Delia was a quick and graceful cyclist, and now on her beautiful new
machine she seemed to fly as she skimmed the level and well-kept roads;
and although she covered the eleven miles intervening between Bassingham
and Haldane's house--a pleasant country box--in a little over the hour
she was neither hot nor blown. Yvonne was strolling on the lawn, and
greeted her with great cordiality.
"Is that your post-card collection?" she said as she helped to unstrap
three large albums from the carrier. "Why, it must be as big as mine.
I am longing to see it. We'll overhaul it after lunch down there,"
indicating a spreading tree by the stream which gave forth abundant
shade.
"What a lovely kitten," cried Delia.
"Isn't it?" said Yvonne, picking it up. "Only it isn't a kitten; it's
full-grown. It's a kind that never grows large--do you, Poogie?" she
added lovingly, stroking the beautiful little animal, which nestled to
her, purring contentedly. It was of the Angora type, with small,
lynxlike ears, thick, rich fur with regular markings, and a spreading
tail. "We got it in Switzerland. I wasn't going to lose the chance.
You might go all your life and never see another like it, so I made
father buy it for me. It follows me like a dog. If I walk up and down
it walks up and down with me. Look."
"How sweet," said Delia, watching the little creature as, with tail
erect, it paced daintily beside them. "I do love them like that."
"So do I, and so does father. I believe if anything happened to Poogie
he'd be as sick about it as I would."
"I don't wonder." And, all unconsciously, the speaker had more
completely won Yvonne's heart.
Even the shyest--and Delia was not addicted to shyness--would have felt
at ease as they sat down, a party of three. Haldane had a frank, easy
way with him towards those he did not dislike, calculated to make them
feel at home, especially in the case of a bright, pretty, and
intelligent girl, and soon all three were chatting and laughing as if
they had known each other all their lives. Delia was at her best, and
talked intelligently and well, as she could do when temporarily
emancipated from the depressing atmosphere of Siege House.
"What a beautiful place Hilversea Court is, Mr Haldane," she said
presently.
"Yes. Too big for me. Very good as a show place; but for living in
give me a box like this."
The said "box" at that moment looked out upon a wondrously lovely bit of
summer landscape--great clouds of vivid foliage against the blue sky;
intervening seas of meadow, golden with spangling buttercups; and in the
immediate foreground a stretch of green lawn, flower-bedded, and tuneful
with the murmur of bees, blending with the plash of the stream beyond.
Within, all was correspondingly bright and cheerful.
"Father says Hilversea Court exists for the sole purpose of framing old
Mr Wagram," said Yvonne. "That Grandisonian, old-world look about him
wouldn't be in keeping with anything more modern."
"No, it wouldn't," assented Haldane. "But, as I said before--never to
the Wagrams, though--the place is much too big to live in."
"I suppose they are passionately attached to it?" asked Delia.
"That's the word. If they have a weakness it is a conviction that the
world revolves round Hilversea, and this conviction Wagram holds, if
possible, a trifle more firmly than the old Squire."
"Really?"
"Yes; but he acts in keeping with the idea. There isn't a better looked
after place--well, in the world, I may safely say. All the people on it
simply idolise him, especially since the old Squire turned over the
whole management to him."
"How perfectly delightful," pronounced Delia. "I can well imagine it,
for a more kind and considerate man can hardly exist. Fancy, that
splendid new bicycle I'm riding he insisted on sending me in place of
mine that got smashed up by the gnu--an old rattle-trap of a thing that
would hardly have fetched its value in old iron."
"Yes; that's just the sort of thing he would do," said Yvonne.
Then Delia went on to tell about the typewriting work he had been
instrumental in procuring for her sister; and they talked Wagram for
some time longer, in such wise as should have put the heir-apparent of
Hilversea to the painful blush could he have overheard them.
"What I object to about him, though," said Haldane, "is that he shirks
his duties on the Bench. I suppose if it weren't that he can hardly
help being on the commission of the peace he'd resign."
"I'm sure he would," declared Yvonne. "You know, Miss Calmour, he says
it doesn't seem his mission to to be punishing other people."
"Ho--ho--ho!" laughed Haldane. "Decidedly, then, he had forgotten that
principle when he caned that cad for you the other day, Sunbeam. He
seems to have waled the fellow within an inch of his life."
"Why? What was that?" asked Delia, looking up with quick interest. And
then the story came out.
"The brute deserved all he got," she exclaimed with heat, and there was
something like adoration in the glance she sent at Yvonne. This lovely
child-woman, in her exquisite refinement, to be insulted by a common or
roadside cad!
"And he deserved all he's going to get if ever I have the pleasure of
beholding him," supplemented Haldane grimly.
