Had any one, a week before his daughter arrived, told Colonel Stuart
that her presence would be a pleasant restraint upon him, he would
have been very angry. Yet such was the fact. Her likeness to her
mother carried him back to days when his peccadilloes could still be
regarded as youthful follies, and people spared a harsh verdict on
what age might be expected to remedy. Then her vast admiration gave a
reality to his own assumptions of rectitude; for the Colonel clung
theoretically to virtue with great tenacity, in a loud-voiced,
conservative "d---- you if you don't believe what I say" sort of
manner. He also maintained a high ideal in regard to the honour of
every one else, based on a weak-kneed conviction that his own was
above suspicion.
He was proud of Belle too, fully recognising that with her by his side
his grey hairs became reverend. So he pulled himself up to some small
degree, and began to sprinkle good advice among the younger men with
edifying gravity. As for Belle she was supremely happy. No doubt had
she been "earnest" or "soulful" or "intense" she might have found
spots on her sun with the greatest ease; but she was none of these
things. At this period of her existence nothing was further from her
disposition than inward questionings on any subject. She took life as
she found it, seeing only her own healthy, happy desires in its dreary
old problems, and remaining as utterly unconscious that she was
assimilating herself to her surroundings as the caterpillar which
takes its colour from the leaf on which it feeds. For a healthy mind
acts towards small worries as the skin does towards friction; it
protects itself from pain by an excess of vitality. It is only when
pressure breaks through the blister that its extent is realised.
In good truth Belle's life was a merry one. The three girls were
good-nature itself, especially when they found the new arrival
possessed none of their own single-hearted desire for matrimony. Her
stepmother, if anything, was over-considerate, being a trifle inclined
to make a bugbear of the girl's superior claims to her father's
affection. The housekeeping was lavishly good, and men of a certain
stamp were not slow to avail themselves of the best mutton and prawn
curry in Faizapore. Where the money came from which enabled the
Stuarts to keep open house, they did not enquire. Neither did Belle,
who knew no more about the value of things than a baby in arms. As for
the Colonel, he had long years before acquired the habit of looking on
his debts as his principal, and treating his pay as the interest. So
matters went smoothly and swiftly for the first month or so, during
which time Belle might have been seen everywhere in the company of the
three Miss Van Milders, cheerfully following their lead with a serene
innocence that kept even the fastest of a very fast set in check. Once
or twice she saw Philip Marsden, and was rallied by the girls on her
acquaintance with that solitary misogynist. Mrs. Stuart, indeed, went
so far as to ask him to dinner, even though he had not called, on the
ground that he was the richest man in the station, and Belle's
interests must not be neglected though she was only a stepdaughter.
But he sent a polite refusal, and so the matter dropped; nor to Mrs.
Stuart's open surprise did Belle make any other declared conquest.
Yet, unnoticed by all, there was some one, who long before the first
month was out, would willingly have cut himself into little pieces in
order to save his idol from the least breath of disappointment. So it
was from Cousin Dick's superior knowledge of Indian life that Belle
learnt many comforting, if curious excuses for things liable to ruffle
even her calm of content.
Poor Dick! Hitherto his efforts in all directions had resulted in
conspicuous failure; chiefly, odd though it may seem, because he
happened to be born under English instead of Indian skies. In other
words, because he was not what bureaucracies term "a Statutory
Native." His mother, Mrs. Stuart's younger sister, had run away with a
young Englishman who, having ruined himself over a patent, was keeping
soul and body together by driving engines. In some ways she might have
done worse, for Smith senior was a gentleman; but he possessed,
unfortunately, just that unstable spark of genius which, like a
will-o'-the-wisp leads a man out of the beaten path without guiding
him into another. The small sum of money she brought him was simply so
much fuel to feed the flame; and, within a few months of their
marriage, the soft, luxurious girl was weeping her eyes out in a
miserable London lodging, while he went the rounds with his patent.
There Dick was born, and thence after a year or two she brought them
both back to the elastic house, the strong family affection, and
lavish hospitality which characterise the Eurasian race. Not for long,
however, since her husband died of heat-apoplexy while away seeking
for employment, and she, after shedding many tears, succumbed to
consumption brought on by the fogs and cold of the north. So,
dependent on various uncles and aunts in turn, little Dick Smith had
grown up with one rooted desire in the rough red head over which his
sleek, soft guardians shook theirs ominously. Briefly, he was to be an
engineer like his father. He broke open everything to see how it
worked, and made so many crucial experiments that the whole family
yearned for the time when he should join the Government Engineering
College at Roorkee. And then, just when this desirable consummation
was within reach, some one up among the deodars at Simla, or in an
office at Whitehall, invented the "Statutory Native," and there was an
end of poor Dick's career; for a Statutory Native is a person born in
India of parents habitually resident and domiciled in the country.
