Mr. Symington
Mabel and Jean were to be bridesmaids at Isobel's wedding. Ridgetown
had only one opinion for that proceeding. "It was just like the
Leightons."
Aunt Katharine was more explicit.
"It's hardly decent," she said. "Do you want the man to show how many
wives he could have had."
"To show one he couldn't have, more likely," said Mrs. Leighton shortly.
She herself could not reconcile it to her ideas of what should have
been. Mr. Leighton was adamant on the question, however. Isobel had
set her heart on this marriage and the marriage was to be carried out.
She was their guest and their responsibility. It would be scandalous if
they did not uphold her as they would have done had there been none of
this former acquaintance with Robin. It would seem as though they had
attached unnecessary importance to what now was termed "nothing more
than a flirtation." It was a pity they could not all like Robin as they
ought to, or have been extremely fond of Isobel; but under the
circumstances, they at least must all "play the game."
Isobel took the information tranquilly. It seemed to her that she might
have been allowed to arrange her own bridesmaids, then she recognized
where the wisdom of Mr. Leighton asserted itself on her side. There was
much less chance of conjecture where she and Mabel showed up in friendly
manner together with one another. She had one friend from London as her
first bridesmaid, and after this the question of dresses obliterated
everything.
Jean, it is true, had still a soul for other things. She moaned for her
Slavska on every occasion. She rushed to mirrors in agony lest her chin
or throat muscles were getting into disrepair, and she talked already of
having to renew her lessons.
"You are just like a cheap motor," said Betty at last, "always having to
be done up. Why don't you keep on being a credit to your method like
the expensive machines? They don't rattle themselves to bits in a
week."
Betty was getting a little out of patience with life.
"I've had a ghastly time of it," she admitted to Mabel. "All the spunk
is out of Elma, you know, and what with her being ill and Isobel
engaged, I've led a lonely life. And now Jean can't talk of anything
but her Slavska. I hate the man."
When Jean was not talking about Slavska, she was sending boxes of
flowers to the club girls. Reams of thanks in long letters came by the
morning posts. There was no doubt of the popularity of Jean.
"I should never be in deadly fear now of having to get on alone in
life," she said. "There's such comfort in girls, you can't think."
Mabel had always remained a little more outside that radiantly friendly
crowd, yet had quite as admiring a following. Mr. Leighton unendingly
congratulated himself for letting them both have the experience. "Though
never again," he declared, "never again, will I allow one of you away
from home."
Then occurred Cuthbert's engagement. In a curious way it comforted Mr.
Leighton. He was acquiring another daughter. Adelaide Maud loved that
view of it best of all.
"If Mr. Leighton had been against me, I should have refused you," she
explained to Cuthbert.
"You mean that I should," he corrected her. "Now what I am about to
propose----"
"Are you really going to propose, dear?" asked Adelaide Maud innocently.
Cuthbert grinned.
"You are to be married to me in the autumn," said he.
Adelaide Maud cogitated.
"Well, failing a real proposal, a command of this sort may take its
place. I shall endeavour to be ready for you in the autumn."
"They are the funniest pair," said Jean; "Helen is so cool and Cuthbert
so domineering! And I used to be so stuck on engagements," she sighed.
All the girls were in Elma's room, where Isobel tried on some of her
finery. Elma lay on the couch at the window. She had had her trip with
Mr. and Mrs. Leighton, and had come home with some colour and a good
deal more vitality. Yet still there was much to be desired. Dr.
Merryweather thundered out advice about the wedding.
"She is not to be excited," he kept hammering at every one. Elma felt a
culprit in this respect. Nothing excited her except the one fact which
evidently could not be altered. She had sent an invitation to Mr.
Symington which he had not acknowledged in any shape or form. It seemed
so ignominious. One could imagine that rather splendid and cultured
person saying, "Oh, these young Leightons again! Don't trouble me with
their children's weddings," or something to that effect. She grew cold
as she thought of what Mabel's disgust would be when she heard of the
flag she had held out (what more definite signal to "come on" could any
one have given;) and of his utter disregard of that mild overture. She
grew more and more troubled about it. So much so that Mrs. Leighton
remarked to her husband as each list of acceptances came from home, and
no word of Mr. Symington, "I believe that child is moping because he
does not answer."
