LADY ASHLEY'S GARDEN PARTY.
It may be wondered that Margaret had so much idle time upon her hands,
and was not more constantly supervised in her comings and goings by Lady
Caroline. But certain occurrences in the Adair family made it easy just
then for her to go her own way. Mr. Adair was obliged to stay in London
on business, and while he was away very little was doing at Helmsley
Court. Lady Caroline took the opportunity of his absence to "give way" a
little: she suffered occasionally from neuralgia, and the doctor
recommended her not to rise much before noon. Margaret's comfort and
welfare were not neglected. A Miss Stone, a distant relation of Lady
Caroline's, came to spend a few weeks at the Court as a companion for
Margaret. Miss Stone was not at all a disagreeable person. She could
play tennis, dance, and sing; she could accompany Margaret's songs: she
could talk or be silent, as seemed good to her; and she was a model of
tact and discretion. She was about thirty-five, but looked younger: she
dressed well, and had pleasing manners, and without being absolutely
handsome was sufficiently good-looking. Miss Alicia Stone was almost
penniless, and did not like to work; but she generally found herself
provided for as "sheep-dog" or chaperon in some house of her numerous
aristocratic friends. She was an amusing talker, and Margaret liked her
society well enough, but Miss Stone was too clever not to know when she
was not wanted. It soon became evident to the companion that for some
reason Margaret liked to walk in the park alone in a morning; and what
Margaret liked was law. Alicia knew how to efface herself on such
occasions, so that when Lady Caroline asked at luncheon what the two had
been doing all the morning, it was easy and natural for Miss Stone to
reply, "Oh, we have been out in the park," although this meant only that
she had been sitting at the conservatory door with a novel, while
Margaret had been wandering half a mile away. Lady Caroline used to
smile, and was satisfied.
And Margaret's conscience was very little troubled. She had never been
told, she sometimes said to herself, that she was not to speak to Mr.
Brand. And she was possessed with the fervent desire to save his soul
(and social reputation), which sometimes leads young women into follies
which they afterwards regret. He told her vaguely that he had had a
miserable, unsatisfactory sort of life, and that he wished to amend. He
did not add that his first impulses towards amendment had come from
Janetta Colwyn. Margaret thought that she was responsible for them, one
and all. And she felt it incumbent upon her to foster their growth, even
at the price of a small concealment--although it would, as she very well
knew, be a great one in her parents' eyes.
As the days went on towards summer, it seemed to Janetta as though some
interest, some brightness perhaps, had died out of her life. Her
friends--her two chief friends, to whom her vow of friendship and
service had been sworn--were, in some inexplicable manner, alienated
from her. Margaret came regularly for her singing-lesson, but never
lingered to talk as she had done at first. She seemed pensive, languid,
preoccupied. Wyvis Brand had left off calling for little Julian, except
on rare occasions. Perhaps his frequent loitering in the plantation left
him but scant time for his daily work; he always pleaded business when
his boy reproached him for his remissness, or when Janetta questioned
him somewhat mournfully with her earnest eyes. Certainly he too seemed
preoccupied, and when he was beguiled into the Colwyns' little
drawing-room he would sit almost silent in Janetta's company, never once
asking her counsel or opinion as he had done in earlier days. It was
possible that in her presence he felt a sort of compunction, a sort of
conscience-stricken shame. And his silence and apparent estrangement lay
upon Janetta's heart like lead.
Poor Janetta was going through a time of depression and disappointment.
Mrs. Colwyn had had two or three terrible relapses, and her condition
could no longer be kept quite a secret from her friends. Janetta had
been obliged to call in the aid of the doctor who had been her father's
best friend, and he recommended various changes of diet and habits which
gave the girl far more trouble than he knew. Where poverty is present in
a home, it is sometimes hard to do the best either for the sinning or
the suffering; and so Mrs. Colwyn's weakness was one of the heaviest
burdens that Janetta had to bear. The only gleams of brightness in her
lot lay in the love and gentleness of the children that she taught, and
in her satisfaction with Nora's engagement to Cuthbert. In almost all
other respects she began to feel aware that she was heavily handicapped.
It was nearly the end of June before she received the long-expected
invitation from Lady Ashley. But it was not to an evening party. It was
a sort of combination entertainment--a garden-party for the young, and
music for those elder persons who did not care to watch games at tennis
all the afternoon. And Janetta was asked to sing.
The day of the party was cloudlessly fine, but not too warm, as a
pleasant little summer breeze was blowing. Janetta donned a thin black
dress of some gauzy material, and thought that she looked very careworn
and dowdy in her little bedroom looking-glass. But when she reached Lady
Ashley's house, excitement had brought a vivid color to her face; and
when her hostess, after an appreciative glance at her dress, quietly
pinned a cluster of scarlet geranium blooms at her neck, the little
songstress presented an undeniably distinguished appearance. If she was
not exactly pretty, she was more than pretty--she was striking and
original.
Margaret Adair looked up and smiled at her from a corner, when Janetta
first came forward to sing. She was one of the very few girls who were
present, for most of the young people were in the garden; but she had
insisted on coming in to hear Janetta's song. She did not care about
playing tennis; it made her hot, and ruffled her pretty Paris gown,
which was not suitable for violent exertion of any kind; she left
violent exertion to Alicia Stone, who was always ready to join in other
people's amusements. Lady Caroline was not present; her neuralgia was
troublesome, and she had every confidence in Alicia's chaperonage and
Margaret's discretion. Poor Lady Caroline was sometimes terribly
mistaken in her reading of character.
