The First Peal
Mabel was twenty-one when her cousin Isobel Leighton came to make her
home at the White House. Isobel's mother had died ten years before, and
since the more recent death of her father, she had stayed for a year or
two with her mother's relations. Now, suddenly, it seemed imperative
that Mr. Leighton should offer her a place in his own family, since
various changes elsewhere left her without a home. It was the most
natural thing in the world that everybody should be pleased. The girls
got a room ready for her, and took pains towards having it specially
attractive. They even made plans amongst their friends for Isobel to be
suitably entertained. "Though how we are to manage about dance
invitations and that sort of thing, I can't think," said Jean. "It's
bad enough with two girls, and sometimes no man at all. It will be
awful with three."
Elma herself was on the verge of being eligible for invitations. Mabel
looked as though she did not mind much. Worrying thoughts of her own
were perplexing her, thoughts which she could not share with any one
just then. The spring of her life had been one to delight in. Tendrils
of friendship had kept her safely planted where Jean, the revolutionist,
tore everything by the roots. What was not good enough for Jean
immediately was had up and cast away. What had not been good enough for
Jean had been their own silly enthusiasm for the Story Books. Jean in
her own mind had disposed of the whole romance of this by beating
Theodora at golf. She now patronized Theodora, and ignored the others.
Adelaide Maud she already considered entirely _passe_.
The confidences of long ago were shaken into an unromantic present. The
Dudgeons called ceremoniously twice a year, and invited the girls to
their dances. Mabel and Jean went, occasionally with Cuthbert "cut in
marble," and were inexpressibly bored in that large establishment.
"It doesn't seem to make up for other things that one sits on velvet
pile and has a different footman for each sauce," Mabel declared. "We
have to face the fact that the Dudgeon establishment is appallingly
ugly."
So much for Mrs. Dudgeon's beaded work cushion effect.
"It's only a woman who would make you leave an early Victorian
drawing-room for a Georgian hall, and get you on an ottoman of the third
Empire, and expect you to admire the mixture," growled Cuthbert. It was
this sort of talk that was to be had out of him after he had been to the
Dudgeons' balls.
Elma still prized her meetings with Adelaide Maud at Miss Grace's, but
recognized where her friendship ceased there. There seemed no getting
further into the affections of Adelaide Maud than through that warm
comradeship at Miss Grace's, or through her outspoken admiration for Mr.
Leighton. And "Adelaide Maud had grown _passe_" Jean had declared.
The world seemed very cold and unreal at this juncture.
Mabel came into Elma's room one day looking very disturbed. There was a
fleeting questioning look of "Are you to be trusted?" in her eye.
"You know I'm to be trusted, Mabs," said Elma, as though they had been
discussing the iniquity of anything else. "You aren't vexed at Isobel's
coming are you?"
"Oh, no," said Mabel quickly, "it isn't that, it's other things." She
threw herself languidly on a couch.
"Haven't you noticed that the Merediths haven't been here for a
fortnight?"
Elma brushed diligently at fair, very wavy hair. It fell in layers of
soft brown, and shone a little with gold where the light touched the
ripples, diligently created with over-night plaiting. She had grown,
but in a slender manner, and was admittedly the _petite_ member of the
family. There was a wealth of comprehension in the glance she let fall
on Mabel.
"Mabel, you don't mean to quarrel with them do you?"
It seemed that the worst would happen if that happened.
"I don't suppose I shall have the chance," said Mabel. She took a rose
out of a vase of flowers, and began to pluck absently at the petals.
"I think I should love to have the chance."
"Oh, Mabel," said Elma distractedly, "how dreadful of you! And how
fatal it might be! I shouldn't mind quarrelling a little. I think
indeed it would be lovely, if one were quite sure, perfectly convinced,
that one could make it up again. That's why I enjoy a play so much.
Every one may be simply disgusting, but they are bound to make it up.
If only one could be absolutely safe in real life! But you can't. I
don't believe Mr. Meredith would make it up."
"I am sure he wouldn't." Mabel plucked at a pink leaf stormily.
"That's why I should like to quarrel with him."
"Mabs, don't you care for him now?" Elma's eyes grew wide with trouble.
It was not so much that Mabel had given any definite idea of having
cared for Mr. Meredith. It had been a situation accepted long ago as
the proper situation for Mabel, that there should be an "understanding"
in connexion with Mr. Meredith. It established limitless seas of
uncertainty if anything happened to this "understanding" except the most
desirable happening. Mabel leaned her head on her hand.
"You see, dear," she exclaimed, "this is how it is. Long ago, papa so
much disliked our talking about getting married, any of us, even in fun
you know, that it was much easier, when Mr. Meredith came, just to be
friends--very great friends, you know, but still--friends. Papa always
said he wouldn't let one of us marry till we were twenty-three. That
was definite enough. And he has been quite pleased that we haven't
badgered him into getting engaged. Still, I always think that Robin
ought to have said to him, once at least, that sometime he wanted to
marry me. He didn't, I just went on playing his accompaniments, and
being complimented by his sister. Now--now, what do you think? He has
grown annoyed with papa for being so kind to Mr. Symington. Fancy his
dictating about papa!" Mabel's eyes grew round and innocent.
"But that's because Mr. Symington is nice to you, perhaps," said Elma,
as though this burst of comprehension was a great discovery on her part.
"Exactly," said Mabel calmly. "But if you leave unprotected a cake from
which any one may take a slice, you can't blame people when they try to
help themselves. Robin should be able to say to Mr. Symington, 'Hands
off--this is my property,' and then there would be no trouble. As it
is, he wants me to do the ordering off, papa's friend too!"
"What did you say to him, Mabel?" Elma asked the question in despair.