True, the college was open to the boy for his training; but with all
the Government appointments awarded to successful students closed to
him by the accident of his birth, his guardians naturally shook their
heads again over an expensive education which would leave him,
practically, without hope of employment. For, outside Government
service, engineers are not, as yet, wanted in India. He might, of
course, had he been the son of a rich man, have been sent home to pass
out as an Englishman through the English college. As it was the boy,
rebellious to the heart's core, was set to other employment. Poor
Dick! If his European birth militated against him on the one side, his
Eurasian parentage condemned him on the other. After infinite trouble
his relations got him a small post on the railway, whence he was
ousted on reduction; another with a private firm which became
bankrupt. The lad's heart and brains were elsewhere, and as failure
followed on failure, he gave way to fits of defiance, leading him by
sheer excess of energy into low companionship and bad habits. At the
time of Belle's arrival he was trying to work off steam as an unpaid
clerk in his uncle's office when a boy's first love revolutionized his
world; love at first sight, so enthralling, so compelling, that he did
not even wonder at the change it wrought in him. Belle never knew,
perhaps he himself did not recognise, how much of the calm content of
those first few months was due to Dick's constant care. A silent,
unreasoning devotion may seem a small thing viewed by the head, but it
keeps the heart warm. Poor, homeless, rebellious Dick had never felt
so happy, or so good, in all his life; and he would kneel down in his
hitherto prayerless room and pray that she might be kept from sorrow,
like any young saint. Yet he had an all-too-intimate acquaintance with
the corruption of Indian towns, and an all-too-precocious knowledge of
evil.
Belle in her turn liked him; there was something more congenial in his
breezy, tempestuous, nature than in the sweetness of her stepbrothers,
and unconsciously she soon learnt to come to him for comfort. "Charlie
tells such dreadful stories," she complained one day, "and he really
is fond of whisky-and-water. I almost wish father wouldn't give him
any."
"The governor thinks it good for him, I bet," returned Dick stoutly.
"I believe it is sometimes. Then as for lies! I used to tell 'em
myself; it's the climate. He'll grow out of it, you'll see; I did."
Now Dick's truthfulness was, as a rule, so uncompromising that Belle
cheered up; as for the boy, his one object then was to keep care from
those clear eyes; abstract truth was nowhere.
The next time Sonny _baba_ was offered a sip from his father's glass,
he refused hastily. Pressure produced a howl of terror; nor was it
without the greatest difficulty that he was subsequently brought to
own that Cousin Dick had threatened to kill him if he ever touched a
"peg" again. Luckily for the peace of the household this confession
was made in the Colonel's absence, when only Mrs. Stuart's high,
strident voice could be raised in feeble anger. The culprit remained
unrepentant; the more so because Belle assoilzied him, declaring that
Charlie ought not to be allowed to touch the horrid mixture. Whereupon
her stepmother sat and cried softly with the boy on her lap, making
both Belle and Dick feel horribly guilty, until, the incident having
occurred at lunch, both the sufferers fell asleep placidly. When Belle
returned from her afternoon ride she found Mrs. Stuart in high good
humour, decanting a bottle of port wine. "You frightened me so, my
dear," she said affectionately, "that I sent for the doctor, and he
says port wine _is_ better, so I'm glad you mentioned it." And Belle
felt more guilty than ever.
These afternoon rides were Dick's only trouble. He hated the men who
came about the house, and more especially the favoured many who were
allowed to escort the "Van" as Belle's three stepsisters were
nick-named. It made him feel hot and cold all over to think of her in
the company which he found suitable enough for his cousins. But then
it seemed to him as if no one was good enough for Belle,--he himself
least of all. He dreamed wild, happy dreams of doing something brave,
fine, and manly; not so much from any desire of thereby winning her,
but because his own love demanded it imperiously. For the first time
the needle of his compass pointed unhesitatingly to the pole of right.
