One glowing summer morning saw Delia Calmour spinning her bicycle along
at a great rate up the Hilversea drive. It was Sunday, and she had come
to attend the chapel, a thing she had done more than once of late, since
the time she had given efficient musical aid on a certain informal
occasion we wot of. Some weeks had gone by since then, and now it was
golden August. The beautiful landscape lay in a shimmer of heat, but
the glad shout of the cuckoo echoed no more, and the chorus of bird
voices had undergone considerable abatement, but the stillness and the
glowing richness of the summer haze shed a peace around as of the peace
of heaven.
She was late; yes, as she alighted and chained her bicycle to the
railings she heard the roll of the organ within. She was late, but not
very. Mass had hardly begun, she decided, as her ears caught the
opening bars of the _Kyrie_ in Mozart Number 1. She hesitated a moment
whether to do so or not, then went up to the choir-loft. Two things
struck her as Yvonne handed her the score: one, that the choir was in
less strength than usual; the other, that Wagram was at the organ. He
half turned, astonished, as the full, rich soprano sounded forth among,
if not slightly above, the rest, then settled down to his work with
renewed satisfaction. She was doubly glad that she had come, for she
knew that her musical talent was of genuine practical assistance, and as
such was thoroughly appreciated.
"Take the organ for this," whispered Wagram just before the offertory.
"You can sing and play at the same time; I can't. We are going to have
Arcadelt--your favourite."
She complied, and was astonished at herself and the tone and expression
she managed to get out of the instrument, while not in the least
drowning the voices, among which her own led, clear and rich. So were
others, for more than one head turned round inquiringly towards the
choir-loft, among them that of the old Squire.
"No--no; keep it all through," whispered Wagram, as she would have got
up. "I shall be free to make one more to sing then."
Again she obeyed, and threw her best into it, and her best was very good
indeed. The music at Hilversea was above the average, but to-day it had
surpassed itself.
"Well done, Miss Calmour," said Haldane enthusiastically as they met
outside after the service. "What degree in music have you taken, may I
ask?"
"None, Mr Haldane. But I know you're only chaffing me."
"'Pon my honour, I'm not. If you haven't, you ought, to have. They
ought to make you a Mus. Doc. at least. Oughtn't they, Wagram?"
"Of course," said the latter, joining them. "Thanks so much for your
help, Miss Calmour. If you had come a bit earlier I would have asked
you to play from the very first. Our regular organist's away, and
someone had to take his place, so I threw myself--rather heroically, I
think--into the breach. He'd have been jealous, though, if he'd heard
you."
"I'm afraid you'll make me very conceited, Mr Wagram," laughed the girl
rather deprecatingly. "But I am so glad if I have really been of any
use."
"By Jove!" Haldane was saying to himself. "By Jove! but she is a
pretty girl."
Nor was he overstating matters. Delia was dressed, plainly as usual, in
cool white, which suited well her clear, mantling complexion and light
hazel eyes, the latter bright with animation. She looked her best here
now in the hot August sun, and what has been said of her musical
accomplishment applies equally to her physical aspect--her best was very
good indeed.
"You'll come up and lunch with us, Miss Calmour?" said Wagram. "It's
much too hot to ride back all the way to Bassingham in the middle of the
day, especially after all your exertions on our behalf."
Delia accepted, hoping she was not betraying too much delight by her
tone. Sunday at Siege House was the least tolerable day in the week,
and now she wondered if she were going to have a day of heaven.
"Here, Gerard," called out Wagram, as two boys came up, accompanied by
Yvonne, with whom one of them at any rate seemed to be engaged in
altercation. "Miss Calmour, this is my rascal," he explained genially.
"The other has a parent of his own to give him a character, so I won't."
Both were straightly-built, handsome boys of fourteen, a complete
contrast to each other, though both of the same height--one dark, the
other golden-haired and blue-eyed. The first, however, moved Delia's
interest the most as they came up and shook hands. So this was Wagram's
son! The other was Haldane's. The two were sworn pals, and were at the
same school.
"Why didn't you go and serve Mass, you scamps?" went on Wagram.
"Oh, we do that enough at Hillside, pater," answered Gerard, hanging on
to his father's arm in a sort of insinuating and conciliatory way;
"besides, we got in--er--a little late."
Delia, listening, remembered Wagram's remark when they had come upon the
speaker's acolyte dress in the sacristy the day that she had first tried
her hand at the organ. He was an exact replica of his father, she
decided--just what Wagram might have been at his age.
