There came a pleasant luxury in waking in a large room, with a maid
pulling up the blinds, and reporting that the day promised to be grand.
The maid could be looked upon as a friend, in that she knew the best and
the worst concerning Miss Higham's clothes, and inquiries were put to her
concerning breakfast; the answer came that this meal was ready at
half-past eight; you went down at any time you pleased between this and
ten o'clock. Mr. Henry breakfasted early; her ladyship and Mr. Langham
were always the last. A start had to be made for church at twenty past
ten. The maid asked whether Miss Higham would like the bathroom now, and
Miss Higham, not quite certain whether it was good form to say "Yes" or
"No," replied in the affirmative. As they went along the corridor,
Gertie heard Henry Douglass singing in the hall below. The most
astonishing detail in this wonderful house proved to be the size of the
sponge.
She determined to hurry over her dressing and get downstairs quickly in
order to talk privately with him, and consequent on this resolve, found
herself, later, knocking at Miss Loriner's room and inquiring whether
that young woman was ready to accompany her. After all, there would be
time to make the announcement during the day.
"Have you slept well?"
"Like a top," declared Gertie. "For all the world as though I'd nothing
on my mind."
"I don't suppose you have many serious murders to brood about."
"Not exactly murders," she replied. "Plenty of blunders."
Henry rose from the table as she entered; he dropped his open arms on
seeing that she was not alone. Miss Loriner poured out coffee, and
Henry, at the sideboard, recited the dishes that were being kept warm
there. "Sausages," decided Gertie, "because it's Sunday morning!" She
smiled, out of sheer content at being thus waited upon, and gave them a
description of Praed Street, where the meal was continually interrupted
by purchasers of journals, buyers of half-ounces of shag. She remarked
that it would have been possible here to take breakfast out of doors, and
Henry rang and gave instructions to Rutley, the butler, and the next
moment, as it seemed, they were at table on the lawn, with sparrows
pecking at stray crumbs. Henry, asking permission to smoke, lighted a
pipe.
"I've only seen you with cigarettes before," she remarked. "Doesn't the
tobacco smell good in the morning air! Do you know what I miss most of
all? Sound of cabs going along to Paddington Station. I shouldn't care
for the country, you know, not for always." She rattled on, jumping, as
was her custom when happy, from one subject to another.
"It's miraculous to hear you talking again," he declared. "Last night we
could scarcely get a word out of you."
"Tell me if I babble too much."
"You dear little woman!" he cried protestingly.
Clarence Mills came down, and Miss Loriner was relieved of the difficult
task of keeping her eyes averted. Clarence, on the plea that he had some
writing to do, wondered whether he might be excused from church, and
Henry recommended the billiard-room as a quiet place for work; there was
a writing-table at the end, and no one would interfere. Miss Loriner,
when Clarence had finished his meal, offered to conduct him to the
apartment; it was, it seemed, over the stables at the back of the house,
and not easy for a stranger to find; moreover, Miss Loriner felt anxious
to see how writing people started their work. Thus Henry Douglass and
Gertie Higham would have been left alone, but that Jim Langham,
exercising his gift of interference, appeared, rather puffed about the
eyes, and one or two indications hinting that the task of shaving had not
been without accident. Jim Langham's temper in the early hours seemed to
be imperfect; he made only a pretence of eating, crumbling toast and
chipping the top of an egg; he admitted he never felt thoroughly in form
until after lunch. When Henry suggested that Gertie would like to see
the grounds, Jim Langham followed them, pointing out the rose walk, and
the summer-house (that was like a large beehive) with an air of
proprietorship which Henry did not assume. Henry made an inquiry.
"I'm really chapel, if I'm anything," she answered; "but I shall like to
go. Especially if you're to be there. It'll be the first time we've
ever been in a place of worship together."
"We shall go together again," he said, "some day." She shook her head
quickly.
Lady Douglass had breakfasted in her room, and came when they were ready
and waiting; she complained severely that she seemed to be always the
first when any expedition was in train. They walked around the carriage
drive and across fields; at the porch, Lady Douglass offered to Gertie
the hospitable inquiry in regard to the night's rest that Miss Loriner
had made, and went on without waiting for a reply.