He confided these aspirations to the girl, and they would tell each
other tales of heroism until their cheeks flushed, and their eyes
flashed responsive to the deeds of which they talked. One day Dick
came home full of the story of Major Marsden and the Afghan sepoy; and
they agreed to admire it immensely. After that Dick made rather a hero
of the Major, and Belle began to wonder why the tall quiet man who had
been so friendly at their first meeting, kept so persistently aloof
from her and hers. He was busy, of course, but so were others, for
these were stirring times. The arsenal was working over hours, and all
through the night, long files of laden carts crept down the dusty
roads, bearing stores for the front.
To all outward appearance, however, society took no heed of these wars
or rumours of wars, but went on its way rejoicing in the winter
climate which made amusement possible. And no one in the station
rejoiced more than Belle. Major Marsden, watching her from afar, told
himself that a girl who adopted her surroundings--and such
surroundings!--so readily, was not to be pitied. She was evidently
well able to take care of herself; yet, many a time, as he sat playing
whist while others were dancing, he caught himself looking up to see
who the partner might be with whom she was hurrying past to seek the
cooler air of the gardens, where seats for two were dimly visible
among the coloured lanterns.
For the most part, however, Belle's partners were boys, too young to
have lost the faculty of recognising innocent unconsciousness. But one
night at a large ball given to a departing regiment, she fell into the
hands of a stranger who had come in from an outstation in order to
continue a pronounced flirtation which Maud Van Milder had permitted
during a dull visit to a friend. That astute young lady having no
intention of offending permanent partners for his sake, handed him
over to Belle for a dance, and the latter, failing to fall in with his
step during the first turn, pleaded fatigue as the easiest way of
getting through the penance.
Philip at his whist, saw her pass down the corridor towards the
garden; and, happening to know her companion, played a false card,
lost the trick, and apologised.
"Time yet, if we look out," replied his partner; but this was exactly
what the Major could not do, and the rubber coming swiftly to an end,
he made an excuse for cutting out, and followed Belle into the garden,
wondering who could have introduced her to such a man. To begin with
he was not fit for decent society, and in addition he had evidently
favoured the champagne. Philip had no definite purpose in his pursuit,
until from a dark corner he heard Belle's clear young voice with a
touch of hauteur in it. Then the impulse to get her away from her
companion before he had a chance of making himself objectionable, came
to the front, joined to an unexpected anger and annoyance.
"I have been looking for you everywhere, Miss Stuart. You are wanted,"
said Philip going up to them.
"Hallo, Marsden! what a beast you are to come just as we were gettin'
confidential--weren't we?" exclaimed Belle's companion with what was
meant to be a fascinating leer. She turned from one face to the other;
but if the one aroused dislike and contempt, the air of authority in
Major Marsden's touched her pride.
"Who wants me?" she asked calmly.
"Who!" echoed her partner. "Come, that's a good one! We both want you;
don't we, Marsden?"
Luckily for the speaker Philip recognised his own imprudence in
risking an altercation. The only thing to be done now, was to get the
girl away as soon as possible.
"Exactly so;" he replied, crushing down his anger, "Miss Stuart can
choose between us."
Belle rose superbly.
"You seem to forget I can go alone." And alone she went, while her
partner shrieked with noisy laughter, avowing that he loved a spice of
the devil in a girl.
Philip moodily chewing the end of his cheroot ere turning in felt that
the rebuff served him right, though he could not restrain a smile as
he thought of Belle's victorious retreat. By that time, however,
subsequent facts had enlightened her as to Philip's possible meaning,
and the sight of her former partner being inveigled away from waltzing
to the billiard room by the senior subaltern, made her turn so pale
that John Raby, on whose arm she was leaning, thought she was afraid.
"He won't be allowed to come back, Miss Stuart," he said consolingly.
"And I apologise in the name of the committee for the strength of the
champagne."
Belle's mouth hardened. "There is no excuse for that sort of thing.
There never can be one."
He looked at her curiously.
"I wouldn't say that, Miss Stuart. It is a mistake to be so stern. For
my part I can forgive anything. It is an easy habit to acquire--and
most convenient."
Belle, however, could not even forgive herself. She lay tossing about
enacting the scene over and over again, wondering what Major Marsden
must think of her. How foolish she had been! Why had she not trusted
him? Why had he not made her understand?
Being unable to sleep, she rose, and long ere her usual hour was
walking about the winding paths which intersected the barren desert of
garden where nothing grew but privet and a few bushes of oleander.
