THIS PICTURE AND THAT.
The plan worked, as Dolly had known from the first, that it would. Mrs.
Copley came into it, and then Mr. Copley could not resist. It only
grieved Mrs. Copley's heart that there should be, as she said, no
wedding. "Might as well be married in a barn!" she said.
The barn-like effect was a little taken off by Lord and Lady Brierley's
presence at the ceremony, which to be sure was performed in no barn,
but the pretty village church; and by the breakfast given to Dolly
thereafter at the great house. This was not what Dolly or Mr. Shubrick
had desired. It came about on this wise.
Dolly went to pay a farewell visit of thanks to Lady Brierley and to
her good friend the housekeeper. Sandie accompanied her. Now, Mr.
Shubrick was one of those persons who make their way in all companies.
Lady Brierley, talking to Dolly, eyed the while the figure of the young
officer, his face, and his fine, quiet, frank manners; watched him
talking with her husband, who happened to come in; and also caught with
her practised eye a glance or two of Dolly's. Dolly, be it remarked,
was not shy here; before her noble friends, she neither flushed nor
trembled nor was nervous. But Lady Brierley saw how things were.
"So," said her ladyship at last, when Dolly was about taking
leave,--"you have not told me, but I know it,--you are going home to
get married!"
"That would seem to be the natural order of things," said Sandie, as
Dolly was not immediately ready with her answer; "but we are going to
reverse the terms. We are purposing to be married first and then go
home."
The lady looked at him with a curious mixture of expressions; it was
too early in the century then for an officer of the American navy to be
altogether a pleasant sight to the eyes of an Englishwoman; at the same
time, she could not wholly withhold her liking from this young
officer's fine looks and manly bearing. She turned to Dolly again.
"I hope you are going to ask me to your wedding," she said. "When is it
to be, Dolly?"
"My mother thinks it does not deserve to be called a wedding," said
Dolly, dimpling and growing rosy. "I should not have ventured to ask
your ladyship. But if you are so kind--it is to be on the morning of
the 10th--very early in the morning, for Mr. Shubrick has to set off
that day to rejoin his ship."
"I'll get up by daybreak," said her ladyship, arching her brows, "if it
is necessary. And you will come here from the church and have breakfast
with me, will you? It would be a great pleasure to me."
So it had been arranged; and, as I said, Mrs. Copley had been a good
deal comforted by the means. Lady Brierley's breakfast was beautiful;
she had caused her rooms to be dressed with flowers in Dolly's honour;
the company was small, but the more harmonious; and the presents given
to Dolly were very handsome.
And now there is nothing more to do, but to give two pictures; and even
for them there is hardly room.
The scene of the first, is a house in Harley Street, London. It is an
excellent house, and just new furnished and put in cap-a-pie order from
top to bottom. In the drawing-room a group of people taking a general
survey. One of them a very handsome young man, in unexceptionable
style, waiting upon two ladies; a beauty, and the beauty's mother.
Things in the house meet approval.
"I think it is perfect," said Mrs. Thayer. "Just perfect. The man has
done his work very well." She was referring to the upholsterer, and at
the moment looking at the window curtains.
"Isn't that a lovely tint of French grey?" said Christina, "and the
blue fringe is the right thing for it. I think the folds are a little
too full--but it is a good fault. It is all right, I believe. I do like
a drawing-room with no fault in it, no eye-sore."
"There could hardly be any fault in the work of Hans and Piccalilly,"
remarked St. Leger.
"Oh, I don't know, Lawrence," said the young lady. "Didn't they do the
Fortescues' house? and the drawing-room is in white and gold; very
pretty in itself, but just think how it will set off all those florid
people. A bunch of peonies on a white ground!"
Lawrence laughed. "_You_ can bear anything," he said. "But blue suits
you."
"It's just perfect," Mrs. Thayer repeated. "I see nothing to find fault
with. Yes, Christina can bear anything and wear anything. It saves a
great deal of trouble. When I was a girl I had a different complexion.
I wasn't a peony, but I _was_ a rose--not a white rose; and anything
shading on red I could not wear; not purple, nor claret, nor even ashes
of roses. It was a regular perplexity, to get variety enough with the
small number of shades at my disposal; for orange did not become me,
either. Well, I can wear anything now, too," she added with a half
laugh. "And it is nothing to anybody."
