MR. FRANCIS SEES HIS DOCTOR
Harry had held long sessions in his mind as to whether he should or
should not ask other people to Vail to meet Lady Oxted and Miss Aylwin
at the end of the month. It was but a thin hospitality, he was afraid,
to bring two ladies down to Wiltshire to spend a country Sunday, and
provide for their entertainment only the society of himself and his
uncle; and this fear gradually deepening to certainty, he hurriedly
asked four or five other guests, only two days before the projected
visit, in revolt all the time at the obligations of a host. All of
these, however, as was not unnatural at this fullest time in the year,
were otherwise engaged, and he opened each letter of regret with
increasing satisfaction. He had been balked in the prosecution of his
duty; it was no use at this late hour trying again.
There were also other reasons against having a party. His uncle's
health, for instance, so he wrote to him, had not been very good since
his attack. He had been left rather weak and shattered by it, and though
his letter was full of that zest and cheerfulness which was so habitual
a characteristic with him, Harry felt that it might be better,
particularly since his first meeting with Miss Aylwin would of necessity
be somewhat of an emotional strain to him, not to tax him further,
either with the arrangements incidental to a larger party or with their
entertainment. These dutiful considerations, it must be confessed,
though perfectly genuine, all led down the paths of his own desires, for
it was just the enforced intimacy of a _partie carrée_ in the country
from which he promised himself such an exquisite pleasure. With a dozen
people in the house, his time would not be his own; he would have to
look after people, make himself agreeable to everybody, and be
continually burdened with the hundred petty cares of a host. But, the
way things were, all that Sunday they would be together, if not in fours
then in pairs, and the number of possible combinations of four people in
pairs he could see at once was charmingly limited.
But, though to him personally the refusal of others to come to his feast
was not an occasion of regret, an excuse to the two ladies as to the
meagreness of the entertainment he was providing for them, however
faltering and insincere, was still required. This he made with a
marvellously radiant face, a few evenings before their visit, as he sat
with them in Lady Oxted's box at the opera.
"I have to make a confession," he said, drawing his chair up at the end
of the second act of Lohengrin, "and, as you are both so delighted with
the music, I will do so now, in the hopes that you may let me off
easily. There is absolutely no one coming to meet you at Vail; there
will be my Uncle Francis and myself, and that is all."
Evie turned to him.
"That is charming of you," she said, "and you have paid us a compliment.
It is nothing to be asked as merely one of a crowd, but your asking us
alone shows that you don't expect to get bored with us. Make your
courtesy, Aunt Violet!"
"But there's the Luck," said Lady Oxted. "I gathered that the Luck was
the main object of our expedition, though how it was going to amuse us I
don't know, any more than I know how Dr. Nansen expected the north pole
to amuse him. And why, if you wanted to see it, Evie, Harry could not
send for it by parcel post, I never quite grasped."
"Or luggage train, unregistered," said Evie. "Why did you not give it to
the first tramp you met, Lord Vail, and ask him to take it carefully to
London, for it was of some value, and leave it at a house in Grosvenor
Square the number of which you had forgotten? How stupid of you not to
think of that! And did you see the Luck when you were down last week?"
"Yes; it came to dinner every night. I used to drink its health."
"Good gracious! I shall have to take my very smartest things," cried
Evie. "Fancy having to dress up to the Luck every evening!"
"Give it up, dear, give it up," said Lady Oxted. "The Luck will
certainly make you look shabby, whatever you wear. Oh! those nursery
rhymes!--Ah! here's Bob.--Bob, what can have made you come to the
opera?"
Lord Oxted took his seat, and gazed round the house before replying.
"I think it was your absolute certainty that I should not," he replied.
"I delight in confuting the infallible; for you are an infallible,
Violet. It is not your fault; you can not help it."
Lady Oxted laughed.
"My poor man," she said, "how shallow you must be not to have seen that
I only said that in order to make you come!"
"I thought of that," he said, "but rejected the suspicion as unworthy.
You laid claim, very unconvincingly I allow, the other day to a passion
for truth and honour. Indeed, I gave you the benefit of a doubt which
never existed.--And you all go down to Vail on Saturday. I should like
to come, only I have not been asked."
"No, dear," said Lady Oxted. "I forbade Harry to ask you."
"Oh! you didn't," began Harry.
"I quite understand," said Lord Oxted; "you refrained from asking me on
your own account, and if you had suggested such a thing, my wife would
have forbidden you. One grows more and more popular, I find, as the
years pass."
"Dear Uncle Bob, you are awfully popular with me," said Evie. "Shall I
stop and keep you company in London?"
"Yes; please do," said he.
"But won't it be rather rude to Lord Vail?"
"Yes, but he will forgive you," said Lord Oxted.
"Indeed, I sha'n't, Miss Aylwin," said Harry. "Don't think it. But will
you then come to Vail, Lord Oxford? I thought it would be no use asking
you."