This barrenness was not Dame Nature's fault, for just over the other
side of the wide white road John Raby's garden was ablaze with
blossom. Trails of Maréchale Niel roses, heavy with great creamy cups,
hung over the low hedge, and a sweet English scent of clove-pinks and
mignonette was wafted to her with every soft, fitful gust of wind. She
felt desperately inclined to cross the intervening dust into this
paradise, and stood quite a long time at the blue gate-posts wondering
why a serpent seemed to have crept into her own Eden. The crow's
long-drawn note came regularly from a _kuchnâr_ tree that was sheeted
with white geranium-like flowers; the Seven Brothers chattered noisily
among the yellow tassels of the cassia, and over head, against the
cloudless sky, a wedge-shaped flight of cranes was winging its way
northward, all signs that the pleasant cold weather was about to give
place to the fiery furnace of May; but Belle knew nothing of such
things as yet, so the vague sense of coming evil, which lay heavily on
her, seemed all the more depressing from its unreasonableness. A
striped squirrel became inquisitive over her still figure and began
inspection with bushy tail erect and short starts of advance, till it
was scared by the clank of bangles and anklets as a group of Hindu
women, bearing bunches of flowers and brazen _lotahs_ of milk for
Seetlâs' shrine, came down the road; beside them, in various stages of
toddle, the little children for whom their mothers were about to beg
immunity from small-pox. Of all this again Belle knew nothing; but
suddenly, causelessly, it struck her for the first time that she ought
to know something. Who were these people? What were they doing? Where
were they going? One small child paused to look at her and she smiled
at him. The mother smiled in return, and the other women looked back
half surprised, half pleased, nodding, and laughing as they went on
their way.
Why? Belle, turning to enquire after the late breakfast, felt
oppressed by her own ignorance. In the verandah she met the bearer
coming out of the Colonel's window with a medicine bottle in his hand.
Did her ignorance go so far that her father should be ill and she not
know of it? "Budlu!" she asked hastily, "the Colonel _sahib_ isn't
ill, is he?"
The man, who had known her mother, and grown grey with his master,
raised a submissive face. "No, missy _baba_, not ill. Colonel _sahib_,
he drunk."
"Drunk!" she echoed mechanically, too astonished for horror. "What
_do_ you mean?"
"Too much wine drunk,--very bad," explained Budlu cheerfully.
She caught swiftly at the words with a sense of relief from she knew
not what. "Ah, I see! the wine last night was bad, and disagreed with
him?"
"Damn bad!" Budlu's English was limited but not choice. She remarked
on it at the breakfast-table, repeating his words and laughing. None
of the girls were down, but Walter and Stanley giggled; and the latter
was apparently about to say something facetious, when his words
changed into an indignant request that Dick would look out, and keep
his feet to himself.
"Was it you I kicked?" asked Dick innocently. "I thought it was the
puppy." Then he went on fast as if in haste to change the subject: "I
often wonder why you don't learn Hindustani, Belle. You'd be ashamed
not to speak the lingo in other countries. Why not here? I'll teach
you if you like."
"There's your chance, Belle!" sneered Stanley, still smarting from
Dick's forcible method of ensuring silence. "He really is worth ten
rupees a month as _moonshee_, and 'twill save the governor's pocket if
it goes in the family."
An unkind speech, no doubt; yet it did good service to Dick by
ensuring Belle's indignant defence, and her immediate acceptance of
his offer; for she was ever ready of tongue, and swift of sympathy,
against injustice or meanness.
So the little incident of the morning passed without her understanding
it in the least. Nevertheless Dick found it harder and harder every
day to manipulate facts, and to stand between his princess and the
naked, indecent truth. Her curiosity in regard to many things had been
aroused, and she asked more questions in the next four days than she
had asked in the previous four months; almost scandalizing the Van
Milder clan by the interest she took in things of which they knew
nothing. It was all very well, the girls said, if she intended to be a
_zenana_-mission lady, but without that aim it seemed to them barely
correct that she should know how many wives the _khansamah_ (butler)
had. As for the boys, they rallied her tremendously about her
Hindustani studies, for, like most of their race, they prided
themselves on possessing but a limited acquaintance with their mother
tongue; Walter, indeed, being almost boastful over the fact that he
had twice failed for the Higher Standard. Then the whole family
chaffed her openly because she had a few sensible talks with John
Raby, the young civilian; and when she began to show a certain
weariness of pursuing pleasure in rear of the "Van," insisted that she
must be in love with him without knowing it.
