COME BACK
"She is so conjunctive to my life and soul
That as the star moves not but in his sphere
I could not, but by her."
SHAKESPEARE.
PAULINE took the small farmhouse and moved her furniture into it.
When Audrey motored down and stayed a couple of nights with her, she
was delighted with it. There was an oak staircase, and the rooms were
large, with quaint window seats and corners.
"But," said Audrey, "it seems too big for you, Pauline. I don't like to
think of you upon the dreary winter days wandering about here in the
dusk alone."
"Do you know what I want to do?"
"Something philanthropic, I am sure."
"Not at all. I want to have Honor and her children here for a part of
the winter. I have even planned out their rooms."
"That would be delightful, but are you sure you can afford it?"
"I think so. We shall live very simply. And the small girl I have to
help Mary is as strong as a pony and very willing. We shall want no
extra help. Honor tells me she takes entire charge of her baby; she has
no nurse."
"But perhaps her sister-in-law won't let her come."
"That is the very point. Miss Selkirk has been accustomed to spend
two or three months away at Torquay in the winter-time. Honor told me
privately she would like to get a little cottage somewhere for that
time. But I know at present she cannot afford it. You see, Audrey dear,
you cannot expect me to sit down and do nothing in this house. I cannot
tell you what a blank there is in my life. I have not become accustomed
to my leisure. I have taken the house, as I must have a home and a
place for my furniture, and I thought about Honor when I did it. I want
to have guests, and she will be my first one."
"Oh!" cried Audrey impulsively. "What a dear you are! And if I were the
poor governess again, I should come here for all my holidays—shouldn't
I? I lose a lot by Bernard's money."
"You can do a lot of good with it."
"I am getting tired of my leisure," said Audrey, with a sigh. "Like
you, I don't care for it. I love a busy life, and I haven't got it.
Bernard isn't well enough to lead anything but a quiet life. We are too
peaceful. I can hardly believe I am marching westward. My storms have
disappeared. I think—if I may say so under my breath—I rather enjoyed
them. The whole time I was at the college, there were continual breezes
of some sort or another. There was always something happening to call
forth one's powers. I declare, if I were over sixty, with a flagging
step and fading sight, I would suit Bernard just as well. I could still
look after his comforts and mend his socks and read the papers to him."
"I am afraid you are discontented."
If Pauline's words were a rebuke, her smile was not.
"Yes; I have a discontented nature unless I am filled to the brim with
work, and then I am happy. I think I am at present like a lamp nearly
empty of oil—I have the capacity for being filled and consequently
giving more light. Oh, I am a conceited wretch! Don't make me talk any
more about myself. Every day I pray to be kept humble. I do rise up so
aggressively whenever I get a chance! I shall come down and see Honor
when you get her here. What a happy little party you will be! Don't
laugh at me—but living alone with one man is very dull!"
"Oh, Audrey, for shame! What would you do if you were married?"
"Help my husband with his work. I would never marry an idle man like
Bernard, though he is a dear, and I am simply longing for him to get a
nice wife."
When Pauline's invitation arrived for Honor, Miss Selkirk looked rather
glum. She was vexed at the lighting of Honor's face and the eagerness
with which she told her about it.
"Isn't it good of Pauline? And it will be so convenient for you. I was
dreading lest we should prevent you going to Torquay. I know you always
shut up your house, do you not?"
"Oh, I dare say it will work in very well," said Miss Selkirk, in her
short, abrupt fashion.
Honor's face fell. She did not know why the plan was distasteful to her
sister-in-law.
Christine enlightened her.
"Ye see, mem, the mistress likes you and the bairns so well, she's in
muckle fear lest your friends should tak' ye awa' from her."
"But, Christine, it is very good of her; I always felt we must be a
burden. Fay's chatter and noise are a constant irritation to her."
"Aye, so the mistress would say. But I ken her the best, and I ken
that she hasna been so blithe or so content in her life as she is at
present. She loves the lot of ye, though she wadna say so for the whole
world!"
Honor's face flushed with pleasure. She had not been accustomed to
affection or even appreciation, and could not even now get over her
girlish diffidence.
"It's very nice of you to tell me this, Christine; it makes it easier
for me to stay here. I love being here myself, but this visit will be
good for all of us. I shall come back if Miss Selkirk will have me."
Not a word of regret at their departure did Miss Selkirk make. She
wished them good-bye with a stolid, expressionless face. Not even Fay's
parting words brought a glimmer of a smile to her lips:
"Please, Aunt Marget, be kind to those two very nice snails I tolded
you about yest'day. And if you could make a little sand wall round them
like I begun, I should fink they wouldn't run away till I comes back.
One of them is so sweet, and makes such lovely slime wherever she goes."
So Honor and her children came to bring brightness into Pauline's life,
and the farmhouse rang with children's voices and laughter.
