"Well, father--how goes the world in Cleverley? How are you getting on
with the charming but undesirable family at the Hall, of whom Aunt Meg
writes to me?"
Sylvester Riddell and his father were walking up and down the centre
path of the Rectory kitchen-garden, smoking an after-breakfast pipe
together, between borders filled with tulips, daffodils, polyanthuses,
and other spring flowers, behind which espaliers were coming into
blossom, and early cabbages and young peas sprouting up in fresh and
orderly rows. The red tower of the church looked over a tall hedge of
lilac trees, and beyond was the little street, soon leading into fields
and open, prettily-wooded country, rising into low hills in the
distance.
Sylvester had just arrived for a few days' visit from Oxbridge, where he
had recently obtained a first-class, a fellowship, and an appointment as
tutor of his college. His father and grandfather had both been
scholars, and such honours seemed to them almost the hereditary right of
their family.
Sylvester inherited from his father long angular limbs, rugged but
well-formed features, and brown skin. But the dreamy look, latent in
the father's fine grey eyes, was habitual in the son's; while a certain
humorous twinkle in their corners had had less time to develop itself,
and was much less apparent in the younger man's face.
The old Rector had shaggy grey hair, eyebrows, and whiskers; he had
grown stout, and his everyday clothes were somewhat loose and shabby.
Sylvester had brown hair, cut short, and was close shaved, and his dress
was neat, and did his tailor credit. Still, the father's youth was
closely recalled by this son of his old age, and the two found each
other congenial spirits.
The fox-terrier that barked in front of them, and the old collie that
paced soberly behind, turned eyes of kindness alike on both, the great
grey cat rubbed against both pairs of trousers, and the old gardener lay
in wait to show Sylvester his side of a dispute with "master" as to the
clipping of the lilac hedges.
Fifty years or so ago the Rector of Cleverley had been a young
undergraduate, remarkable for the fine scholarship and elegant
verse-making of his day, but with a touch of genius that made him differ
from his fellows; careless, simple, and untidy, yet fond of society and
good fellowship, full of the romance and sentiment of his day,--a man
who admired pretty women, but had only one lasting love, from whom
circumstances had divided him till he married her late in life, and lost
her soon after Sylvester's birth.
When, on his marriage, he took the living of Cleverley, he became an
excellent parish priest, the personal friend of all his flock, and
deeply beloved by them; a little shy of modern organisation, and more
hard on his curates for mispronouncing Greek names than on many worse
offenders. He was a gentleman, and a man of the world who had other
experiences than those of parochial life, and belonged to a race of
clergy more common in the last generation than in this one.
Sylvester was meant to be much the same sort of person as his father;
but he was born in a grave and more self-conscious age. He had all the
Rector's cordial kindliness, and much of his keen insight; but the
romantic, dreamy side of the character was both more carefully hidden
and stronger in the younger man. The sentiment of the eighth decade of
the nineteenth century was less cheerful and light-hearted than that of
the third or fourth. The Rector had been among those who still laughed
and sighed with Moore, and smiled with Praed (he had not been the sort
of man to give himself over to Byron). He had fallen in love with the
miller's and the gardener's fair daughters in the early days of
Tennyson. Sylvester dived into Browning, and dreamed with Rossetti. He
was haunted by ideals which he did not hope to realise; and, moreover,
felt himself compelled frequently to pretend that he had no ideals at
all.
And although he had worked hard to attain his university distinctions,
he took the duties they involved somewhat lightly, and hardly found in
his profession a sufficient interest and aim in life, fulfilling its
claims in fact in a somewhat formal fashion.
He was, however, a very affectionate son, and was delighted to find
himself at home again, and full of curiosity as to the new-comers at
Cleverley Hall.
"Are they as charming as they appeared at first sight?" he asked.
"My dear boy," said the Rector in a confidential tone, "they are very
charming. But I'm sorry for the little girl. There's something ideal
about her. But it's a bad stock, Syl, a bad stock!"
"So I've always heard," said Sylvester, slightly amused at his father's
tone of reluctant admiration. "But what's amiss with them? We're to
dine there to-night, I believe?"
"Yes," said the Rector, "and we shall have a very pleasant evening. You
see, my dear boy, the ladies here are rather pleased with Lady Haredale.
They were prejudiced--very much prejudiced against her. Now they say
she is much nicer and quieter than they expected, and they believe that
the reports about her are exaggerated. But they don't see that she is
so handsome. The fact is, you know, Syl," and here Mr Riddell paused
in his walk and spoke in confidential accents, "that she belongs to
another order of women altogether--to the fascinating women of history,
and her beauty is a fact quite beyond discussion. But she's not a good
woman, Sylvester, and never will be."
"The fascinating women of history," said Sylvester--"Cleopatra, and
others, were perhaps a little deficient in moral backbone. But I'm
sure, father, Lady Haredale must be a charming hostess. I quite look
forward to the party to-night. So she outshines her daughter, I
suppose."
"My dear boy," said Mr Riddell, "there's something about that little
girl that goes to one's heart. What is to become of her?"
"But what is it that is so dangerous about Lady Haredale?" said
Sylvester. "She doesn't appear to offend the proprieties."
"She has no principle, Syl--not a stiver," said the Rector, "and I like
the look of none of their friends. So, my dear boy, I wouldn't advise
you to get drawn into the set too much. They're very sociable and
hospitable. Young Leigh seems a good deal attracted."
"Old Lucy? Really? Has he succumbed to the historical type of
fascination? The young lady must be charming indeed. But, father, I am
immensely interested. I must study these historical ladies--at a
distance, of course. But there's Aunt Meg. I must go and ask her how
the parish is getting on."
