SUCH IS LOVE!
“It is too lovely for words!” cried Isabel, her eyes fixed on her
brother’s picture of the Madonna.
They were in the studio after coming back from Rosendale Road. Mrs.
Webster had retired for the night, and Miss Linkin was waiting up to
see “lights out,” an aggravating habit she had (according to Dan).
“And is Miss Le Breton really as beautiful as that, Dan?” asked Isabel,
“or have you idealized her?”
“It is a portrait--a _bonâ-fide_ portrait,” answered Dan, his eyes
fixed on the lovely picture. “I have often asked myself what gave that
look to her eyes. There is sorrow there. There is submission to sorrow.
There is, too, _peace_. How came that look? There is a mystery about
Miss Le Breton. I heard that she was for years mentally unsound. This I
cannot believe. She is intellectual above the ordinary, and absolutely
normal. There must have been some reason for the false report being set
afoot. Sometimes I have thought it might be to keep away suitors. Her
mother and her uncle are so passionately fond of her. But that idea
of mine is absurd, after all, for being so attached to the girl, they
would not wish to damage her reputation. There is, as I say, a mystery.”
“Is her father dead?” asked Isabel.
“Ah, that is a sad part of the story that _is_ known,” said Dan.
“Her father was Eweretta Alvin’s father. Poor Aimée Le Breton is
illegitimate. It is said that the half-sisters were so exactly alike
that they might well be mistaken for one another. But Philip Barrimore,
who should know, says there _is_ a difference, and that Miss Le Breton,
though amazingly like Miss Alvin, could not possibly be mistaken for
her.”
“Do you think Mr. Barrimore is getting over Miss Alvin’s death?” asked
Isabel, her eyes still on the picture.
“Yes, I certainly do,” affirmed Dan. “It is surprising, after the
fearful hullabaloo he made at first. Do you know, Mrs. Barrimore and
Mr. Burns absolutely refused to let Philip go to Beachy Head, for
fear he should throw himself over the cliff! Now he talks of Eweretta
without emotion. He talks to Miss Le Breton, who is so like her,
without emotion.”
“Such is love!” sighed Isabel.
“Are you ever coming?” Miss Linkin called from the back door.
“All right, aunt,” Dan called back.
“But it isn’t all right,” Miss Linkin protested. “It is time everyone
was in bed, and it’s wasting gas to no purpose.”
“We had best go in, Dan,” said Isabel, sighing.
She had so longed for a long talk with her brother.
“Never mind, old girl,” answered Dan in a comforting way. “I’ll get up
and walk to school with you, and we can finish out talk then.”
Isabel smiled. “It is good to have you home again!” she told him.
“Put the gas fire out!” called Miss Linkin.
“_All_ right!” shouted Dan. “You will take cold, aunt, standing at the
door!”
“How annoying she is!” he added.
“Oh, never mind,” Isabel rejoined. “She has been so good, looking after
us all. It has been wonderful the way she has always kept us out of
debt; and she does look after mother so beautifully.”
The brother and sister entered the house arm in arm, like the chums
they were, and Isabel flew upstairs. Dan went into the dining-room,
blundering over the furniture in the dark, and finally sprawling over
something on the hearth.
“What _are_ you doing!” cried Miss Linkin, arriving with a candle.
“Barking my shins, if you want to know,” replied Dan crossly. “Look
here! what is that hearthrug rolled up like that for, just ready to
throw anyone down?”
“No one was expected to go in here again to-night,” announced Miss
Linkin. “What do you want out of this room? All your luggage is
upstairs.”
“I left some of my beer in the jug,” Dan explained.
“Yes, Daniel, and you stuffed your table-napkin in the top, and it is
all soaked in beer.”
“Never mind, auntie! But where _is_ the jug? It isn’t on the sideboard.”
“You will find it in the kitchen on the dresser, Daniel, but I fear it
will be flat. Don’t drink it if it is. Draw some more. Mary Ann is gone
to bed.”
“All right, auntie. You go to hush-a-by-by too. I’ll be up in a few
minutes.”
“And _please_, Daniel, don’t drop your boots on the floor with a bang
when you take them off. You wake everyone up. And you will be careful
to put the gas out in the kitchen when you come out.”
“Oh, Lord!” muttered Dan, as he heard the faint creaking of the stairs
that told him Aunt Lizzie had retired for the night. “But she is a
good sort, though she is such a worrier,” he added, referring to his
aunt.
As good as his word, Dan was up to accompany Isabel to the James Allen
School, which is situated in Dulwich Grove, and they had one of their
own “chummy” talks.
Dan boasted of his riches, and told Isabel that he was getting on so
well that she would not need to teach.
She turned a bright face to him, exclaiming: “I won’t give up my
independence, Dan! And I love teaching--and just think what it would
be to stay at home all day! I should soon become as fidgety as Aunt
Lizzie! Dan, you must learn not to notice what she says. She is like
Martha--‘troubled about many things’; but I can’t sufficiently admire
her unselfish devotion. Lots of people can _say_ nice things, but few
people _do_ as many nice things as Aunt Lizzie. She _will_ renovate my
gowns for me, and she takes no end of pains to make them look quite
up-to-date. As to mother, she looks after her with a patience that
would shame many so-called tender nurses.”
“It is all true,” agreed Dan, “but she is an aggravater, all the same.
Do you know, when I leave you at the school, I shall go into Sydney
Grove and see Colonel Lane. It is quite close. Did you see him when he
called? He is an awfully nice old fellow. His daughter is staying with
the Barrimores while he is here.”
“No, I was not at home when he called,” said Isabel. “But you must ask
him in to supper, and we can go to the studio afterwards.”
“Just what I was intending to do,” he answered. “And to revert to
gowns--you have got to let me give you a nice ‘rig’ for the winter--a
frock, and hat, and some furs. We will go to Jones and Higgins’ shop at
Peckham on Saturday.”
Isabel protested.
“I never argue,” he told her. “I am the master, recollect, and I am
in funds. You will have to advise me what to get for mother too. I am
determined to make Aunt Lizzie have something. I shall tell her that if
she doesn’t, I’ll make a frightful mess with my bath every morning and
refuse to rub my shoes when I come in.”
“That ought to have its effect,” laughed Isabel. “But here we are at
the school, so good-bye till to-night.”
Dan made his way to Sydney Grove, and Colonel Lane was delighted to see
him.
“You must come and chat to Henderson,” he said. “It will do him a lot
of good. He is really better.”
It was true that Colonel Henderson was better. The visit of his friend
had prolonged his life, as by a miracle. Colonel Lane had tactfully
gained over Mrs. Henderson completely, and had delicately introduced
much comfort into the poor home.
Thanks to a big cheque from Mr. Burns, great changes had been made in
the house. Also a carriage had been hired on fine days, and the invalid
had been carried to it, and enjoyed the drives really wonderfully.
The miserable garden, laid waste by the boys, had been put in order, so
the outlook was no longer depressing.
Mrs. Henderson had become quite cheerful under the happier state of
things, and absolutely worshipped Colonel Lane.
Poor woman! her own health had not been good since her stay in India,
and what with her poverty, her husband’s illness, her difficulty in
dealing with the boys, her life had not been all roses.
Colonel Lane had proved more capable of managing the boys than of
managing his own girl. He liked them, too. They were healthy, bright,
mischievous boys, with plenty of ability.
Both were overjoyed at the prospect of Sandhurst. It had all been
arranged by Mr. Burns. They were to have their chance.
Dan stayed at the Hendersons’ about half an hour, and obtained Colonel
Lane’s promise to dine at Vine Cottage the following evening. “Supper”
would be converted into “dinner” for the occasion.