Audrey longed to be with them, and was not long before she brought her
brother down for a day to see them. He was delighted with the household.
And when Audrey returned home, she wrote as follows to Pauline:
"Tell Honor she has made a conquest of Bernard. What a pity she is
married! He told me if I could find a facsimile of her anywhere, he
would marry at once. Isn't it strange? Because she is not exactly
pretty. He said she was such a thoroughly feminine woman and the kind
to make a man happy all his life. What a selfish outlook even the best
of men can have! If she had still been living at the Rectory, I am sure
she would have become my sister-in-law."
Pauline read some of this out to Honor. First she laughed, then she
looked up into Pauline's face rather sadly.
"And if I had not taken my way instead of God's way, perhaps that was
what was in store for me. How little we know! And my baby might have
had comfort and ease, instead of poverty and struggle in front of him."
Then she smiled through misty eyes.
"But then I shouldn't have had Fay—and she has brought such brightness
into my life. And Alick and I will be happy together one day, I hope."
* * * * * * * *
It was a gloomy November afternoon, a drizzling rain was falling, and
Audrey in macintosh and umbrella was splashing along Regent Street
engaged in shopping. She had motored up to town without her brother,
but under the care of their chauffeur, and was hastening along to the
hotel in Hanover Square at which they usually put up.
Just as she turned a corner, she collided rather violently with another
foot passenger, and looking up full of apologies found herself face to
face with Dr. Vernon.
Their greeting was a warm one.
"It isn't a fit afternoon for you to be out," he said. "May I walk with
you to your hotel?"
"If it is not taking you out of your way. Do tell me about everyone—and
my dear boys. Oh, how long it seems since I was with you!"
He gave her all the school news he could think of.
"And now about yourself. How is your brother? Is he in town?"
"No, I am thankful he is not, for this wet weather always tries him.
He is very much better. He and I are leading a fat, lazy life, and I'm
aching to my very finger-tips for work."
"But I always thought work could be had 'ad libitum' wherever one is."
"I can't get hold of any, except visiting a few poor people, and making
warm garments to give them at Christmas."
"Get him married, and come back to us," said the doctor in a firm,
decided tone. "We want you."
"I believe," said Audrey meditatively, "he means to marry. There is
someone abroad he has mentioned to me lately. He is so delighted at his
health coming back that he even talks of returning to Australia. Men
are very strange."
"I told you he was too young a man to settle down to a quiet English
life," said the doctor, a hint of triumph in his tone.
"Oh! Well, there is nothing settled. He would be angry at my mentioning
such a possibility. He has only been hinting at it now and then."
"Are you returning to-night? Surely you will have a most unpleasant
journey. Is your car a closed one?"
"It has a hood." A fierce onslaught of wind and rain beat in their
faces. Audrey gave a little shudder. "I don't altogether like motors. I
should be much more comfortable in the train, but of course I shouldn't
use that."
They had come to the hotel. He accompanied her up the steps, and the
porter handed Audrey a telegram.
She opened it as Dr. Vernon stood waiting to wish her good-bye.
"This is from my brother," she said. "He tells me to stop the night in
town. Very thoughtful of him."
Dr. Vernon's face brightened.
"Will you come round and dine with my sister and myself? We came up
yesterday to say good-bye to some old friends returning to India. We
are at the Grosvenor. My sister would be so pleased to see you."
"Thank you very much. I shall be delighted, but you must take me as I
am. I really don't know how I shall manage as it is. Men never think of
ladies' requirements for a night."
"My sister may be able to help you. Shall we hire a taxi, and go
straight back to her?"
"I must see our chauffeur. Perhaps you had better not wait."
But Dr. Vernon did wait, and presently they were both driving along
together.
"This rather reminds me," said Audrey impulsively, "of the way you
drove me off to Victoria Station that time when you took possession of
me. How terrified I was of you, and how impotently angry!"
Then Dr. Vernon leaned towards her.
"I want to take possession of you again," he said in a low, vibrating
voice. "Will you come?"
Audrey gave a little start.
"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion.
"I want you to come back to Horsborough College as my wife," he said.
"I want you with all my heart and soul. Will you come?"
Now, long ago Audrey had girlishly imagined this possibility, and
she had determinedly vowed within herself that then would be the
opportunity to make him suffer as he had made her suffer in that first
interview. But now, her breath came quick and fast; she felt that she
was an utterly different girl in thoughts and feelings and purposes
from that hot-headed, passionate young creature who plunged into the
heart of London seeking to forget the one who had so humiliated her,
and resolving never to come into his life again.
She was absolutely silent. The roar of the London streets was around
them, but as far as she was concerned, she was only conscious of
herself and him in the universe.