"No, he isn't, father, for I don't believe I should know him again from
Adam, in the first place. In the second, I shouldn't point him out to
you if I did. Thirdly and lastly, I think the poor beast got quite
enough that day."
"He couldn't. Don't you agree with me, Miss Calmour?"
"Most decidedly," said Delia, looking again at Yvonne. The latter
laughed.
"The thing isn't worth making any more fuss about," she said, with a
shake of her golden head. "And, if we have all done, it's time to look
at the post-cards; I'm longing to see them."
Now, through all this conversation Delia was conscious that she had
never enjoyed a more excellent lunch. Haldane was fond of the good
things of life, and his Moselle was irreproachable--so, too, was Yvonne
as a hostess--and, being gifted with a fine, healthy appetite, begotten
of youth and a bicycle ride, their guest was in a position to appreciate
it nicely.
The two girls adjourned to the shade of the big tree that Yvonne had
pointed out, and there for long did they compare notes and look over
each other's collections.
Delia had been on the point of selling hers--everything was considered
in the light of an asset at Siege House--and had only refrained by
reason of the inadequacy of the offers made. Now she rejoiced that she
had not since it constituted the peg whereon hung the initiation of this
acquaintance. Yet she wished she had thought of weeding it a little,
for some of the specimens, looked at in recent lights, struck her as
tawdry and vulgar. Yvonne's collection, on the other hand, seemed to
represent every town, village, cathedral, and picturesque spot in
Europe, with famed works of art and a sprinkling of celebrities.
"Why, what's this?" cried Delia as several loose cards fluttered out of
the books. "It's yourself!"
"Yes. Father had it done to send to people as a Christmas card."
"But you must let me have one of these. Why, they are charming
portraits. Do! Will you?"
"Certainly, if you care about it. Shall I post it to you?"
"Not for the world. They'd stamp it all over, perhaps right across the
face."
"Ah--ah!" mischievously. "Now you see why I don't like them through the
post. All these places are like portraits to me; they remind me of good
times."
"They must indeed," said the other, thinking under what glowing
circumstances this happy child's life had been passed.
"Here's one of Poogie. I had that done. Would you like it too? Come
here, Poogie, and strike the same attitude, and let's see if it's good."
"I should rather think I would like it," answered Delia, who was
stroking the beautiful little creature. And so the afternoon fled, for
one of them only too quickly; and presently Haldane joined them, smoking
a pipe, and they strolled about a little till it was time for the
inevitable tea, and soon after for a homeward move.
"You must come and see us again, Miss Calmour, if you have not found it
too slow," Haldane said as they exchanged farewells.
"Slow! Why, Mr Haldane, I have never enjoyed myself so much in my
life."
"I'm so glad," Yvonne interposed in her frank, sunny way. Then they had
parted.
"She seems a nice, pleasant, straightforward sort of girl, with no
nonsense about her," was Haldane's comment as they strolled back from
the gate. "Pity she comes of that rotten brood. I wouldn't have one of
the others inside my door on any account. But I've always stood out
against holding the individual responsible for the defects of its
relatives, and here, I fancy, is a case in point. Let's go and try for
a trout, Sunbeam."
Their late guest, speeding along in the sweet June sunshine was going
over the day's events in her mind, and into the same there shot a sudden
idea. If only she could be wanted as "companion" for Yvonne. She had
held a post of the kind before, and had found it, not through her own
fault, intolerable. But here it would be like Paradise, such was the
spell this sunny child-woman, with the pretty little foreign ways
contracted during a large Continental experience, had woven upon her.
It needed Clytie to point out to her that a hale, middle-aged man such
as Haldane, if in want of that functionary at all, must perforce employ
a very Gorgon, which, of course, he could never dream of doing; and her
musings kept her so busy that she nearly dropped off her bicycle in the
start she gave on finding herself almost face to face with Wagram.
He was advancing towards her, evidently making for a gate that led into
the ride of a wood. He had a rabbit rifle in his hand, the same weapon
that had figured in the adventure. She was on her feet in a moment.
"Oh, Mr Wagram, how good of you!" she began in her impulsive way.
"Clytie has just had two orders--both through your recommendation."
"I am always pleased to be of use to anybody when it is within my
power."
What was this? Had the very heavens fallen? His tone was icy. He had
just formally touched her outstretched hand--no more than the barest
courtesy demanded.
"It was very, very good of you all the same," she pursued lamely.
"Pray don't mention it," he replied, lifting his hat with a movement as
though to resume his way, which she could not ignore.
She remounted her bicycle, and well, indeed, was it for her that the
road was clear, as she whirled along mechanically with pale face and
choking a sob in her throat. What did it mean? What had she done?
What could she have done? The god at whose shrine she worshipped was
displeased--sorely and grievously displeased. Yet why, why? To this
she could find no answer--no, none.
And the sunshine had gone out of the day.