"I didn't know, Mr. Carringford. I don't hold with theatres or any such
places, and I was surprised at Mr. Vincent taking Margaret to one. I
can't see that people are any the better--" She stopped, for there were
footsteps on the pathway outside, and a moment later Mr. Garratt walked
in with an air of being quite at home.
"How do you do, everybody?" he said. He wore his best clothes and the
spats over his shoes. The handkerchief in his breast-pocket was scented
more than usual. He took it out and shook it and put it back again,
while a whiff of white rose floated over the table. His hair was tightly
curled at the tips; he ran his fingers through it as he took off his
bowler hat.
"We didn't expect you, Mr. Garratt," Hannah said with sudden
graciousness, and made room for him beside her.
"Didn't know you had company," he answered, jauntily. "I hope I don't
intrude? Mrs. Vincent, how do you do? Miss Margaret, your humble
servant," and reluctantly he sat down beside Hannah.
"This is Mr. Carringford, a friend of my husband's," Mrs. Vincent told
her visitor.
"How d'ye do?" Tom looked up and nodded.
"How d'ye do?" Mr. Garratt nodded back, trying to do it easily. "Thought
it was Sir George Stringer at first till I recollected that he was a
middle-ager."
"We didn't expect you to-day, Mr. Garratt," Hannah remarked, pouring out
his tea.
"I told Miss Vincent I should come." He looked across at Margaret,
determined to show off before the stranger.
"I don't remember that you did--" Margaret began.
"Oh, come now, you knew I wanted to bring you that book of poems I told
you about. You shall have it if you're good."
"You had better give it to Hannah, Mr. Garratt. She will appreciate it
more than I shall. I had no idea that you meant to bring it."
Tom looked up and wondered what it all meant.
"Well, but what did I say the other night?"
"I don't know," Margaret answered, coldly. "I never remember the things
you say."
But Mr. Garratt was not to be snubbed. "Oh, come now, don't be showing
off again," he laughed, and turned to Tom--"Miss Vincent is a difficult
young lady, I assure you," he said, with an air of quite understanding
her. "But perhaps you've found that out too."
"How should I have found it out?" Tom asked, stiffly.
"Well, you see, I've heard a few things--no jealousy--that's only a
joke," as Margaret started; "you are one of Miss Vincent's London
friends, I think? It was you who gave her the roses she brought back.
You see I know all about it." He laughed with satisfaction, and gave
Hannah a kick under the table from sheer lightness of heart, and by way
of keeping everybody in tow, as he called it to himself.
"We certainly bought some roses in Covent Garden," Tom said, and got up
to go. He couldn't stand any more of this chap, he thought.
"I didn't tell you about it, Mr. Garratt," Margaret said, indignantly.
"Oh, don't go, Mr. Carringford."
"I know you didn't tell me," Mr. Garratt said, with a wink. "It was Miss
Barton who gave me that little bit of information--you kept it to
yourself." Tom had hesitated, but this decided him. Mr. Garratt was not
the sort of person with whom he could bring himself to compete.
"Well, good-bye, Mrs. Vincent," he said, shaking hands with her and then
with Margaret and Hannah. He nodded to Mr. Garratt, and strode towards
the door.
"But you must wait till your horse is brought round," Mrs. Vincent said.
"Hannah, will you tell Sandy or Jim?"
"It is ready," Mr. Garratt volunteered. "I wondered whose it was when I
went into the stable just now. I'll take you to it, if you like," he
added, graciously, to Tom.
"Pray don't trouble," Tom answered, in an off-hand manner.
"No trouble at all." Mr. Garratt led the way out as if he were the
master of the house, while Margaret looked after them and felt as if she
were being tortured.
"Fond of a ride?" asked Mr. Garratt as they went along.
"I suppose so," said Tom, distantly.
"I should like to show you the decent little mare I'm riding. I think
sometimes I shall get a fellow to it for Margaret. We are both of us
fond of the country and getting about." He called her Margaret
deliberately, and with an air of custom--for it would be better, he told
himself, to choke this Johnnie off as soon as possible.
"Would she like it?"
"Rather! Trust her," with a knowing wink.
"Beast!" thought Tom, as he mounted. "Well, good-evening," he said,
aloud, to Mr. Garratt, and went off at a brisk trot, wondering how
Margaret could stand him.