Mr. Leighton was all for the righting that time would accomplish. "She
may forget this, whatever it is, in a day," said he. He said to Elma,
however, "I hear Symington was asked. Shouldn't wonder if he were so
far away that he hasn't had the letter."
That possibility gladdened her heart immediately. Perhaps after all he
had not yet made his slighting remarks about the Leighton children. The
Clutterbucks also were abroad, so that there seemed no chance of any of
the connection being present.
Elma finally came home, and they had reached the Saturday afternoon
before the wedding on the following Tuesday. A very finished example of
the London girl had appeared as Isobel's first bridesmaid, and everybody
was chatting incontinently. Jean ran on with her own views of things,
since she usually found these of more interest than anything else.
"I feel now as though I wouldn't be engaged for a ransom," she said. "I
think of all the men we know and how nice they are, but I don't want to
be married to them."
"I should hope not," said Isobel. "Why should you!"
"All right, Isobel, I won't poach. But I'd rather give a concert than
have a wedding."
It was her latest desire to give a concert in the Bechstein or Eolian
Hall, when her voice was "ripe." She had even consulted an agent.
"If only papa would see it," she said, "it would cost L60, but I should
get it all back again."
"Oh, one of these private concerts," said the London girl.
"Yes," broke in Mabel. "Where you pay L60 to an agent and he looks
after everything including the people with whom you appear. You fill
one part of the hall with your friends, and they fill up the rest. Free
tickets, you know. Then each portion applauds like mad whatever you do.
It all depends on who has most friends who gets the most encores. It is
the duty of the rival crowd to remain silent when their own friend isn't
performing."
"Oh, Mabel," said Jean.
"It's true," said the London girl. "And if a critic comes you treasure
him, oh! you treasure him! There are seats and seats waiting for
critics. This one poor man puts it as neatly as he can, Miss So-and-So
sang "agreeably," then he rushes off to the most adjacent hall, and does
the same for the next aspirant to musical honours."
"And you immediately buy a book for press cuttings," quoth Isobel.
"And only that poor one goes in."
"You are the most depressing crowd I ever met," said Jean despairingly.
"That's not all," said the London girl. "After paying for the other
performers, you may happen to find that they have already paid the agent
in order to appear with you."
"Oh, I believe a lot, but I won't believe that," said Jean.
"You may just as well," said the London girl, "because it happened to
me. And it's very good business for the agent."
"Oh dear," cried Jean. "Do be silent about it then. With you in the
house, do you think my father would ever allow me to give that concert."
"I sincerely hope he won't," said the London girl heartily.
Betty sat looking very glum.
"Why we should all be here discussing Jean's career, when there are far
more important things to think about, I can't imagine. Jean, you might
stop talking of your own affairs for once and help with Isobel's.
Here's another box to be opened."
Jean stood pulling at the string.
"Still," she said obstinately, "if you have a voice and a fine method,
and a man behind you like Slavska----"
"Oh, put her out," wailed Betty.
A chorus of "Put her out" ensued. Cuthbert, coming in in the midst of
this, without asking for particulars, took Jean in his arms, and carried
her off.
"I think it's perfectly miraculous the strength that comes to engaged
people," said Betty simply. "Cuthbert couldn't have moved Jean a few
weeks ago."
They both returned at that moment, looking warm but satisfied.
"The pater is growling downstairs that he can't get one of you to play
to him nowadays," said Cuthbert. "There are to be no more weddings he
says."
"Oh, there never is to be no more anything," wailed Betty. "And I'm
only half grown up. You've exhausted papa before one of you have done
anything."
"Well, let Jean go and rehearse her concert," remarked Isobel calmly.
"I require a good accompanist," said Jean.
Elma had been looking out at the window. She heard the gate open, to
four minor notes, containing the augmented fourth of the opening to the
Berlioz "King of Thule," which they all loved. Somebody had said "Oil
that gate," and Mr. Leighton had objected because it reminded him of the
"King of Thule." When Elma heard the magic notes, and looked out at the
window, she could have dispensed with minor intervals for the rest of
her existence.