Gertie found herself wishing the service would continue for ever. It was
soothing, beautiful, appropriate. "Forgiving us those things whereof our
conscience is afraid, and giving us those good things which we are not
worthy to ask," said the first collect of the day. "Grant that this day
we fall into no sin, neither run into any kind of danger," said the third
collect. "Fulfil now," said the prayer, "the desires and petitions of
Thy servants, as may be most expedient for them." Announced the nervous
young curate from the pulpit, "The eighth chapter of John, the
thirty-second verse. 'The truth shall make you free.'" The curate had
an artificial voice, and he glanced anxiously at Lady Douglass's aspect
of jaded resignation; but it soon became evident he had something to say;
Gertie, listening attentively, wondered whether he might, in some
remarkable manner, have become acquainted with the particulars of her own
case. Truth, he contended, was indispensable to the wise and comfortable
conduct of life. Truth could only run on the main line; any deviation
led to serious disaster. Truth might, at times, hurt others at the
moment, but, in the end, it did nothing but good. Gertie felt impressed,
and the effect of the address upon her was not decreased when, outside
the church, and in accepting Lady Douglass's invitation to lunch, the
young curate mentioned that he well remembered the great pleasure of
meeting Miss Higham at a garden party, given up in town by the Bishop of
London.
Folk had been asked for three o'clock to play tennis, and in walking
across the lawn to look for them, Henry found the first opportunity of
speaking to her alone.
"Tell me, dear girl," he said urgently, "why did you take no notice of my
letters?"
"I never received any."
"Are you sure? I don't mean that," he went on hurriedly. "Only, I wrote
to you three times, and no answer came."
"They must have been wrongly addressed. What number did you put on the
envelopes?"
"But I also called, and saw your aunt."
"I didn't know that," admitted Gertie.
"Looks as though she stopped your notes. I'm sorry if that's the case."
"It worried me frightfully at the time," he said; "but it doesn't matter
now."
"I rather fancy it does matter now." The tennis players came in sight,
waving a salutation with their rackets.
Henry's mother apologized for a late appearance; no longer young, no
longer indeed middle-aged, she found it necessary to save up strength, to
use it economically. Gertie listened, content to be free from the
presence of Lady Douglass, and genuinely interested in the other's
conversation. Mark, the eldest son, she explained, arrived within a year
after her marriage; then came two baby girls who went back to Heaven;
then, after a long interval--
"It was because I had given away the rocking-horse," she declared.
--Then Henry. Mark was a good lad, but Henry had always been a dear lad.
Poor Mark made the one great mistake of his life when he selected a wife,
and Mrs. Douglass hoped the girl would understand why she felt anxious
that Henry should not commit a similar error.
"I don't care whom he marries," declared the old lady resolutely,
"providing he loves her, that she loves him, and that she is a good girl."
"That sort ought not to be hard to find."
"They are less plentiful," said the other, "than some people imagine.
Now I want you to tell me something, my dear."
The girl was preparing to use caution when Jim Langham strolled up; his
expectations of increased cheerfulness appeared to be realized, and his
manner was almost rollicking. He suggested that Gertie should walk
around with him; and the girl, to evade the threatened cross-examination,
nodded an acceptance.
"You don't go in for many games, I suppose?"
"Wish I did," replied Gertie. "I shouldn't feel quite so much out of it."
"Henry will expect you to play him at billiards this evening. If you
care to come across now," he offered, "I shall be delighted to give you
some idea how to start."
As they turned to go along the path that led to the back of the house,
Gertie glanced over her shoulder. Henry, watching their departure,
missed an easy serve, and endured the reproaches of his partner.
"Rutley, I want the key of the billiard-room. Rutley, get it at once."
"I think I know where it was put last," said the butler.
They went up the steps, and waited until Rutley came. Jim Langham called
him a slow-coach, a tortoise, a stick-in-the-mud, and a few other names.
Rutley, unmoved, inquired whether his services were wanted as marker.
Mr. Langham retorted that the butler might take it that whenever his help
was required, definite instructions would be given.