"I don't like Raby," said Mildred, the youngest and least artificial
of the sisters. "Jack Carruthers told me the governor had been
dropping a lot of money to him at _écarté_."
"I don't see what you and Mr. Carruthers have to do with father's
amusements," flashed out Belle in swift anger. "I suppose he can
afford it, and at least he never stints you,--I mean the family," she
added hastily, fearing to be mean.
"Quite true, my dear! He's a real good sort, is the governor, about
money, and he can of course do as he likes; but Raby oughtn't to
gamble; it isn't form in a civilian. You needn't laugh, Belle, it's
true; it would be quite different if he was in the army."
"Soldiers rush in where civilians fear to tread," parodied Belle
contemptuously. "I wish people wouldn't gossip so. Why can't they
leave their neighbours alone?"
Nevertheless that afternoon she stole over to the office, which was
only separated from the house by an expanse of dusty, stubbly grass,
and seeing her father alone in his private room comfortably reading
the paper, slipped to his side, and knelt down.
"Well, my pretty Belle," he said caressing her soft fluffy hair, "why
aren't you out riding with the others?"
"I didn't care to go; then you were to be at home, and I like that
best. I don't see much of you as a rule, father."
Colonel Stuart's virtue swelled visibly, as it always did under the
vivifying influence of his daughter's devotion. "I am a busy man, my
dear, you must not forget that," he replied a trifle pompously; "my
time belongs to the Government I have the honour to serve." The girl
was a perfect godsend to him, acting on his half-dead sensibilities
like a galvanic battery on paralysed nerve-centres. He was dimly
conscious of this, and also of relief that the influence was not
always on him.
"I know you are very busy, dear," she returned, nestling her head on
his arm, as she seated herself on the floor. "That's what bothers me.
Couldn't I help you in your work sometimes? I write a very good hand,
so people say."
Colonel Stuart let his paper fall in sheer astonishment. "Help me! why
my dear child, I have any number of clerks."
"But I should like to help!" Her voice was almost pathetic; there was
quite a break in it.
Her father looked at her in vague alarm. "You are not feeling ill, are
you, Belle? Not feverish, I hope, my dear! It's a most infernal
climate though, and one can't be too careful. You'd better go and get
your mother to give you five grains of quinine. I can't have you
falling sick, I can't indeed; just think of the anxiety it would be."
Belle, grateful for her father's interest, took the quinine; but no
drug, not even poppy or mandragora, had power to charm away her
restless dissatisfaction. Dick's office was no sinecure, and even his
partial eyes could not fail to see that she was often captious, almost
cross. It came as a revelation to him, for hitherto she had been a
divinity in his eyes; and now, oh strange heresy! he found himself
able to laugh at her with increased, but altered devotion. Hitherto he
had wreathed her pedestal with flowers; now he kept the woman's feet
from thorns, and the impulse to make their pathways one grew stronger
day by day. She, unconscious of the position, added fuel to the flame
by choosing his society, and making him her confidant. Naturally with
one so emotional as Dick, the crisis was not long in coming, and
music, of which he was passionately fond, brought it about in this
wise; for Belle played prettily, and he used to sit and listen to her
like the lover in Frank Dicksee's _Harmony_, letting himself drift
away on a sea of pleasure or pain, he scarcely knew which. So, one
afternoon when they were alone in the house together, she sat down to
the piano and played Schubert's _Frühlingslied_. The sunshine lay like
cloth of gold outside, the doves cooed ceaselessly, the scent of the
roses in John Raby's garden drifted in through the window with the
warm wind which stirred the little soft curls on Belle's neck. The
perfume of life got into the lad's brain, and almost before he knew
it, his arms were round the girl, his kisses were on her lips, and his
tale of love in her ears.
It was very unconventional of course, but very natural,--for him. For
her the sudden rising to her full height with amazement and dislike in
her face was equally natural, and even more unforeseen. The sight of
it filled poor Dick with such shame and regret, that his past action
seemed almost incredible to his present bewilderment. "Forgive me,
Belle," he cried, "I was mad; but indeed I love you,--I love you."
She stood before him like an insulted queen full of bitter anger. "I
will never forgive you. How dare you kiss me? How dare you say you
love me?"
The lad's combativeness rose at her tone. "I suppose any one may dare
to love you. I'm sorry I kissed you, Belle, but my conduct doesn't
alter my love."
His manner, meant to be dignified, tended to bombast, and the girl
laughed scornfully. "Love indeed! You're only a boy! what do you know
about love?"