Mr. Symington was coming up the drive.
Oh, Love of our Lives, and now this! She could at last recover from
typhoid fever.
"I don't think any of you need go down to papa," said she. "There's an
old johnny come to see him."
The bell rang at that moment.
Cuthbert approached her.
"I should fancy," said he, "that with all the good training you have had
from Miss Grace, you would have known better than to talk of old
johnnies. Who's the josser, anyway?"
"Cuthbert, my darling boy, you are just a little bit vulgar. Cuthbert,
I've never been so happy in my life as I am at the present moment."
"So long as you don't weep about it, I don't mind," said Cuthbert.
Elma got up. "I think I could dance," said she.
"Do," said Cuthbert, and put his arm round her.
To the dismay of the girls, he swung Elma into the midst of the wedding
trousseaux. Boxes were snatched up, tissue paper sent flying in all
directions. Every girl in the room screamed maledictions on them both.
This was quite unlike Elma, to be displaying her own feelings at the
risk of anything else in the world. They stopped with a wild whirl.
"Elma wanted to dance," said Cuthbert coolly, "and as she hasn't had any
exercise lately, I thought it would be good for her. Have some more?"
he asked her.
A demon of delight danced in Elma's eyes.
"Why, certainly," she said politely.
There was no holding them in at all.
Elma had her first real lecture, from Mabel of all people.
"I think it's very inconsiderate of you, Elma--just when we are so busy.
You might arrange to stop fooling with Cuthbert when these things are
lying about. It isn't fair of you."
"Oh, Mabs," said Elma, "you don't know! I've been under the clouds so
long--thunder clouds, with everything raining down on me, and hardly any
sunshine at all. And just at the present moment I'm on top of the
clouds, treading on air; I can't describe it. But even although you are
so solemn, and Isobel is so vexed, and Jean is so haughty, and Betty is
simply vicious, why, even in spite of that, I'd like another dance with
Cuthbert."
Her eyes shone. (Oh, what--what was taking place down stairs?)
Cuthbert said "Come on," in a wild way. These spirits had been natural
with him just lately.
But this time five girls intervened.
"Not if I know it," said Isobel.
And "Get you to your Adelaide Maud," cried Betty. So there was no more
dancing for Elma just then.
"However," said she, "for the first time in my life, I think, I'm really
looking forward to Tuesday night." They were to have a dance in honour
of Isobel's wedding. "I think that whether Dr. Merryweather is alive or
dead, I shall dance the whole evening." She began to adopt Jean's
manner. "Do you know," she said to her, "I feel so inspired. I think I
could go and compose an anthem!" (What were they saying downstairs?)
"Oh," said Betty. "She said that just before she took ill, you know.
And I lay awake at night thinking she would die. Because I asked you,
you know, just in fun, were you going to die because you wanted to write
an anthem."
"On the contrary," said Elma, "I now want to write an anthem because I'm
about to live."
"Look here, Elma," said Mabel sedately, "if you don't sit down and keep
yourself quiet, I shall get Dr. Merryweather to come."
"If he has time," said Isobel drily.
"Time?" asked Mabel.
"Yes, before he gets married to Miss Grace."
That bomb burst itself to silence in the most complete pause that had
fallen on the Leighton family for a long time. They began to collect
their scattered senses with difficulty. Elma thought, "Mr. Symington in
the drawing-room and Miss Grace going to be married! Am I alive or
dead?"
"Didn't you notice?" said Isobel's calm voice. "Haven't you seen that
Dr. Merryweather's heart is with Miss Grace? You could tell that from
the colour of his gloves. Lemon yellow ever since Miss Annie died."
"Oh, Isobel," said Mabel gravely.
Elma remembered her asking, "And Miss Grace, this man, was he----" and
Saunders opening the door and announcing, "Dr. Merryweather." Was this
something more than a coincidence, and was Isobel right? Surely Miss
Grace would have let her know. Then the certainty that Miss Grace would
far more easily let an alien like Isobel know, by reason of her own
embarrassment, than a friend like Elma through frank and easy
confidence, began to convince her. She heard the gate sing its little
song of warning again at that moment. Miss Meredith tripped in.
