"What are you thinking of, G.?" Lady Garribardine said, noticing after a
little while his preoccupation. "That wretched charity has tired you
out, dear boy--I hope Miss Bush was efficient?"
"Quite--" and he lay back in his very comfortable chair and devoured a
bit of brown bread and butter. "The whole thing is practically finished.
Your secretary very kindly said she would complete alone the last
directions, which she took down in shorthand."
"Then it will be done, G.; she is a young person of her word."
Mr. Strobridge did not become expansive; it was fortunate, he thought,
that he had never yet shown any interest in Katherine Bush, because very
little escaped his aunt's perceptions.
She was already wondering what caused his absence of mind. He surely was
not being so foolish as to have allowed himself to become seriously
enamoured of Läo Delemar! Her precious Gerard! This must be ascertained
at once.
"Läo telephoned just now that she would not come to the play
to-night--Really, the caprices of these pretty women are quite
intolerable, throwing one over at a moment's notice--masses of
selfishness and conceit."
"Yes,--aren't they?" languidly.
This did not sound a lover's disappointment, but perhaps he was
prepared for her news, and Läo's proposed absence was what caused his
depression.
"What excuse has she given you?"
He looked surprised.
"None. I did not know that she had chucked; did she give any reason?"
"Some nonsense about a friend of her mother's having turned up. I was so
annoyed that I put the receiver down."
"You must console me, _carina_," and he leaned forward and took his
aunt's fat hand. "Läo would never be missed if a man might count upon
you for his partner."
"Flatterer!" but she smiled complacently. "The Colvins can both talk to
Tom Hawthorne then. I had intended Henry Colvin to be my portion; he is
a bright creature, and distracted me at dinner last week--but I am
tired, and I always prefer you, G. Ah! if you had only been my son!"
"It would have destroyed the happiest of relationships in the
world--and you know it. A son you could overscold--a mother I could
overrespect--Let us thank Heaven for the charming courtesy tie that we
enjoy."
"I wish you would have a son, though, G.; you know I am perfectly
indifferent to Emmeline's boy."
"I shall never have any Strobridge children, Seraphim. Beatrice would
faint at the idea. We only touched upon domestic pretences and got them
all over with the very lightest effort in the first week. Besides, one
would not want a Thorvil child--there is a mad streak in the whole
family, I have often thought. I am much interested in heredity."
He did not add how greatly the afternoon had augmented this interest!
"Yes--did you chance to notice my secretary's hands?--The mother must
have had a lover, of course."
"I don't think so--they seldom do in that class. They become so
intolerably unattractive at once; nothing human could come up to the
scratch. It is just a freak, or a harking back--many of the exquisitely
aristocratic features one finds in old villagers, for instance, date
from the _droit de seigneur_."
"The whole question of heredity is a frightfully serious one, of course,
and we are in a stupendous muddle at the present time, with the inroads
of the Lord knows who to muddy the stream."
"Do you suppose that is the cause of the dry rot which has got into
us?--Or is it that we are really rusting out?"
"It is luxury and humanitarianism, and absence of national foes, which
have sent us to sleep--and forgetfulness of dignity and duty. We eat the
food of those whose fathers fed in our fathers' kitchens, and not
because they are worthy and nice--that would be quite justifiable if
so--but just because they are rich and have a superb chef, or because
they are giving our younger sons a lift in the city--I loathe all
money-making and trade--I am thankful that I, at least, can stand on my
own feet, though I see the sad decadence in all around me--But I must
not talk like this; it depresses and ages me!--By the way, Sterling had
the impertinence to tell me that she thought my new toupées from Paris
are too light!--What do you say, G.?"
He looked at her critically, at the clever, shrewd, painted old face and
the ridiculous girlish wig--and then he kissed her hand again, and told
her the truth. Something about her words touched him infinitely.
"I adore very dark hair when it is going grey, Seraphim. I have often
thought how beautiful you would be if you burnt all those things. Your
sense of humour is so supreme, they always seem incongruous."
"I will, then, this very New Year, while we are at Blissington. It will
be the sensation when we return to town. Sarah Lady Garribardine with
snow-white hair!"
"No, iron grey. It will make your eyes brighter."
"It shall be done!" Then she laughed softly. "G., how goes it with
Läo--you are not in love?"
Mr. Strobridge shook his head regretfully.
"Alas! not an atom. I fear it won't last until the Easter recess."
"She is artificial."
"Extremely."
"And hopelessly vague."
"Yes--but quite charming."
"Beatrice says she pretends to be full of sex and other dreadful natural
things--you always had fruity tastes, Beatrice avers!"