"More than you do apparently."
"I'm glad you realise the fact if _that_ is what you call love."
"At any rate I'm older than you."
The retort that he was old enough to know better rose to Belle's lips,
but a suspicion that this childish squabbling was neither correct nor
dignified, made her pause and say loftily, "How can you ask me to
forgive such a mean ungentlemanly thing?"
The last epithet was too much for Dick; he looked at her as if she had
struck him. "Don't say that, Belle," he said hoarsely. "It's bad
enough that it's true, and that you don't understand; but don't say
that." He leant over the piano and buried his face in his hands in
utter despair. For the first time a pulse of pity shot through the
storm of physical and mental repulsion in the girl's breast, but she
put it from her fiercely. "Why shouldn't I say it if it is true?"
"Because you are kind; always so good and kind."
Again the pity had to be repulsed, this time still more harshly. "You
will say next that I've been too kind, that I encouraged you, I
suppose; that would put the finishing touch to your meanness."
This speech put it to Dick's patience; he caught her by both hands,
and stood before her masterful in his wrath. "You shall not say such
things to me, Belle! Look me in the face and say it again if you dare.
You know quite well how I love and reverence you; you know that I
would die rather than offend you. I forgot everything but you,--I lost
myself,--you know it."
The thrill in his voice brought a new and distinctly pleasurable sense
of power to the young girl, and, alas! that it should be so, made her
more merciless. "I prefer actions to words. You have insulted me and I
will never speak to you again." She regretted this assertion almost as
it was uttered; it went too far and bound her down too much. She was
not always going to be angry with poor Dick surely? No! not always,
but for the present decidedly angry, very angry indeed.
"Insult!" echoed Dick drearily, letting her hands slip from his.
"There you go again; but fellows do kiss their cousins sometimes."
Had there been any grown-up spectators to this scene they must have
laughed at the full-blown tragedy of both faces, and the alternate
bathos and pathos of the pleas. They were so young, so very young,
this girl and boy, and neither of them really meant what they said,
Belle especially, with her vicious retort: "I am not your cousin, and
I'm glad of it. I'm glad that I have nothing to do with you."
As before her harshness overreached itself, and made a man of him.
"You want to put me out of your life altogether, Belle," he said more
steadily, "because I have made you angry. You have a right to be
angry, and I will go. But not for always. You don't wish that
yourself, I think, for you are kind. Oh Belle! be like yourself! say
one kind word before I go."
Again the consciousness of power made her merciless, and she stood
silent, yet tingling all over with a half-fearful curiosity as to what
he would say next.
"One kind word," he pleaded; "only one."
He waited a minute, then, with a curse on his own folly in expecting
pity, flung out of the room. So it was all over! A genuine regret came
into the girl's heart and she crept away miserably to her own room,
and cried.
"I wonder Dick isn't home to dinner," remarked Mrs. Stuart when that
meal came round. "I do hope he isn't going back to his old habit of
staying out. He heard to-day that his application for a post in the
Salt Department was refused, and he has no patience like my own boys.
I do hope he will come to no harm."
The empty chair renewed Belle's remorseful regret.
"Well! I can't have him kicking his heels in my office much longer,"
remarked the Colonel crossly. "The head-clerk complains of him.
Confound his impudence! he actually interfered in the accounts the
other day, and showed regular distrust. I must have good feeling in
the office; that's a _sine qua non_."
"Oh, Dick's got a splendid opinion of himself," broke in Stanley. "He
had the cheek to tell Raby yesterday that he played too much _écarté_
with--" The speaker remembered his audience too late.
Colonel Stuart grew purple and breathless. "Do you mean to say that
the boy,--that _boy_--presumed to speak to Raby,--to _my friend_
Raby--about his private actions? Lucilla! What is the world coming
to?"
This was a problem never propounded to his wife save under dire
provocation, and the answer invariably warned him not to expect his
own high standard from the world. This time she ventured upon a timid
addition to the effect that rumour did accuse Mr. Raby of playing
high.
"And if he does," retorted the Colonel, "he can afford to pay. Raby,
my dear, is a fine young fellow, with good principles,--deuced good
principles, let me tell you."
"I am very glad to hear it, Charles, I'm sure; for it would be a pity
if a nice, clever, young man, who would make any girl a good husband,
were to get into bad habits."
"Raby is a man any girl might be proud to marry. He is a good fellow."