"I may not be popular," said he, "but I have still a certain pride."
Here the orchestra poised and plunged headlong into the splendid
overture of the third act; and Lady Oxted, whose secret joy was the hope
that she might, in the fulness of time, grow to tolerate Wagner by
incessant listening to him, glared furiously at the talkers and closed
her eyes. Lord Oxted, it was observed by the others, thereupon stole
quietly out of the box.
The curtain rose with the Wedding March, and that done, and the lovers
alone, that exquisite duet began, rising, like the voices of two larks,
from height to infinite height of passion, as clear and pure as summer
heavens. Then into the soul of that feeblest of heroines began to enter
doubt and hesitation, the desire to know what she had promised not to
ask grew in the brain, until it made itself words, undermining and
unbuilding all that on which love rests. Thereafter, the woman having
failed, came tumult and death, the hopeless lovers were left face to
face with the ruin that want of trust will bring upon all that is
highest, and with the drums and the slow, measured rhythm of despair,
the act ended.
"The hopeless, idiotic fool of a girl!" remarked Evie, with extreme
precision, weighing her words. "Oh! I lose my patience with her."
"I thought your tone sounded a little impatient," said Lady Oxted.
"A little? Why, if Lohengrin had said he wanted to write a letter, she
could have looked round the corner to see that he was not flirting with
one of the chorus, and have opened his letter afterward. If there is one
thing I despise, it is a suspicious woman."
"You must find a great many despicable things in this world," remarked
Lady Oxted.
"Dear aunt, if you attempt to be cynical, I shall go home in a hansom by
myself," said Evie.
"Do, dear; and Harry and I will follow in the brougham. Do you want to
stay for the last act?"
"No; I would sooner go away. I am rather tired, and Elsa has put me in a
bad temper. Good-bye, Lord Vail, and expect us on Saturday afternoon;
please order good weather. It will be enchanting; I am so looking
forward to it!"
Harry himself went down to Vail on Friday afternoon, for he wished both
to satisfy himself that everything was arranged for the comfort of his
visitors, and also to meet them himself when they came. The only train
he could conveniently catch did not stop at his nearest station, and he
telegraphed home that they should meet him at Didcot. This implied a
ten-mile drive, and his train being late on arrival, he put the cobs to
their best pace in order to reach Vail in time for dinner. Turning
quickly and rather recklessly into the lodge gates, he had to pull up
sharply in order to avoid collision with one of his own carriages which
was driving away from the house. A stable helper not in livery held the
reins, and by his side sat a man of dark, spare aspect, a stranger to
him. As soon as they had passed, he turned round to the groom who sat
behind.
"Who was that?" he asked.
"I don't know his name, my lord," said he, "but I drove him from the
station last Monday. He has been staying with Mr. Francis since then."
Harry was conscious of a slight feeling of vexation, arising from
several causes. In the first place (and here a sense of his dignity
spoke), any guest, either of his or his uncle's, ought to be driven to
the station properly, not by a man in a cap and a brown coat. In the
second place, though he was delighted that Uncle Francis should ask any
friend he chose to stay with him, Harry considered that he ought to have
been told. He had received a long letter from his uncle two days ago, in
which he went at some length into the details of his days, but made no
mention of a guest. In the third place, the appearance of the man was
somehow grossly and uncomfortably displeasing to him.
These things simmered in his mind as he drove up the long avenue, and
every now and then a little bubble of resentment, as it were, would
break on the surface. He half wondered at himself for the pertinacity
with which his mind dwelt on them, and he determined, with a touch of
that reserve and secrecy which still lingered in corners and angles of
his nature, that if his uncle did not choose of his own initiative to
tell him about this man, he would ask no questions, but merely not
forget the circumstance. This reticence on his own part, so he told
himself, was in no way to be put down to secretiveness, but rather to
decency of manners. His uncle might have the Czar of all the Russias, if
he chose, to stay with him, and if he did not think fit to mention that
autocrat's visit, even though it was in all the daily papers, it would
be rude even for his nephew to ask him about it. But he knew, if he
faced himself quite honestly, that though good manners were sufficient
excuse for the reticence he preferred to employ, secretiveness and
nothing else was the reason for it. Certainly he wished that the man had
not been so disrelishing to the eye; there was something even sinister
about the glance he had got of him.
Mr. Francis was in the most cheery and excellent spirits, and delighted
to see him. He was employed in spudding plantains from the lawn as the
carriage drove up. But, abandoning this homely but useful performance as
soon as he heard the wheels on the road, he ran almost to meet him.
"Ages, it seems literally ages, since you were here, dear boy!" he said.
"And see, Harry, I have not been idle in preparing for our charming
visitors. Croquet!" and he pointed to a large deal box that lay
underneath the clipped yew hedge. "Templeton and I found the box in a
gardener's shed," he said, "and we have been washing and cleaning it up.