"My tastes _are_ fruity, but are never gratified in these modern days,
alas! She is quite wrong about Läo, though; she is as cold as ice. She
smiles with equal sweetness upon the waiters when we are lunching at
restaurants. She is merely a lovely woman demanding incense from all
things male.
"Beatrice said 'pretends,' remember--Beatrice is not at all dense!"
"No, quite a subtle companion when not composing odes, or discussing the
intensity of blue with Hebe Vermont."
"--Are you glad Läo is coming for Christmas?"
"Y--es. I shall want some of your very best champagne."
"You shall have it, G., and I will try to make things difficult for you
as a sort of appetiser. I have some kind of feeling that you are
depressed, dear boy?--I am putting Läo in the parrot suite."
"It will suit her admirably."
Then they both laughed.
"But you are depressed, G.?"
"A shadow of coming events, perhaps! not exactly disaster, or I should
be what the Scotch call 'fey,'" and he sighed. He felt very fatigued and
disturbed, and he hardly knew what.
Lady Garribardine did not press the matter. She had enormous tact.
* * * * *
Mrs. Delemar at that moment was lying upon her sofa in a ravishing
saffron gauze teagown smoking scented cigarettes, while she discussed
her heart's secrets with a dearest friend.
"Gerard is madly in love with me, Agnes. I hardly know what to do about
it. I have chucked for to-night on purpose to give him a setback."
"It will be most cosy dining here alone with Bobbie Moreland and Jimmy
and me. You were quite right, darling."
"Poor Bobbie, back from that horrible India where he has been for a
year--of course, I could not refuse him--But Lady Garribardine is wild."
"It would not do to offend her really, Läo sweet. You must be penitent
and send her some flowers to-morrow."
If Katherine Bush had been there, she would have seen a strong likeness
in Mrs. Delemar to her future sister-in-law, Mabel Cawber; her
cigarette ash was knocked off in almost as dainty a fashion as that lady
employed in using her spoon. Mrs. Delemar _never_ ceased remembering
that she was a beautiful woman, and must act accordingly; the only
difference between them was that Mabel Cawber _never_ forgot that she
was a perfect lady, and was determined that no one should miss this fact
if she could help it. Their souls were on a par--or whatever animating
principle did duty as a soul in each.
Mrs. Delemar returned to the subject of Gerard with a sigh, telling her
friend Agnes the most intimate things he had said to her and giving her
pleasing descriptions of her own emotions, too. Gerard was a feather for
any woman's cap, and Agnes should know how crazily in love he was with
her.
"I think he'll do something desperate, darling--if I don't give way
soon--I wish men were like us, don't you?"
"One must please the creatures, or they would not stay."
"Yes--but oh! isn't it a shocking bore--that part--if they only knew!"
* * * * *
Katherine Bush, meanwhile, was arriving at Laburnum Villa, where a crowd
of sisters and friends welcomed her home.
Fresh from the entrancing fencing match with Gerard Strobridge, their
well-meant chaff and badinage sounded extremely bald. But among them
poor Gladys was silent, and sat with flushed cheeks and overbright eyes,
looking at Katherine.
"I want to talk to you, Glad," this latter said, kindly. "Lady
Garribardine has given me ten pounds to get a real evening frock with.
I must have it to take down to Blissington for Christmas--we go
to-morrow week. But can I get it in the time?"
Gladys was all interest at once. Clothes were a real passion for her.
She devised something pretty; but five pounds would be quite enough.
Katherine had better have two dresses, a black and that lovely new shade
of mauve.
"I'll have the black, the very simplest that there can be, if you know
of one of your hands who could make it for me. I'll leave it entirely to
you."
Gladys was delighted, and then her large prominent eyes grew haunted and
wistful.
"I'd like awfully to talk to you to-night, Kitten," she said. "May I
come to your room?"
Permission was given, and they all went to supper. It was exactly as
Katherine had described it that afternoon, and Mr. Prodgers was there in
his best frock coat, more full of what Miss Ethel Bush called "swank"
mixed with discomfort than Katherine had ever known him. If she had not
felt so deeply that these people were her own flesh and blood, she could
have been amused by the whole thing.
Nothing could equal the condescension of Miss Cawber. Lady
Garribardine's name was not entirely unknown to her--although, to be
sure, it was not in the same class as that of the Duchess of Dashington,
Lady Hebe Vermont or any of the "smart set"--but still it had chanced
once now and then to have appeared in the society column of the _Flare_,
she rather thought as the patroness of some dull old political
thing--and yes--more recently in connection with those _tableaux
vivants_, which Miss Cawber was dying to hear the details of; perhaps
Katherine could gratify his need?
"Did Hebe Vermont look a dream as Sicchy and Lord St. Aldens as Cupid?