"Audrey, you know what I am—a quick-tempered, faulty man, but my heart
is yours, and has been for a long time. I have waited, because I felt
that you ought to have a chance of trying another atmosphere. I cannot
give you ease and luxury; it will be a strenuous life of work for both
of us, but if I can make it a happy life, I will. Dear, look up; only
one word—'Yes' or 'No.' Don't keep me in suspense."
Still silence, and then Audrey's head drooped, but not before the
whispered word caught the doctor's ear, and it was "Yes."
When they joined Miss Vernon later, there was nothing in their manner
to tell her what had happened. She was unfeignedly glad to see Audrey
again.
"Your successor is such an estimable woman," she said with the merry
twinkle in her eyes that came there so often. "She is so fitted for her
sphere that I am certain she was a teacher in another life.
"'Imparting knowledge,' she said to me, 'is the cream of life; and
though I have not as much teaching as I could wish, I can do a great
deal in a tactful way during the hours of recreation.'
"She is supremely tactful. I am perfectly certain there will be no
breezes now between her and her chief."
"What a blessing!" murmured Audrey.
They chatted upon different subjects through dinner, but Audrey
was quieter and gentler than usual, and though she showed no
self-consciousness, she was aware that Dr. Vernon's eyes hardly ever
left her face. She was looking her very best that evening; the outlines
of her face had softened wonderfully, and a pink colour was in her
cheeks.
Before long, Miss Vernon's sharp eyes began to suspect, and when dinner
was over and they were in a cosy corner of the big drawing-room, she
came to the point.
"Did you two settle to meet each other to-day?" she asked.
"Dear Miss Vernon!" exclaimed Audrey. "I should think not. It was just
a coincidence."
"A very remarkable one. Am I to be given any information?"
Dr. Vernon smiled.
"Shall I tell her, Audrey?" he asked.
The use of her Christian name deepened her blushes.
Miss Vernon drew a breath.
"No need to," she said abruptly. "I always knew this moment would come,
and I'm not sure that it is a very pleasant one to me."
"Oh, please," said Audrey, putting her hand out and laying it
affectionately on Miss Vernon's arm, "please say something nice to me.
I feel quite frightened. I cannot hope you will approve, for I am not
fit in any way to be his wife. But if he thinks I am—"
She stopped.
Miss Vernon gave her a little reassuring nod.
"You're the only one I could tolerate at all," she said; "I always felt
that. Do you think I should have taken you to Switzerland, and let you
and him be so much together, if I hadn't wanted to bring this about? I
wondered it didn't come off then. Well, my dear, joking apart, make him
a good wife; that is my one desire."
"And have you nothing to say to me?" asked Dr. Vernon. "Am I not to try
to make her a good husband? I am getting an old fogy, and have nothing
but hard work to offer her. Don't you think my luck is wonderful?"
"You always get what you want," said Miss Vernon coolly, "and I
won't tell her how long you wanted her. I knew it before you knew it
yourself. Now, to be selfish, what will become of me?"
"You must still live with us!" cried Audrey, and Dr. Vernon reiterated
the statement.
"I shall please myself about that, but I will stipulate that you
always keep a room for me, whether in a college or in a deanery or in
a bishop's palace; and it is not to be the spare room. Then I can come
and go as I like. How thankful I am I have had the breadth and strength
of mind to resist incorporating myself with the school. I shall not be
missed. I shall have time to visit my friends and gather gleanings for
my lifework."
She was reassured at once about her room. Then, rising from her seat,
she said:
"Of course, I'm 'de trop.' I'll leave you together, but I must speak to
you alone, my dear Audrey, before you leave."
"Certainly. I must not be late," said Audrey.
She felt almost nervous when Miss Vernon had left them, but that
feeling soon disappeared. And though they were not alone, and it was in
a public drawing-room, the doctor and she found plenty to say to each
other. Perhaps of the two the doctor was the greater talker. Audrey was
content to be the listener.
When she at length went to Miss Vernon, the old lady drew her into her
bedroom, and, laying her hand on her shoulder, said in a mysterious
voice:
"My dear, you must kindly supply me with a few notes about your
family and pedigree. Are you the same family as the Humes or Homes of
Scotland? And are you any relative of Hume the historian? And may I ask
who your mother was? You must excuse me asking these questions, but of
course, I must have a page about your origin."
Audrey could not help it. She burst into a rippling peal of laughter.
"Oh, Miss Vernon, it takes a brave woman to be your brother's wife! The
honour of it is too much for me!"
Miss Vernon joined her in her laugh.
"Ah, well, you know what I think of him! And he knows what I think of
you! And now go along. It's getting late. I suppose the wedding day is
not fixed yet?"
"That may not be for years," said Audrey seriously. "I have told your
brother that I cannot leave Bernard at present."
She went back to her hotel, and hardly closed her eyes all night, for
the suddenness of it almost overwhelmed her.
And then the next day, she motored home and told her brother all about
it.