Ah! what a fascinating game, and how it sets off the ingenuity of the
feminine mind! I was a great hand at it once, and I think I can strike
the ball still. Come, dear boy, let us get in; it is already dinner
time. Ah! my flute; it would never do to leave that," and he tripped
gaily off to a garden seat near, on which lay the case containing the
favourite instrument.
It happened that at dinner the same night Mr. Francis passed Harry
through a sort of affectionate catechism, asking him to give an
exhaustive account of the manner in which he had spent the hours since
he left Vail a fortnight ago. Harry complied with his humour, half shy,
half proud of the number that had to be laid inside Lady Oxted's door,
and when this was finished:
"Now it is my turn, Uncle Francis," he said. "Begin at the beginning,
and tell me all as fully as I have to you."
"Well, dear Harry, if I have not galloped about like you, taking ditch
and fence, I have trotted along a very pleasant road," he said. "All the
week after you left me I was much employed in writing about estimates
and details with regard to the electric light. You must look at those
to-morrow; they will be rather more expensive than we had anticipated,
unless you have fewer lights of higher power. However, that business was
finished, I remember, on Saturday; on Sunday I had my class, and dawdled
very contentedly through the day. And all this week I have been busy in
little ways--one day will serve for another; at the books all the
morning, and in the afternoon pottering about alone, doing a bit of
gardener's work here, feeding the pheasants there--and they are getting
on capitally--or down at the farm. Then very often a nap before dinner,
and a blow on the flute afterward. A sweet, happy, solitary time."
The servants had left the room, and as Mr. Francis said these words, he
looked closely at Harry, and saw his face, so he thought, harden. The
lips were a little compressed, the arch of the eyebrows raised ever so
little; something between surprise and a frown contracted them. He had
already thought it more than possible that Harry might have met the
other trap driving away from the house, and he thought he saw
confirmation of it in his face. He sighed.
"Ah, Harry," he said, "can you not trust me?"
Mr. Francis's voice was soft, almost broken; his blue eyes glistened in
the candlelight, but still looking intently at his nephew. And, at the
amenity and affection in his tone, the boy's reserve and secretiveness,
which he had labelled good manners, utterly broke down.
"You have read my thoughts," he said, "and I apologize. But why, why not
have told me, Uncle Francis? You could not have thought I should mind
your having who you liked here?"
Mr. Francis sighed again.
"I will tell you now," he said, slightly accentuating the last word. "I
did not tell you before; I purposely concealed it now; yes, I even used
the word solitary about my life during the last week, in order to save
you anxiety."
"Anxiety?" asked Harry.
"Yes; you met, probably somewhere near the lodge gates, one of your
carriages going to the station. A man out of livery drove it; a man of
middle age sat by him. He was my doctor, Harry, and he came here on
Monday last. I wished"--and his tone was frankness to the core--"I
wished to get him out of the house before you came; I did not know you
were coming till this afternoon, and I saw he could just catch the train
to town. I ordered the carriage to take him instantly, and the man had
not time to get into livery. That is all."
At once Harry was all compunction and anxiety; he left his chair at the
end of the table, and drew it close beside his uncle.
"Dear Uncle Francis," he said, "what was his opinion of your health? He
was satisfied?"
"Fairly well satisfied," said Mr. Francis. "The upshot was that I must
live very quietly, and take no great exertion, and guard against quick
movements. I might then hope, I might certainly hope, to live several
more years yet. At my age, he said, one must not go hurdle-racing.
Seventy-three! Well, well, I am getting on for seventy-three!"
Harry was tongue-tied with a sort of vague contrition--for what, he
could hardly tell. He had been put in the wrong, but so generously and
kindly that he could not resent it. He had had no suspicions of any
kind, and his uncle's simple frankness had made him wear the aspect of
the suspector. Indeed, where could suspicion look in? Suspicions--what
of? The gist of his feeling had been that he should have been told, and
here was the considerable reason why he had not--a reason sensible,
conclusive, and dictated by thoughtful affections. Yet he felt somehow
ashamed of himself, and his shame was too ill-defined for speech. But
there was no long pause, for Mr. Francis almost immediately got up from
his chair, with a nimbleness of movement which perhaps his doctor would
not have liked.
"Well! a truce to these sombrenesses, Harry," he said. "Indeed, I am
brisk enough yet. Ah, what a pleasure to have you here instead of that
excellent, kind, unsociable fellow! I have such a good story for you;
let us go to the billiard room; I could not tell you before the
servants, though I have had it on the tip of my tongue all the evening.
The doctor recommended me billiards after dinner; gentle, slow exercise
like that was just the thing, he said. Well, that story----"
Harry rose too.
"One word more," he said. "Is your doctor a really first-rate man? You
remember, I wanted you to see a good man. What is his name?"
"Dr. Godfrey," said Mr. Francis, "32 Half-Moon Street. He is a
first-rate man. I have known him since he was a boy."