Miss Riddell, who represented the practical element in the household and
family, honestly said that she liked gossip. Sylvester called it
studying life. In both, it was really kindly interest in old friends
and neighbours.
But to-day, she was so much taken up with the new-comers, and evidently
admired them so much, that Sylvester prepared for the dinner-party with
much curiosity. As he followed his father and aunt into the long low
drawing-room, he was struck at once by its more tasteful and cheerful
appearance than when he had last seen it, and by the lively murmur of
conversation that filled it, and, as he advanced to receive Lady
Haredale's greeting, he did not think that she was splendidly dressed,
or startlingly fashionable, but he perceived at once that she was a
great beauty. She introduced "my eldest daughter," and Sylvester saw,
standing by her side, a tall girl, in the simplest of white gowns, but
with splendid jewels clasping her slender throat, and shining in her
hair. She smiled, and looked at him with the most cordial friendliness,
and she struck him as quite unlike the general run of young ladies, with
her lithe graceful figure, her full soft lips, and her clear spiritual
eyes.
"I know what it is," thought Sylvester, "she is Rossetti's ideal; but he
never reached her. She is the maiden that Chiaro saw. But she is also
a happy girl. By Jove! no wonder the dad was so impressive!"
Presently Mrs Leigh and her son arrived to complete the party, and were
greeted by Amethyst as well-established acquaintances.
Sylvester knew Lucian Leigh well, had been at school with him, and
believed him to be, in all points, a good fellow. But as he watched him
making small talk with greater ease than usual to the young lady, it
struck Sylvester as a new idea that it was a pity that Lucian's
appearance was so deceptive; he had not at all the sort of character
suggested by the first sight of his face. But that the two faces
harmonised well as they sat side by side at the table, was indisputable.
Presently, he saw Amethyst turn to the Rector, who sat on her left hand,
and begin to talk to him with pretty respectful courtesy. Evidently she
did not think it well-behaved to be absorbed in her younger companion,
and Mr Riddell succeeded in amusing her, for she laughed and looked
interested, and he evidently put forward his best powers of pleasing.
Sylvester looked with curiosity at the rest of the company. Some, of
course, were well-known neighbours; others, strangers staying in the
house, who did not greatly take his fancy. The most prominent of these
was a middle-aged, military-looking man, who was introduced as Major
Fowler, and who struck Sylvester as a specimen of the `bad style' which
had been sought for in vain in Lady Haredale and her daughter. Lady
Haredale called him Tony, and he seemed on intimate terms in the house,
especially with the younger girls, who were found in the drawing-room
after dinner--Una with a bright colour in her usually pale cheeks, and a
sudden flow of childish chatter. Presently Victoria, with an air of
infantine confidence, came up to Sylvester and said--
"Please, are there any primroses growing here?"
"Primroses! why yes; haven't you seen them?"
"We have never gathered any primroses, we want to go and get some. Will
you show us the way?" said Tory, looking up in his face.
"Oh, Tory," said Amethyst, who, passing near, heard this request; "there
are plenty of primroses which we can find quite easily."
"But I should be delighted to show you the best places for them," said
Sylvester, with alacrity.
"Mr Leigh will come too," said Tory, turning to Lucian. "We're
Cockneys, we want to be taught to enjoy the country, mother says so."
"We'll have a grand primrose picnic," said Lucian. "My sisters will
come too. Miss Haredale, do let us show you your first primrose."
"Oh, I have gathered plenty of primroses," said Amethyst, smiling, but
with a blush and a puzzled look, as if she did not quite know what it
behoved her to say. "But one cannot have too many," she added after a
moment.
The primrose gathering was arranged for the next day, ostensibly between
the Miss Haredales, and the girls from Ashfield, escorted by their
governess.
"But," said Tory afterwards with a knowing look, "we shan't have to
gather them by ourselves, you'll see."
"Tory!" exclaimed Amethyst, "you should not have asked Mr Riddell and
Mr Leigh to come and gather primroses with us! And how could you say
that you did not know where they grew, when we got some yesterday?"
"Oh, they'll like to come," said Tory, "and I'm quite little enough to
ask them."
She made an indescribable face at Amethyst, and walked away as she
spoke.
"Did you like your first party, my pretty girl?" said Lady Haredale,
putting a caressing hand on Amethyst's shoulder.
"Oh yes, mamma, it was delightful."
"I am going to be the old mother now, you know, Tony. It is this
child's turn now."
"You will have a great deal of satisfaction in teaching her," said Tony,
with an intonation which Amethyst did not understand, and a look she did
not like.
But, as she shut herself into her own room, the images in her mind were
full of colour and brightness. She felt that she had begun to live.
The manifold relations of family life, the new acquaintances, even the
new dresses and jewels, filled her with interest and pleasure so great
that it brought a pang of remorse.
"Poor auntie!" she thought, "and now she is dull, without me!"
And, being too much excited to sleep, she sat down to write some of her
first eager impressions to Miss Haredale; till, at what seemed to her a
wickedly late hour, she heard a light soft foot in the passage.
She opened the door softly, and there was Una, still in her white
evening frock, with shining eyes and burning cheeks, starting nervously
at sight of her sister.
"Una! Do you know how late it is? Where have you been? How your head
will ache to-morrow!"
"I've been in the smoking-room and I've smoked a cigarette, and tasted a
brandy-and-soda!" said Una, with a touch of Tory's wicked defiance.
"Would mother let you?" said Amethyst slowly.
"Oh yes!" said Una, shrugging her shoulders, "but _I_ shan't let _you_!"
She flung her arms round Amethyst and kissed her with burning lips, then
scuttled away into her own room.