Miss Meredith!
Elma put her head out at the open window.
"Oh, Miss Meredith, do come upstairs, we've such a lot to show you."
Sarah came safely up. (Oh the relief!) What if she met Mr. Symington,
and this new castle of cards came tumbling down to more interference
from that quarter. Besides, they were soon going to tea, and Mabel was
still unwarned. Elma discreetly hoped that Mabel would not faint. As
for herself, her shakiness seemed gone for ever. She was a lion,
defending Mabel.
Miss Meredith floated about the room. "Perfectly sweet," she said one
minute, and "Isn't it a dream?" the next. (What was Mr. Symington
saying in the drawing-room?)
It came alarmingly near tea-time. Elma made everybody prink up a
little. "We are all such frights," she said, "and there's some old
johnny with papa in the drawing-room."
"I do believe you know who it is," said Betty, "and won't tell us." She
was in a suspicious mood with society in general.
"I do," said Elma simply. "It's Mr. Symington."
Mabel did not faint. She was providentially with her back to the
others, packing a tulle dress in tissue paper just then, and one has to
be very particular with tulle. She was quite collected and calm when she
finished. Miss Meredith was the colour of the Liberty green screen
behind her. Her energy did not fail her in this crisis however.
"Why, it's nice Mr. Symington comes back," she said. "Is he coming to
the wedding?"
"He is," said Elma. "He was my 'particular.' I asked Isobel if I might
invite him."
"Who is he anyway?" asked Isobel, patting her hair gently in front of a
mirror.
("Oh, Isobel, my friend, if you only knew that," Elma conferred with
herself, "you wouldn't perhaps be the centre of attraction to-day.")
"He's a man who's great friends with the pater," said Jean
unconcernedly. "He goes abroad a lot and writes up things and develops
photos and has a place in Wales."
"A place in Wales, how nice!" said the London girl. "But it isn't the
great Mr. Symington, is it?"
"Why, yes, I suppose it must be," said Jean.
"Of course it is," said Miss Meredith, socially active once more. "Mr.
Symington is a very famous young man."
"Good gracious," said the London girl, "my curling tongs at once,
please. These surprises are very demoralizing. Look at my hair."
They all made themselves beautiful for "the great Mr. Symington."
Mabel turned a pair of wide eyes on Elma. Elma nodded like a little
mother, with a wealth of smiles at her lips. (Oh, Mabel, play up!)
Cuthbert had found his mother coming out of the drawing-room.
"Well, you seem in good spirits," said she,
"Who is in there?" he asked.
"Mr. Symington."
"Oh, it's he, is it?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Oh, for no particular reason," said Cuthbert. "Only Elma saw him coming
in and called him an old johnny. I knew something was up."
"Elma?" asked Mrs. Leighton anxiously.
"Yes. And she's in great form about something. Haven't seen her so gay
for an age."
Mrs. Leighton's eyes dropped. "Poor little girl," she said to herself.
She thought it best to proceed upstairs, and break some of the surprise
of Mr. Symington's arrival.
She found them in a room where boxes were piled in every direction. It
was like her that in her present dilemma she should immediately begin to
reprove them for their untidy habits.
"This room is really a disgrace," she said. "Just look at all these
boxes! And it's tea-time and not one of you in the drawing-room with
your father, the only afternoon he has too! Elma, what have you been
doing to make your hair so untidy?"
"My hair is only a wig, and this is my room," said Elma firmly. "For
the last ten minutes I have been trying to get to my own mirror. We are
prinking ourselves up for the great Mr. Symington."
"Oh," said Mrs. Leighton. "So you know. Well, he only got the
invitation a few days ago, when he was buried in Servia or some
outlandish place. He came right on."
"For my wedding?" asked Isobel in cool surprise.
Miss Meredith gazed in a rather frightened manner at every one.
"No," said Elma. "Not altogether. There were others reasons." She
determined to cut all the ground from under the feet of Sarah. "I
arranged it with Mr. Symington," she said in an important voice. Then,
with the airy manner of the London girl, she patted down the turbulent
wig, which had so annoyed Mrs. Leighton. "He is a perfect duck," she
said lightly.