The long room being well lighted by windows on both sides, the assistance
of green shaded lamps that hung dependent above the table was not
required. At the end, a raised platform with table and corner couches;
on the mantelpiece rested a box of cigars, a silver case containing
cigarettes and matches. A dozen cues stood upright in a military
position on a stand. Jim Langham placed the red ball in its position,
and Gertie took spot white. In showing her how to hold the cue, he
touched her hand, and looked quickly to see if she resented this.
"You are going to make a very fine player," he declared presently. "All
you need is practice."
Because of the pronounced scent of spirits, she drew away when he came
too near; Jim Langham instantly became more deferential. By the luck
that often comes to beginners, Gertie presently made five, potting the
red and effecting a cannon; she beamed with the delight of success. Spot
white was left in the centre of the table, and Langham, obtaining the
long rest, explained the manner of using it. In doing so, he placed his
hand upon her neck; the next moment he was on his knees conducting an
active search under the table. Gertie, flushed with annoyance, went
towards the door. Before she reached it, a knock came; the door was
rattled impatiently.
"Open it from your side," ordered the high-pitched voice of Lady Douglass.
"The key is not here," answered Gertie.
"It must be there. Why is the door locked?"
"How should I know?" retorted the girl sharply. "You don't suppose I
locked it, do you?" She heard Lady Douglass call for the useful Rutley;
and when the butler came, there was a consultation outside. The door
creaked, the lock gave way; Rutley, falling in with the door, just
escaped collision with the perturbed girl. He was told to go.
"What does this mean?" demanded Lady Douglass. "Why are you in the
billiard-room alone, Miss Higham?"
"I'm not alone. Your brother is here."
"That scarcely improves the look of affairs.--Jim, where are you?"
The gentleman, half emerging, made a mumbled, indistinct request for
matches. Gertie, walking to the end of the room, found a box.
"There's your set of teeth," she pointed out, "just by the corner leg.
It half frightened me when I saw I'd knocked the whole lot out."
"This is a serious matter," said Lady Douglass judicially. "The great
thing will be to keep it from the knowledge of Henry."
"I'm not ashamed of my part in it!" She turned indignantly upon the
red-faced man; his mouth was again furnished with the productions of the
dentist, but he scowled in an alarming way. "What did you mean by it?
Was this a dodge of yours, or of hers?"
"I simply, and by the merest chance," he complained to his sister,
"happened to touch her near the shoulder, and you saw for yourself how
she treated me. I shall go off and get a drink, and leave you both to
clear it up as best you can. Serves her right!" He repeated this remark
several times, with additions, as he stamped out of the room.
"My brother," said Lady Douglass, "is peculiar in his manners."
"I haven't met his sort before."
"But I wonder you did not know better than to trust yourself with him.
Fortunately, you can rely upon me to say nothing about the affair. It
would have been very unlucky if someone else had happened to come to the
door."
"I don't particularly like being under any sort of obligation to you."
"We won't say anything more about it," ordered the other. "I have an
enormous objection to a scandal."
"You're not alone in that respect," she retorted.
"And we will of course avoid all references to Wormwood Scrubbs."
"I don't know what you mean by that!"
The tennis folk, after they had replayed their games over the tea-table,
left; Gertie was quiet, and her cousin inquired anxiously whether
anything had occurred. Clarence urged her to keep up courage, declaring
she had managed admirably up to the present.
"I feel as though there's thunder in the air," she said.
"There isn't," he assured her; "not a trace of it. It's a beautiful day.
And," with enthusiasm, "Mary tells me she doesn't mind waiting until I
make three hundred a year."
"Lucky boy!" she remarked absently.
They were still out on the lawn, and Henry had made a suggestion that
they should all play golf-croquet when Rutley came to clear the table.
Lady Douglass gave an instruction aside. "Very well, my lady," said
Rutley; "it shall be seen to first thing in the morning. If we could
only find the key I'd manage it myself." Henry asked whether anything
was missing; his sister-in-law replied that it was nothing of
importance--nothing that he need trouble about. Henry had quite enough
to occupy his mind, and he must please allow her to take charge of some
of the domestic anxieties.