"Mamma, you know better than that," said Christina.
"Now," said Lawrence, "the question is, when shall we take possession?
The house is all ready for us."
"There is no use in taking possession till we are ready to keep it; and
it would be dull to stay in town all winter, wouldn't it?" said
Christina. "Whatever should we do?"
"Very dull," said Mrs. Thayer. "It is a long while yet before the
season begins. Better be anywhere else."
"I was thinking of Brighton," said Christina. "I think I should like
that."
"After the Peacocks," said Lawrence. "We are due there, you know, for a
visit."
"Oh, after the Peacocks, of course. But then,--do you think, Lawrence,
we could do anything better than go to Brighton? Till the season opens?"
Brighton quite met Mr. St. Leger's views of what was desirable.
It was a month or two later, as it happened, that another house was
undergoing inspection, a house at a very great distance from Harley
Street, geographically and otherwise; but let the reader judge. This
was a country house in a fair New England village; where there was land
enough for everybody, and everybody had land, and in consequence the
habitations of men were individually, as the habitations of men should
be, surrounded with grass and trees and fields; the very external
arrangements of the place giving thereby a type of the free and
independent life and wide space for mental and characteristic
development enjoyed by the inhabitants. The particular house in
question was not outwardly remarkable above many others; it stood in a
fair level piece of ground, shaded and surrounded with beautiful old
American elms. The inspectors of the same were two ladies.
Dolly had come to the village a week or two before. Mr. Copley was not
just then in condition to be left alone; so as her mother could not be
with her, she had summoned her dear Aunt Hal, from Philadelphia; and
Mr. Eberstein would not be left behind. All three they had come to this
place, found quarters at the inn, and since then Dolly and Mrs.
Eberstein had been very busy getting the house cleaned and put in
order. The outside, as I said, gave promise of nothing remarkable;
Dolly had been the more surprised and pleased to find the interior
extremely pleasant and not commonplace. Rooms were large and airy;
picturesquely arranged; and furnished, at least in part, in a style for
which she had not been at all prepared. The house had been for a long
stretch of years in the possession of a family, not wealthy, but well
to do, and cultivated; and furthermore, several of the members of it at
different times had been seafaring; and, as happens in such cases,
there had been brought home from foreign parts a small multitude of
objects of art or convenience which bore witness to distant industries
and fashions. India mats of fine quality were on some of the floors;
India hangings at some of the windows; beautiful china was found to be
in quantity, both of useful and ornamental kinds. Little lacquered
tables; others of curious inlaid work; bamboo chairs; Chinese screens
and fans; and I know not what all besides. Dolly and Mrs. Eberstein
reviewed these articles with great interest and admiration; they gave
the house, simple as it was, an air of elegance which its exterior
quite forbade one to look for. At the same time, some other necessary
things were wanting, or worn. The carpet in what Dolly called the
drawing-room was one of these instances. It was very much the worse for
wear. Dolly and her aunt went carefully over everything; adjusting,
supplying, arranging, here and there; Dolly getting a number of small
presents by the way, and a few that were not small. At last Mr.
Eberstein sent in a fine carpet for the drawing-room; and Dolly would
not have it put down.
"Not till Mr. Shubrick comes," she said.
"Why not, my dear? this is threadbare," her aunt pleaded.
"Aunt Hal, I should not like to give the room a strange look. He may
have associations with this old carpet, for anything I know."
"Men do not have 'associations' with things," said Mrs. Eberstein.
"Some men do, and perhaps he is one of them. At any rate, I want the
house to look like home to him when he comes. I'll put down the carpet
afterwards, if he likes it."
"I am afraid you are going to spoil him, Dolly," said Mrs. Eberstein,
shaking her head. "I hope he is worthy of it all. But don't spoil him!"
"He is much more likely to spoil me, Aunt Hal."
"Spoil _you!_" exclaimed her aunt indignantly. "What do you know about
it? O Dolly, Dolly! I hope you have got the right man!"
At which, however, Dolly showed all her dimples, and laughed so
comically that Mrs. Eberstein, right or wrong, was obliged to laugh
with her.
Mr. Copley had once said a true thing about his daughter; that if she
married Mr. St. Leger she would be devoted to him. "If"--yes, so she
would. And being now married to somebody else, Dolly was a very
incarnation of loyalty to her husband. Alas, many another woman has
trusted so, on less grounds, and made shipwreck; but Dolly's faith was
well founded, and there was no shipwreck in store for her.
