first with her daughter as long as she
should keep her with her.
Mollie felt something of all of this on her behalf, and it brought a
sense of compunction to her generous young heart. She loved her mother.
It was not a case between them of satisfying the exigencies of a parent
out of a sense of duty. It touched her deeply that her mother should
show her she wanted her, and she responded instantly to the longing.
"If you don't want me to go to Grays any more I won't," she said, and
had no feeling that she was making any renunciation as she said it.
"Well dear," said Mrs. Walter. "I do think it would be better if you
didn't go quite so often. Every time you do go there is always that
feeling that perhaps it would be better not--after what the Vicar said.
I was annoyed about it then, but perhaps after all he saw more clearly
than I did. He shouldn't have supposed, of course, that _you_ were in
any way to blame, and, if he thought that I was, he ought to have said
so quietly to me alone. But perhaps it is true that by being at the beck
and call of people, as you must rather seem to be to outsiders,
considering the difference there is between the Pembertons and
ourselves---- Don't you see what I mean, dear?"
"Yes, Mother," said Mollie submissively. She had a sense of forlornness
as she said it, but put it away from her, sitting by her mother's side
on the bed, with her arm around her shoulders. "I won't go there so
much. I'll never go unless you tell me that you'd like me to. I'm afraid
I've been gadding about rather too much, and neglecting you, darling.
But you know I love to be with you best of all. We're very happy living
here together, aren't we?"
Her tears flowed again, and once more when she left her mother to rest a
little longer. But she busied herself resolutely about the house, and
when a gleam of sun shone through the scudding clouds thought how happy
she was living there with her mother. But she did not feel quite so
happy as she ought to have done. It was as if she had closed for herself
a window in the little cottage, which opened into a still brighter
world.