To the surprise of a good many people, the Brands were there. Not Mrs.
Brand--only the two young men; but the fact was a good deal commented
upon, as hitherto "the County" had taken very little notice of the owner
of the Red House. It was perhaps this fact that had impelled Sir Philip
to show the Brands some courtesy. He declared that he knew nothing bad
of these men, and that they ought not to be blamed for their father's
sins. Personally he liked them both, and he had no difficulty in
persuading his mother to call on Mrs. Brand, and then to send
invitations for the garden party. But Mrs. Brand, as usual, declined to
go out, and was represented only by her sons.
What Sir Philip had not calculated on was the air of possession and
previous acquaintance with which Wyvis Brand greeted Miss Adair. He had
hardly expected that Margaret would come; and, indeed, Margaret had been
loath to accept Lady Ashley's invitation, especially without the escort
of her mother. On the other hand, Lady Caroline was very anxious that
the world should not know the extent of the breach between the two
families; and she argued that it would be very marked if Margaret stayed
away from a large garden party to which "everybody" went, and where it
would be very easy to do nothing more than exchange a mere passing
salutation with Sir Philip. So she had rather insisted on Margaret's
going; and the girl had had her own reasons for not protesting too much.
She knew that Wyvis Brand would be there; and she had a fancy for seeing
him amongst other men, and observing how he bore himself in other
people's society.
She was perfectly satisfied with the result. His appearance was
faultless--far better than that of Sir Philip, who sometimes wore a coat
until it was shiny at the shoulders, and was not very particular about
his boots. Upright, handsome, well-dressed, with the air of distinction
which Margaret much preferred to beauty in a man, he was a distinctly
noticeable figure, and Margaret innocently thought that there was no
reason why she should not show, in a well-bred and maidenly way, of
course, her liking for him.
She had never had much resistant power, this "rare, pale Margaret" of
Sir Philip's dreams, and it seemed quite natural to her that Wyvis
should hover at her side and attend to all her wants that afternoon. She
did not notice that he was keeping off other men by his air of
proprietorship, and that women, old and young, were eyeing her with
surprise and disapprobation as she walked up and down the lawn with him
and allowed him to provide her with tea or strawberries and cream. She
was under a charm, and could not bear the idea of sending him away.
While Wyvis--for his excuse let it be said that his air of
proprietorship was unconscious, and came simply out of his intense
admiration for the girl and his headlong absorption in the interest of
the moment. He did not at all know how intently and exclusively he
looked at her; how reverential and yet masterful was his attitude; and
the sweet consciousness that sat on her down-dropped eyelids and
tenderly flushed cheeks acted as no warning to him, but only as an
incentive to persevere.
The situation became patent to Janetta, when she stood up to sing.
Margaret looked, nodded, and smiled at her with exquisite shy
friendliness. Janetta returned the greeting; and then--as people
noticed--suddenly flushed scarlet and as suddenly turned pale. Many
persons set this change of color down to nervousness; but Sir Philip
Ashley followed the direction of her eyes and knew what she had seen.
Miss Adair was sitting in a corner of the room, where perhaps she hoped
to be unremarked; but her fair beauty and her white dress made it
difficult for her to remain obscure. Wyvis Brand stood beside her,
leaning against the wall, with arms folded across his breast. He was
more in shadow than was she, for he was touched by the folds of a heavy
velvet curtain; but his attitude was significant. He was not looking at
the singer, or at the room; his whole attention was visibly concentrated
upon Margaret. He was looking at her, some one remarked quite audibly,
as if he never meant to look away again. The close, keen absorption of
that gaze was unusual enough to shock conventional observers. There
would have been nothing insolent or overbold about it were he her
husband or her lover; but from a man who--as far as "the County"
knew--was a comparative stranger in the land, and almost an outsider,
it was positively shocking. And yet Miss Adair looked as if she were
only pleasantly conscious of this rude man's stare.
Fortunately for Margaret's reputation, it was currently believed that
Wyvis Brand's wife was dead. Those who had some notion that she was
living thought that he had divorced her. The general impression was that
he was at any rate free to marry; and that he was laying siege to the
heart of the prettiest girl in the County now seemed an indisputable
fact. Perhaps Janetta only, of all the persons assembled together in the
room, knew the facts of Wyvis Brand's unhappy marriage. And to Janetta,
as well as to other people, it became plain that afternoon that he had
completely lost his heart--perhaps his head as well--to Margaret Adair.
The chatter of the crowd would have revealed as much to Janetta, even if
her own observation had not told her a good deal. "How that man does
stare at that girl! Is he engaged to her?" "Young Brand's utterly gone
on Miss Adair; that's evident." "Is Lady Caroline not here? Do you think
that she _knows_?" "Margaret Adair is certainly very pretty, but I
should not like one of _my_ girls to let herself be made so
conspicuous!" Such were some of the remarks that fell on Janetta's ear,
and made her face burn with shame and indignation. Not that she exactly
believed in the reality even of the things that she had seen. That Wyvis
should admire Margaret was so natural! That Margaret should accept the
offered admiration in her usual serene manner was equally to be
expected. But that either of them should be unwise enough to give rise
to idle gossip, about so natural a state of mind was what Janetta could
not understand. It was not Margaret's fault; she was very sure of that.
It must be Wyvis Brand's. He was her cousin, and she might
surely--perhaps--ask him what he meant by putting Margaret in such a
false position! Oh, but she could not presume to do that. What would he
think of her? And yet--and yet--the look with which he had regarded
Margaret seemed to be stamped indelibly upon Janetta's faithful, aching
heart.