"Reggie's just as bad, Mr Wagram," struck in Yvonne, who deemed it her
mission to "round up" her brother in matters of the kind. "He slipped
away from me when we were talking to old Mrs Clancy, and I believe he
was at the bottom of it."
"Oh, well, as it's the beginning of the holidays, I suppose they must be
allowed some law," rejoined Wagram.
"Give me your key, Miss Calmour, and I'll unlock your bike and wheel it
up to the house," said Gerard.
"That will be good of you," answered Delia, with a smile that won the
boy's heart there and then. She was mentally contrasting him with the
raw, uncleanly, unlicked cub, which mainly constituted her experience of
the animal hight `boy' of the same age. Yet about this one on the other
hand there was nothing priggish, nothing self-conscious. He was purely
and entirely natural.
During lunch the old Squire congratulated her on her playing, and also
on the excellence of her illustrated article in _The Old Country Side_,
which had appeared that week.
"We were wondering how in the world you managed to say so much in so
limited a space," he observed, "and to say just the right thing, too.
What a memory you must have, child!"
Delia was thinking that, whatever else might slip her memory, no single
detail about Hilversea Court was likely to do so.
"And the illustrations were excellent," went on the Squire--"excellent."
"Rather," assented Haldane. "I wish my box were not too insignificant
for _The Old Country Side_, Miss Calmour, then you could scare up an
illustrated interview with it."
"And bring in Poogie," said Yvonne. "Oh, and--incidentally--father."
"Where do I come in?" hazarded her brother.
"To spoil the picture, of course."
"Thanks," answered the boy, with a good-humoured laugh. Yvonne looked
at him and shook her golden head.
"Do you know, Miss Calmour, Reggie is the most provoking child. It's
simply impossible to tease him. I'm always trying, and you've just got
a sample of how I succeed. Is he the same at Hillside, Gerard?"
"Can't tell tales out of school."
Then Yvonne retorted, and the banter went on fast and furious, but
always good-tempered, and sometimes really humorous, until it finally
merged into plans for fishing on the morrow.
"They are threatening to take us all down to the west park presently,
Miss Calmour," said Wagram soon after lunch. "Do you feel up to that
amount of exertion?"
Delia replied that she would have been delighted, only it was time to
think of getting back.
"Of getting back?" repeated Wagram. "Are you obliged to? Because if
not, won't you stay and play for us again this evening? It would be a
great help."
"Yes; do stay, Miss Calmour," urged Yvonne, cordially impulsive.
"There will be a bright moon to ride back by, and I can offer you my
escort."
"Can I go too, pater?" said Gerard, eagerly scenting the fun of a
moonlight bicycle ride.
"Certainly. You wouldn't leave your venerated dad to return over three
miles of lonely road unprotected, would you?"
"Then I shall be very pleased to stay," answered the girl, her whole
face lighting up. Days such as this constituted to her everything that
was worth living for, and now there was more of it before her than
behind.
The old Squire had withdrawn, laughingly explaining that he could not do
without his forty winks on a hot Sunday afternoon. The workings of
Fate, or Providence, are indeed strange. Some such working it must have
been that moved Haldane to declare that he too felt drowsy, and it was
much too hot for exercise. In a word, he resisted all persuasion to
join in the walk; had he yielded the subsequent events of this our
history might have turned out very differently.
They reached the paddock, and the great sable antelope, which was
inclined to be tame, condescended to stalk up in a lordly manner and be
fed with some crusts they had brought for the purpose. The gnus,
however, kept their distance away in the middle, whisking their tails,
and prancing, and shaking their fierce-looking heads. Suddenly Wagram,
chancing to look round, became aware of the propinquity of a stranger.
He was a little distance off along the fence, and with the aid of a
bough had managed to climb up, and was holding on, watching the animals.
"That's a cool customer," he said after watching him for a few minutes.
"I must go and talk to him."
"Going to turn him away, pater?" asked Gerard.
"No, I won't do that; but I'll drop him a friendly hint that he mustn't
make this the scene of his daily walks. You remain here."
The stranger was not in the least confused or apologetic as Wagram
accosted him. The latter recognised with some interest the
weather-beaten, white-bearded face of the man who had been pointed out
to him as Develin Hunt.
"Good specimens these," he said approvingly. "I've shot many of them,
so I ought to know."
"Yes. They'd be dangerous if they weren't shut in," said Wagram.
"Very likely. Wild animals enclosed generally do get that way."
