"Oh yes, I always knew that she was Lucian's property. They were marked
out for each other from the first. But no man can keep such loveliness
all to himself; it is the inheritance of humanity, like the great
beauties of nature. I am convinced that Amethyst Haredale is the
embodiment of the ideal of our generation. Rossetti--Burne Jones--they
aim at her, they cannot reach her. It does not matter whom she belongs
to, she is--"
"It strikes me, Sylvester, that you are talking nonsense."
"No, Aunt Meg, not to the initiated," said Sylvester, pulling the
collie's ears, and looking dreamily out at the sunny Rectory garden, one
day shortly after his return home at midsummer. "There is Beauty, you
know, and sometimes it takes shape. Dante had his Beatrice; Faust, or
Goethe himself, sought, but never found--"
"I have always understood that Goethe was interested in several young
women," interrupted Miss Riddell.
"Yes, but you see the ideal always escaped him; he never quite believed
in it. But when one has once seen it, you know, life must be the richer
and the fairer.--Eh, dad? Have you been listening?" as he suddenly met
his father's eyes fixed on him over the top of the county paper.
"Yes, my dear boy, I have. But young men's ideals have been in the
habit of taking shape ever since Adam woke up and saw Eve."
"Oh, a man's own ideal," said Sylvester impatiently, and colouring a
little; "but I meant the ideal of the race. That is impersonal, and
exists for all."
"H'm!" said the Rector. "The two ideals had a way in my day of seeming
identical. I strongly suspect they ran together, as far back as Plato,
and will be found, in the same person, however many philosophies may
succeed his."
"And I don't think," said Miss Riddell, "that that cheerful,
healthy-looking girl is at all like those melancholy pictures that I see
in the Grosvenor Gallery."
"Oh," said Sylvester, starting up and laughing, "there is no use in
talking about the ideal to either of you."
Perhaps he had been impelled to do so, by the consciousness that his
feelings concerning the engagement were watched.
He had known, as he said, from the first, that Amethyst was Lucian's
property; but she had so filled his imagination, that he could not help
thinking of her, and fancied he had found a way of doing so, compatible
with the turn events had taken. Of course he was not quite in earnest,
or rather, he hid the earnestness of which he was conscious, under a
veil of fine talking.
He thought of little except of Amethyst and Lucian, but by talking of
her he could prove to himself that the thinking was not painful. No,
rather it was sweet to compare her to all the fair impersonations of
poetry and art.
This peculiar feeling for her was surely quite compatible with his own
happiness, when she was Lucian's wife. Then came the encounter at the
post-office, perplexing him extremely; so that he thought of little
else, until the day arrived for the garden-party at his cousin's at
Loseby Hall, to which he repaired with his father and aunt, thinking
only that he should there see Amethyst. The weather was fine, the
gardens beautiful, and half the neighbourhood were gathered on the wide
smooth lawn, or scattered about in the paths and shrubberies.
Sylvester, in the midst of many greetings, soon detected the various
groups of which he was in search. Major Fowler, handsome and military,
and very sprucely got up, was walking about with a pale dark young lady,
not very young, nor very pretty, but dressed in a costume, the wonderful
lace and embroidery of which was noticeable, even in the crowd of
well-dressed women.
Mrs Leigh as usual, elegant and appropriate, was with Lucian; and
Amethyst, all white, with a large white hat, was beside him. Lady
Haredale was there also, in a style which at first sight looked
appropriately matronly, but which yet was like that of no other matron
there. The little Leighs and Haredales were together, and Una, promoted
to a long white frock, and with her hair turned up, stood by Amethyst's
side, looking in air and style very like her. Sylvester went up to join
them, and, as he shook hands with Amethyst, he fancied that she blushed,
and that her eyes had a new expression of anxiety in their depths.
"Come, Leigh," said one of the young men of the house, "you won't be an
available bachelor much longer--so come and play tennis. Sylvester, I
believe you are always lazy. Miss Haredale, will you play?"
Amethyst was not prepared to play on the present occasion, and preferred
looking on. She liked to watch Lucian, who went away good-humouredly,
knowing that he was by far the best player in the neighbourhood. As he
moved, Major Fowler came up and introduced Miss Verrequers to Lady
Haredale with great propriety, and then to all the young ladies in
succession. Miss Verrequers was polite, but a little formal, and it
occurred to Sylvester that she had heard a good deal about Lady
Haredale, and did not intend to become intimate with her. Observant as
he was, nothing struck him but that Una was an unpleasant-looking girl,
as her eyes glared out under her big hat. As a cousin of the house, he
had to help in getting seats for the ladies, and arranging for them to
see the tennis; but Miss Verrequers did not sit down, and presently she
and Major Fowler walked away towards the house.
Amethyst and Una, with other young ladies, walked up and down, and
looked on. Fresh streams of guests poured out on to the lawn, till it
was crowded with gay costumes, and the air filled with laughter and
chatter. When Sylvester was left at leisure again after various
greetings, he missed Amethyst. Lady Haredale had Una by her side, and
was apparently introducing her to some friends; Lucian's set of tennis
was still in progress. Sylvester strolled about restlessly, he did not
own to himself that he was searching for the one figure that he could
not see; but he wandered about, and turned up sunny path and shady nook,
lingered in gay conservatory and green fernery, exchanged chit-chat with
numerous groups, till at last he turned to come back to the lawn through
a bit of shrubbery between the house and the tennis ground. Walking in
front of him, with their backs towards him, were Amethyst and Major
Fowler. They were talking, or at least Amethyst listened, with a
drooping head. At a side path they paused, Amethyst took something from
her pocket and put it into her companion's hand. He concealed it
rapidly in the breast of his coat, and after another word or two went up
the path towards the house. Amethyst turned round, and saw Sylvester on
the long walk some paces off. There was an indescribable look of
distress and disturbance on the girl's face, but she held up her head,
and walked towards him, saying with, as it seemed to him, something of
her mother's smile, and a tone in her voice that he had never heard
before--
"Major Fowler is in a hurry--naturally--just now. Will you take me back
to the tennis ground, Mr Riddell?"
Well, she was an acknowledged beauty, and a bride-elect, and her notice
was a favour. She must have learned as much as that, since she had told
him that the world was beginning for her among the Easter primroses! As
she walked beside him, and they talked easy nothings, there was a
dignity in her manner altogether new, which impressed him strangely, but
the fearless joy that had been essential to his ideal of her was there
no longer.
As they came out on to the sunny lawn, Una came up to meet them.
"Where have you been, Amethyst?" she said petulantly. "Lucian has
finished playing. What have you been doing?"
"I have been in the shrubbery," said Amethyst, "with Mr Riddell."