He looked at Belle, who smiled at him absently; she was wondering
where Dick could be.
"Raby isn't a Christian," remarked Mabel. "He told us yesterday he was
something else. What was it, Maud?"
"An erotic Buddhist."
"Esoteric," suggested Belle.
"It's all the same. He said we were the three Thibetan sisters and he
worshipped us all. But we know who it is, don't we?"
"How you giggle, girls!" complained Colonel Stuart fretfully. "Belle
never giggles. Dear child, I will teach you _écarté_ this evening. It
will amuse you."
It amused him, which was more to the purpose; in addition it prevented
him from falling asleep after dinner, which he was particularly
anxious not to do that evening. So they played until, just as the
clock was striking ten, a step was heard outside, and Colonel Stuart
rose with a relieved remark that it must be John Raby at last. The
opening door, however, only admitted truant Dick with rather a flushed
face. "From Raby," he said handing a note to his uncle. "I met the man
outside."
The scowl, which the sight of the culprit had raised on Colonel
Stuart's face, deepened as he read a palpable excuse for not coming
over to play _écarté_. It seemed inconceivable that Dick's
remonstrance could have wrought this disappointment; yet even the
suggestion was unpleasant. He turned on his nephew only too anxious to
find cause of quarrel. It was not hard to find, for Dick was
manifestly excited. "At your old tricks again, sir?" said his uncle
sternly. "You've been drinking in the bazaar."
Now Dick, ever since the day on which Belle had come to him in
distress over Charlie's abandonment to "pegs," had forsworn liquor, as
he had forsworn many another bad habit. Even when driven to despair,
he had not flown to the old anodyne. But his very virtue had been his
undoing, and a single stiff tumbler of whisky and water, forced on him
by a friend who was startled by his looks as he returned fagged from a
wander into the wilderness, had gone to his unaccustomed head in a
most unlooked-for degree. The injustice of the accusation maddened
him, and he retorted fiercely: "I haven't had so much to drink as you
have, sir."
"Don't speak to your uncle like that, Dick," cried Mrs. Stuart
alarmed. "You had better go to bed, dear; it is the best place for
you."
"Leave the room, you dissipated young meddler," thundered the Colonel
breaking in on his wife's attempt to avert a collision. It was the
first time Belle had witnessed her father's passion, and the sight
made her cling to him as if her touch might soothe his anger.
Dick, seeing her thus, felt himself an outcast indeed. "I've not been
drinking," he burst out, beside himself with jealousy and rage. "The
man who says I have is a liar."
"Go to bed, sir," bawled his uncle, "or I'll kick you out of the room.
I'll have no drunkards here."
Luckless Dick's evil genius prompted an easy retort. "Then you'd
better go first, sir; for I've seen you drunk oftener than you've seen
me!"
The next instant he was at Belle's side pleading for disbelief. "No,
no, Belle! it's a lie! I am mad--drunk--anything--only it is not
true!" His denial struck home to the girl's heart when the angry
assertion might have glanced by. A flash of intelligence lit up the
past: she recollected a thousand incidents, she remembered a thousand
doubts which had made no impression at the time; and before Colonel
Stuart's inarticulate splutterings of wrath found words, her eyes met
Dick's so truthfully, so steadily, that he turned away in despair, in
blank, hopeless despair.
"Why to-morrow?" he cried bitterly in answer to his uncle's order to
leave the room instantly and the house to-morrow. "There's no time
like the present, and I deserve it. Good-bye, Aunt Lucilla; you've
been very kind, always; but I can't stand it any longer. Good-bye, all
of you!"
He never even looked at Belle again; the door closed and he was gone.
"Poor, dear Dick!" remarked Mrs. Stuart in her high complaining
voice. "He always had a violent temper, even as a baby. Don't fret
about it, my dear,"--for large tears were slowly rolling down Belle's
cheeks--"He will be all right to-morrow, you'll see; and he has really
been steadiness itself of late."
"He wasn't anything to speak of either," urged Mildred with her usual
good-nature. "Only a little bit on, and I expect he had no dinner."
"Dinner or no dinner, I say he was drunk," growled Colonel Stuart
sulkily. "No one lies like that unless he is,--that's my experience."
But Belle scarcely realised what they said. Her heart was full of
fear, and though sleep came with almost unwelcome readiness to drive
thought away, she dreamt all night long that some one was saying, "One
kind word, Belle, only one kind word," and she could not speak.