My! they must have been a pair! I always do say to Fred when we meet
them at church parade of a Sunday that they are the real thing."
Katherine for once took up the gauntlet, while one of her sphinxlike
smiles hovered about her mouth.
"_Lady_ Hebe Vermont played Psyche--if that is who you mean by
'Sicchy'--but who is Lord St. Aldens, Mabel? Mr. John St. Aldens, who
acted Cupid, is an 'Honourable'; he is a Baron's son, his father is Lord
Hexam."
Mabel reddened; while maintaining for the most part a rather chilling
silence with her, Katherine had never before deliberately crossed
swords. She felt indignant! A paid companion to try to make her look
foolish before the others! She who had never done a stroke of work even
in a business house in her life! She would have to put this future
sister-in-law in her place, and no mistake! Her manner plainly showed
that Katherine was in disgrace, as she answered loftily:
"Really, I ought to know--My father was a great friend of his father,
and often went to their place."
"In what capacity, Mabel?" Katherine smiled. "We none of us remember
your father, but Liv and Dev told me once when I asked them that he had
been an under-clerk at Canford and Crin's--the St. Alden solicitors--and
then passed the examinations. From what I've learned about his sort of
people by living among them for a month, I don't expect Lord Hexam was
very intimate with Mr. Cawber--but we are all acquainted in the same
way, aren't we, Tild? You remember hearing of this family from mother's
father, who was their butcher for the river house at Maidenhead."
Mabel glared; this was sheer impertinence; her queenship of this circle
was not being treated with proper respect--How vulgar of Katherine, she
thought!
Mabel's refinement was almost of the degree of the Boston lady who
insisted upon the piano's "limbs" being put into pantaloons with frills.
She would hardly have spoken of a butcher! She felt particularly annoyed
now also, because the clerk episode was a fact which she thought was
quite unknown--the solicitorship at Bindon's Green having gloriously
advanced the family fortunes.
Poor Matilda was quite upset and reproached Katherine when she succeeded
in getting her into a corner alone.
"Whatever did you speak to Mabel like that for, Kitten?--And I am sure
we need not tell everyone about Grandpa--since he did not live here."
"Her nonsense makes me feel quite sick, Tild--she is always pretending
some ridiculous knowledge and acquaintanceship with the aristocracy. She
gets all the names wrong, and gives herself away all the time; it does
her good to be found out once in a way."
Matilda could bear this side of the affair, but resented the allusion to
the butcher with undiminished fervour.
"Oh! what awful snobs you all are!" Katherine exclaimed, exasperated out
of her amused tolerance at last. "I am not the least ashamed of him: I
am proud, on the contrary. He was honest and made money. Why are you and
Mabel and all your friends such absurd shams, Tild!--There is nothing
disgraceful in being lower middle class; it is honourable and worthy.
Why on earth pretend to belong to another, when anyone who knows can see
it is untrue--or if you hate your real station, then do as I am doing,
educate yourself out of it."
"Educate myself out of it!" Matilda was incensed. "Why, I'm sure we are
all as fairly educated as any ladies need be."
This point of view naturally ended the argument for Katherine; she could
only smile again.
"All right--it is your birthday, dear old Tild, so I won't quarrel with
you! By the way, where is Bob Hartley? I don't see him here to-night."
The fiancé of Gladys was prevented from coming by a severe cold, she was
informed.
And so the evening passed with the Bunny Hug and games, and the
gramophone shouted forth its nigger songs, in which they all joined.
"Hasn't it been too lovely, Kitten," Matilda said affectionately--her
whilom indignation fled as they walked up the narrow stairs. "I've never
had such a perfect birthday party, and I am sure you could not have had
a more refined, enjoyable evening, not in any home."
Katherine kissed her as she turned into her room.
"You dear old Tild," she said, and then presently Gladys came in.
Katherine was seated in a shrunk dressing-gown which she had left
behind, and Em'ly had lighted a fire in the attic grate.
The two girls looked at one another, and then Gladys was asked to sit
down.
"I know what you are going to say," and Katherine's voice was deep and
level. "You would not have to say it if you had not always been such a
fool, my poor Glad--you have got into trouble, of course, and Bob
Hartley is not playing the game."
Gladys burst into passionate sobs.
"However did you guess, Kitten! Why, Tild doesn't know a thing!"
"Most likely not--Well, what do you want him to do--marry you?"
"Why, of course, Katherine; that is what he promised most solemnly
beforehand--at Brighton. You know it is his mother who has kept him
back; his Aunt Eliza, with whom we stayed, is quite willing for me. I am
sure I'm as good as him, anyway."
Further sobs.