"He knows how to give himself airs, too," Mr. Garratt said to himself,
looking after him. "I'm rather surprised he didn't offer me a tip while
he was about it. I'd like to take down all these chaps and show 'em the
way they should go; but we are doing it," he added, thinking not of
himself but of his class--"and once we've got the upper hand we'll keep
it, and let 'em see that we can be swells as well as any one else." He
walked slowly back to the house, thinking of Margaret. He was getting up
to her ways, and he knew how to keep his temper--and the man who waited
won. He liked her, but his feeling was pique, rather than passion, and
he felt that to subdue her would be a gratification to his vanity
greater than any other he could imagine. "And she's such a beauty!"--he
always came back to that. "While there's a chance of her, I'd rather be
shot than kiss that sour old hen, Hannah. I'll have Margaret if I die
for it. I wish I'd thought of it and tried to find out if that chap knew
anything about Vincent's relations. I expect he's been up to something,
but I don't care--the girl isn't any the worse for it."
During his absence the storm had burst in the living-room, but luckily
circumstances obliged it to be brief.
"I should like to know what you think of yourself now with your slyness
and deceit?" Hannah had asked Margaret.
"I'll not have you speak to your sister in this way," Mrs. Vincent
began; but her remonstrances had grown ineffectual lately.
"Mr. Garratt told you he was coming, did he, though nobody else in the
house knew it?" Hannah went on. "You took good care that they
shouldn't."
"If he did tell me I had forgotten it," Margaret answered, scornfully.
"You can be trusted to forget anything--if it's convenient. What's this
poetry he's brought you, I should like to know?"
"I didn't know he meant to bring it. He said something about Eugene
Field's poems the other day, and that he had recited one at a chapel
festival."
The mention of the chapel somewhat mollified Hannah without subduing her
jealousy. "Well, something will have to be done," she said. "I'm not
going to put up with your conduct, and that you shall find out." At
which point Mr. Garratt entered a little uneasily, as if conscious that
things were not going smoothly. Margaret looked up and spoke to him
quickly.
"Mr. Garratt, I want to tell you that if you've brought me a book of
poems I would rather not have it."
"Why, what's up now?"
"Nothing is up," she said, with what Mr. Garratt called her high and
mighty air.
"Well, look here--" but she had turned away.
"Mother, shall we go into the garden?" she asked.
"It's a little chilly this evening," Mrs. Vincent answered.
"You've taken to feel the cold lately," Hannah said, uneasily. To her
credit be it said that she was always careful of her mother's health.
"I've taken to feel my years."
"Let us go into the best parlor, darling," Margaret said, tenderly. "I
might play to you for a little while. You always like that," and she put
her arms round her mother's shoulders.
Mr. Garratt took a quick step forward. "I should like to hear you play,
too, Miss Margaret, if there's no objection. I'm a lover of music, as I
think I've told you." He stood by the door of the best parlor and
waited.
Margaret turned and faced him. "Stay with Hannah. I want to have my
mother to myself," she said.
"Well, that's a nice handful!" Mr. Garratt remarked, as she shut the
door and turned the handle with a click.
"You should live in the same house with her," said Hannah, "then you'd
know."
"She might have left it a little bit open, at any rate; then we should
have heard her."
"Are you as anxious as all that?" asked Hannah, in a sarcastic voice.
"Well, you see, it makes it a bit lively."
"When I was at Petersfield the other day your mother asked me if I would
see that the grass on your Aunt Amelia's grave was clipped. I brought in
the small shears, and thought perhaps you might walk over and do it next
time you came."
"Damn my Aunt Amelia's grave!" he said, between his teeth.
"Mr. Garratt, you are forgetting yourself!" she cried, in amazement.
"She's enough to make any one forget anything," he said, nodding towards
the best parlor.
"You take far too much notice of her."
"She doesn't return the compliment, anyhow."
"And for my part," said Hannah, indignantly, "I don't understand what it
is you come here for."
At which Mr. Garratt faced her squarely. "Now look here, Hannah," he
said, "she gives herself tantrums enough; don't you begin, for two of
you in one house would be a trifle more than is needed."
She sat down without a word, and closed her lips firmly. The tip of her
nose became a deeper pink. Her eyelids fluttered for a minute quickly up
and down. She looked forlorn--even a shade tragic. Mr. Garratt, with his
heart reaching out to Margaret, obstinate and determined not to be
thwarted, yet felt a touch of pity for the woman before him; perhaps
unconsciously he recognized the limitations and the impossibilities of
her life.
"There, come along," he said, half kindly. "Come along, Hannah." The
sound of her Christian name soothed her considerably. "Let's go for a
little stroll; but I'm not going to hang about any one's grave. It'll be
bad enough when I come to my own."