"I said that when Mr. Symington had really got on--then would be the
time to order him off."
Mabel fanned herself gently. Then her lip quivered.
"I don't think papa ever meant to let me in for an ignominious position
of this sort--but here I am. If Robin won't champion me, who will?"
"Oh, but surely," said Elma, "surely Robin Meredith would never----"
"That's the trouble. He would," said Mabel. "And once you've found that
out about a man--you simply can't--you can't believe in him, that's
all."
Elma sat in a wretched heap on her bed.
"I think it's horrid of him to let you feel like that," she said.
"Other men wouldn't. Cuthbert wouldn't to any one he cared for."
"Lots wouldn't," said Mabel. "That's why it's so ignominious, to have
thought so much of this one all these years!"
"Mr. Maclean wouldn't," said Elma. She had always wondered why Mabel
had ignored him in her matrimonial plans.
"No, I don't believe he would," said Mabel. "But that's no good to me,
is it?"
"Mr. Symington wouldn't," said Elma.
"Oh, Elma!"
Mabel's eyes grew frightened. "That's what scares me. I sit and sit
and say, Mr. Symington never would. It makes Robin seems so thin and
insignificant. He simply crumples up. And Mr. Symington grows large
and honourable, and such a man! And I'm supposed in some way to be
dedicated to Robin. It's like having your tombstone cut before you are
dead. Oh, Elma, whatever shall I do!"
Elma was quite pale. The lines of thought had long ago disappeared with
the puckerings of wonder on her face. Here indeed was thunder booming
with a vengeance, and near, not far off like that golden picture of
years ago. Mabs was in deep trouble.
"You see what would happen if I told papa? He would order off Mr.
Symington in a great fright, because he has never thought somehow that
any of us were thinking of him except that he is an awfully clever man!
I think also that papa would turn Robin out of the house."
"I believe he would," said Elma in a whisper.
"And then--how awful! All our friends, their friends! Everywhere we
go, we should meet Sarah Meredith! What a life for us! I should like
to quarrel--just because I'm being so badly treated, but the
consequences would be perfectly awful," said Mabel. She took it as
though none of it could be helped.
Elma was quite crumpled with the agitation of her feelings.
"You must tell papa, Mabel," she said gently.
"Oh, Elma, I can't--about Mr. Symington. Imagine Mr. Symington's ever
knowing and thinking--'What do I care for any of these chits of girls!'
Robin has always got wild--if I smiled to my drawing master even. What
I hate, is being dictated to now. And his sulking--instead of standing
by me if there is any trouble. He isn't a man."
A sharp ring at the bell, and rat-tat of the postman might be heard.
Somebody called up that a letter had come for Mabel.
Elma went for it and produced it with quaking heart. The writing seemed
something very different to any of the letters which came to Mabel.
It was from Mr. Symington.
It explained in the gentlest possible way that he had learned from Miss
Meredith that his presence in Ridgetown caused some difficulty of which
he had never even dreamed. He wrote as a great friend of her dear
father's, and a most loyal admirer of her family, to say the easiest
matter in the world was being effected, and that his visit to Ridgetown
had come to an end.
The paper shook gently in Mabel's fingers, and fell quivering and
uncertain to the floor. She looked up piteously and quite helplessly at
Elma, like a child seeking shelter, and then buried her head on the
couch. She cried in long, strangled sobs, while Elma stood staring at
her.
Elma pulled herself together at last.
"Mabel dear, I'm going to read it."
Mabel nodded into her bent arms.
"Oh but," said Elma after shakingly perusing that document, "but he
can't--he can't do this. It's dreadful. It's like blaming you! What
can Miss Meredith have said? Oh! Mabel! Mabel, I shall cut that woman
dead wherever and however I meet her. Oh, Mabel--what a creature! Don't
you cry. Papa will explain to Mr. Symington. He will believe papa.
Papa will explain that you had nothing to do with it, that you don't
mind whether he goes or stays--that----"
"But I do mind," said Mabel in cold, awe-struck tones. "That's the
awful part. And it's nothing but the smallness of Robin that has taught
me, Mr. Symington is the only man worth knowing in the whole earth."
She clasped her hands in a hopeless way.
"And he has been sent away, banished, by the very man who should have
made it impossible for me to see any good quality in any one else except
himself."
"Who will play Mr. Meredith's accompaniments now?" Elma asked. "Why
they can't get on without you, dear." She still believed that just as
plays were arranged, so should the affairs of Mabel come back to their
original placidity.
"I shall never play another note for Robin Meredith," said Mabel.
Elma could not yet doubt but that Robin would come directly he knew how
satisfactorily he had disposed of his rival. One hoped that Mr.
Symington had only explained so far to Mabel. That afternoon they were
to meet Isobel, so that every one was more or less occupied, and always
on this same evening of the week, Friday, the Merediths were at an open
"at home" which the friends of the Leightons attended at the White
House. The question was, would the Merediths come?
Mabel did not seem to care whether they came or not. She sat, crushing
the letter and not looking at Elma.
"Elma dear," she said at last, "I can't stand this. I shall tell papa.
Mamma will only say 'I told you so' for our having been such friends
with the Merediths. But I can't bear that she shouldn't know I'm not
ashamed of anything," she caught her breath with a slight sob. "But I'm
done with Robin."
It seemed magnificent to Elma that for her own honour she should
jeopardize so much. Men like Mr. Meredith were so rare in Ridgetown.
Yet when she asked her, couldn't she still admire Robin, Mabel said very
truthfully then "No."
Elma would have liked to say that it didn't matter about Mr. Symington.
"Robin will never enter this house again," Mabel said with quivering
lip.
But he came--several times.