"Now you're here you're welcome to look at them," said Wagram
pleasantly, "but I thought I'd just mention that this is private
ground."
The man dropped from his perch with a cat-like nimbleness, rather
noticeable in one of his apparent years.
"Meaning I'm trespassing?" he said shortly.
"That's the word," laughed Wagram. "But, as I said before, as you are
here pray see all you came to see; I have no wish that you should hurry
away. Good-afternoon."
The stranger stood gazing after him.
"So that's Wagram Wagram!" he said to himself. "Why, chalk from cheese
isn't in it in the difference between him and that bright boy Everard.
Lord, Lord! it's a rum world. To think that now he should be turning me
off, and soon I shall be turning him off--bag and baggage. But I hope
it won't come to that. No; somehow or other I don't think it will. He
has every inducement to be reasonable--oh, and I hope he will. He's a
fine fellow, but--necessity knows no law."
"I say, pater, that chap's got some cheek," said Gerard as his father
rejoined them. "Look, he hasn't moved. Didn't you tell him to clear?"
"No; I told him he needn't hurry as he was here."
And, indeed, the stranger seemed to have taken Wagram literally at his
word, for he had climbed up again to his former position, and was
placidly puffing at a pipe.
"Look at those three, Miss Calmour," said Wagram presently, referring to
the children, who had started some romping game; "they can no more keep
quiet for half-an-hour when they get together than a lot of kittens.
Yvonne is generally the one who sets it going. Look at her now--issuing
her commands as usual."
The tall, beautiful child was standing erect, her blue eyes sparkling,
and cheeks flushed with the glow of health and exercise, tossing back
the golden flash of her flowing hair. There was grace in each unstudied
gesticulation, music in the high, sweet key in which she was
expostulating rapidly with her playfellows.
"She is too sweet," murmured Delia.
"Isn't she? By the way, you haven't told me yet what you think of my
son and heir--"
Breaking off, the speaker turned. It was only the trespassing stranger,
who raised his hat and passed on his way.
"--Though, really, it's hardly a fair question, as coming from me."
"I think he's one of the best-looking and best-mannered boys I've ever
seen; Mr Haldane's son is the other."
"You do us proud," laughed Wagram. "But Hilversea is a dullish place
for one boy to get through his holidays in, shut up with two old fogeys,
so he's generally over at Haldane's, or Haldane's boy is over here.
They divide it up between them, and get all the fun they want."
Delia was about to reply that she could not imagine the word "dull" in
connection with Hilversea under any circumstances whatever; but it
struck her that the remark would sound banal, and she refrained.
"We shall be going North on Thursday for the grouse," he went on.
"Haldane and I always `split' a moor. Then these young scamps will be
in clover. We're going to let them take out a gun this time, and
they're about half mad with anticipation."
"I expect so," said Delia, to whom, however, the whole of this
announcement brought a heart-sinking. She knew enough by this time of
the manners and customs of Hilversea to be aware that such a move was
probable; but somehow, now that it was on the eve of becoming an
accomplished fact--well, she felt depressed. "Does old Mr Wagram
shoot?"
"Doesn't he! If he isn't quite so good at right and left now as a few
years back, even yet he can hold his own with the great majority. We
must round up those riotous children now and begin strolling homeward."
Of late something had occurred to Wagram and set him wondering, and
to-day it struck him more than ever. This was a certain unaccountable
change which had come over this girl. She seemed of late to have
acquired a subtle and unconscious refinement, not only in speech and
manner but also in look, which certainly was not there when he had first
made her acquaintance under dramatic circumstances; indeed, were that
acquaintance to be made over again, and now, assuredly one dictum in
which he had summed her up would be omitted. The fact was there, but
there was no explaining it. It puzzled him. To one other this change
had become manifest, and her it did not puzzle at all. That one was
Clytie; and, going over things in her mind, that extremely attractive
schemer nodded her plotting head complacently and smiled to herself.
The westering sunlight flooded down upon the vernal sheen of tossing oak
foliage and smoothly undulating grass with a richness of glow that was
well-nigh unearthly in the sensuous stillness of the August evening.
One of this group sauntering there it thrilled through and through. The
children, excited with their game, were laughing and chattering--
frequently all at once. But Delia, while bearing her part as brightly
and intelligibly as ever in conversation with her host, was conscious of
an absorbing _arriere-pensee_--that, if there were such a thing as a day
of paradise, she was going through just that. The while a yet further
back and subtle thread of thought kept crying aloud that the paradise
was a fool's paradise.