"Oh! that part does not matter a bit, as good or not as good--these
awful men like Bob Hartley always seduce women with promises, solemn
promises, of matrimony and that sort of stuff; if they meant them, they
would not forestall matters--vile brutes!"
"There is no good in abusing Bob, Kitten; he has always meant kind; it
is his mother, I tell you, has got at him!"
"Does she know?"
"Oh, my! I hope not. No one knows but you--and Bob."
"Have you told him he must marry you at once?"
"Yes, I've implored him to on my bended knees."
"And he has refused?"
"Yes--he can't break his mother's heart, he says, and speaks of going to
Australia."
"Very well--go to bed now, dear--I will see him to-morrow and see what I
can do. I think he will marry you next week, perhaps, after all. You
must undertake the inventing of a reason for the suddenness to the
family, if I accomplish the fact. Go now, dear--I want to think."
Gladys sobbed her gratitude.
"And you don't believe I am really bad, Kitten, do you? Indeed, I never
wanted--anything--but Bob--We went to the theatre one night and had a
bit of supper--and afterwards, I was so afraid he would be off to Carry
Green if I did not do as he wished."
Two great tears grew in Katherine's beautiful eyes, and rolled slowly
down her white cheeks.
"I think--most men are devils, Glad--but nine-tenths of the women are
fools--and fools always have to pay the price of everything in life. A
woman always loses a man if she gives way to him against her conscience.
You felt you were sinning all the time, I suppose?"
"Why, of course, Kitten--I'm really a good girl."
"Then what else could you expect? If you feel you are doing wrong, you
must know you will be punished--that attitude of yours was bound to have
drawn--this. I tell you, Glad, no one of your sort can afford to step
one foot aside out of the narrow path. You've 'sinned,' as you call
it--for love. It gave you no pleasure and you have practically lost
Bob--remember this, and never give way to him in anything again."
"Why did you have the tears in your eyes, Katherine--? You so cold!"
"It was stupid of me, but the incredible pitifulness of some parts of
life touched me for a moment. Now go to bed, dear--and keep your courage
up--don't let Tild know; it would break her heart--and think of Mabel!"
"Oh! My!" wailed Gladys, and went towards the door.
Katherine jumped up suddenly, and gave her the ten-pound note which had
been lying under a box of matches on the imitation oak dressing-chest.
"Here, Gladys, get the little black frock for me just as cheaply as
ever you can. Lady Garribardine will never know what it cost; she is
accustomed to pay forty or fifty pounds for her evening dresses--and you
keep all the rest. If--if--Bob should not be reasonable to-morrow, it
might be useful for you to have some money that you need not account to
Tild for--I know she looks after everything that you have got."
"But you will make him, Katherine, oh! you will if you can--you are so
clever--and he'll be in the train if you go by the early one. You'll
have him alone."
"Very well. Bring me up a slice of bread or anything you can find when
you first go down; I can't stand the family breakfast, and I will just
rush off by the eight-five."
What she said to Mr. Bob Hartley she never told anyone--but it was
extraordinarily effectual--it contained biting scorn and heavy threats.
Among them, his chief should know of his conduct that very day, before
he could possibly sneak off to Australia, unless he went and got a
special license. The Registry Office would do very well, but by the
following Wednesday Gladys must be his wife, or Katherine's scorpion
whip would fall. He should be thrashed by Fred and Bert and Charlie
Prodgers, too! She would have no mercy upon him--none at all.
"You poor, mean, sanctimonious, miserable cur," were some of her parting
words to him. "Come into this telegraph office with me and send this
wire to Gladys this minute. 'Will you honour me by marrying me on
Tuesday? If so, get ready.' You can pretend you had a secret wedding to
save expense, and tell them at home on Christmas day."
Mr. Hartley was a thorough coward; his plans were not matured enough yet
to go to Australia, and his present berth was a good one, so he felt it
was wiser to give in and do what he was bid. And presently Katherine got
into a taxi and was whirled back to Berkeley Square, where later in the
day her sister's telegram of rapturous thanks came to her.
But when she was alone that night by her comfortable fire, she let a
volume of Flaubert drop on her knees and looked into the coals, her
thoughts going back to the painful incident. Here was a plain indication
of the working of laws shown in her own case and the difference between
it and that of Gladys. Alas! the piteous fate of weaklings!
And then she set herself to analyse things. "Whether the accepted idea
of morality is right or is wrong--of God or of man, those who break its
laws are certainly drawing to themselves the frightfully strong current
of millions of people's disapproval and so must run great risk of
punishment." Thus she mused and then her eyes grew wide as she gazed
into the glowing coals. _What_ if some day she should have to pay some
price for her own deviation from recognized standards?