"Rather unusual," said old Mrs. Douglass, "to find you so considerate."
"I get very little credit," sighed Lady Douglass.
As they waited on the croquet lawn to take their turn, Henry remarked to
Gertie that no opportunity had yet been found for their long talk;
looking down at her affectionately, he added that perhaps she could guess
all that was in his mind. It had been perfectly splendid, he went on in
his boyish way, simply magnificent, to be near to her for so long a
period of time; they would have many week-ends similar to this. His
mother had spoken approvingly of Gertie, and nothing else mattered. The
girl kept her eyes on her mallet; she could not bring herself to the
point of arresting his speech.
"We are waiting for yellow," said Lady Douglass resignedly.
Miss Loriner and Clarence seemed to lose interest in the game as it
proceeded; later, they were missing when their colours were called. Lady
Douglass, throwing down her mallet, delivered a brief oration. If people
intended to play golf-croquet, they should play golf-croquet; if, on the
other hand, they did not propose to play golf-croquet, they should say,
frankly and openly, that they did not propose to play golf-croquet.
Deploring the lack of candour and straight-forwardness, she pronounced
the game at an end.
"Where are you going, Henry?" He answered promptly. "Come back! I
don't want you to go to the billiard-room. You dare not ask me why; you
must just comply with this one wish of mine."
"Have you any reasons?"
"The best of reasons." She exhibited a considerable amount of agitation;
her head went from side to side. "Do please obey me. If you do not, you
will regret it to the last hour of your life."
He stared at her curiously.
"I rather fancy," interposed Gertie, breaking the pause, "that I'm the
best one to explain." She was standing beside old Mrs. Douglass, and as
she spoke she gripped at the back of the wicker chair. "I don't like
this mystery where I am concerned. Lady Douglass came to the door of the
billiard-room whilst Mr. Langham and me--Mr. Langham and I were there.
The door was locked. She had it burst open."
Henry held out his hand appealingly. "That can't be all," he urged.
"It's all that matters."
"Where is Jim?" he demanded of Lady Douglass.
"I am not my brother's keeper, but I believe he has gone down into the
village."
"There's something more I've got to say," Gertie went on. Her voice
trembled; she made an effort to control it. "It's kind of you to ask me
down here, but I wish you had invited Clarence alone. He knows how to
behave in company like this; I don't. I'm not in it. It was foolish of
me to come. It's like anybody trying to go Nap without a single picture
card in their hand. And I want to tell you something more--I'm engaged!
Engaged to a youngish man in my own station of life."
"No, no!" he cried.
"My dear," said old Mrs. Douglass, looking up concernedly, "surely you're
not in earnest!"
"I think," remarked Lady Douglass impartially, "that she is acting with
great wisdom."
"I was wishing to-day," the girl went on, raising her voice, "that I
hadn't got myself engaged. It happened because of a misunderstanding,
and I did it on the impulse of the moment; all the same, it can't be
helped. And I was pretty jolly before I met Henry, and--I don't know--I
may be pretty jolly again. If I go right out of his life now--why, I
shall only think, I shall only remember--"
Old Mrs. Douglass turned in her chair and patted the girl's hand.
"I shall only remember how happy I was all the time after I was lucky
enough to meet him. It's over and done with now, and I'm going back
home, where I can be trusted. I must be trusted. Here, you don't quite
believe me." She bent down to old Mrs. Douglass. "Not even you. I'm a
foreigner at this place; a foreigner, trying to learn your habits and
customs, and trying to forget my own. Perhaps, one day, you'll see that
although I wasn't very refined, and not too well brought up," she raised
her face, and her chin went out, "all the same, I did know how to keep
myself straight."
Young Mills came across the croquet lawn.
"Want you for a moment, Clarence," she said.
Henry Douglass, descending the staircase slowly and thoughtfully at eight
o'clock, asked Rutley whether Miss Higham was in the drawing-room.
Rutley answered that the young lady and Mr. Mills had gone. Walked to
Cholsey to catch the evening train to town. One of the under-gardeners
carried their luggage.
"Quite thought you knew, sir," mentioned Rutley.