So the day came when all was in readiness, and the two ladies took a
satisfied review of their work. It was the day when Mr. Shubrick was
looked for home. The "Red Chief" had arrived in port; and Sandie had
written that by the evening of this day he hoped to be at home.
Everything was in order; fires were lighted; a servant installed below
stairs; supper prepared; nothing left to be done anywhere. Dolly had
seen to the supper carefully herself; indeed, for a day or two there
had been some very thoughtful cooking and baking going on; which Mrs.
Eberstein had watched with great interest, some amusement, and ever so
little a bit of jealousy.
"Is Mr. Shubrick a difficult man to please?" she demanded.
"How can I tell?" said Dolly. "I have only seen him in our house, not
in his own. He did not scold there; but how do I know what he may do
here?"
"Scold!" repeated Mrs. Eberstein. "Dolly, I believe it would rouse all
the wickedness there is in me, if anybody should scold _you!_"
Dolly flushed rosily, and then she fairly laughed out.
"I will tell you a secret, Aunt Hal," she said. "I don't mean that in
this matter, at least, he shall find any occasion."
So the supper was ready, and the table was set, and fires were bright.
Mrs. Eberstein stayed with Dolly till the evening began to fall, and
then went back to the inn; averring that she would not for the universe
be found in Mr. Shubrick's house when he came. Dolly stood at the
window and watched her aunt's dark figure moving down to the gate, and
then still stood at the window watching. It was all snow stillness
outside.
There was a faint moonlight, which glistened on the white ground and
bare elm branches. A few inches of snow had fallen the day before; the
sun had thawed the surface slightly, and then it had frozen in a
glittering smooth crust. It was still outside as only leafless winter
can be, when there are no wings to flutter, or streams to trickle, or
chirrup of insects to break the calm. Not a footfall, not a sleigh
bell; not another light in sight, but only the moon. Anybody in the
road might have seen another light,--that which came from Dolly's
windows. She had been hard to suit about her arrangements; she would
not have candles lit, for she did not wish an illumination that might
make the interior visible to a chance passer-by; and yet she would not
have the shutters shut, for the master of the house coming home must
read his welcome from afar in rays of greeting from the windows. So she
made up the fires and left the curtains open; and ruddy firelight
streamed out upon the snow. It was bright enough to have revealed Dolly
herself, only that the house stood back some distance from the road.
Dolly watched and listened a while; then crossed the hall to the room
on the other side, from the windows of which a like glow shone out. The
fire was in order; the table stood ready. Dolly went back again. It was
so still outside, as if Sandie never would come. She listened with her
heart beating hard and fast.
For an hour and a half, perhaps; and then she heard the tinkle of
sleigh bells. They might be somebody else's. But they came nearer, and
very near, and stopped; only Dolly heard a mixed jangle of the bells,
as if the horse had thrown his head up and given a confused shake to
them all. The next thing was the gate falling to, and a step crunching
the crisp snow. Then the house door opened with no preliminary knock;
and somebody was throwing off wraps in the hall.
Dolly had made a step or two forward, and stopped; and when Sandie
appeared on the threshold, she was standing in the middle of the room,
as pretty a picture of shy joy as a man need wish to see in his heart
or his house. If Mrs. Eberstein could have been there and watched his
greeting of her, the lady's doubts respecting his being "the right man"
would perhaps have been solved.
But after the first hasty word or two, it was very silent.
"Dolly," Mr. Shubrick said at last. And there he stopped; nothing
followed.
"What were you going to say?" Dolly whispered.
"So much, that I do not know how to begin. I cannot get hold of the end
of anything. Are you not going to let me see your eyes? I do not know
where I am, till I get a look into them."
He smiled a moment after; for, although shyly and fleetingly, the brown
eyes were lifted for a brief glance to his. What a sweet, tender
simpleness was in them, and yet what a womanly, thoughtful brow was
above them; and, yes, Sandie read somewhat else that a man likes to
read; a fealty of love to him that would never fail. It went to his
heart. But he saw too that Dolly's colour had left her cheeks, though
at first they were rosy enough; and in the lines of her face generally
and the quiver of her lip he could see that the nervous tension was
somewhat too much. He must lead off to commoner subjects.
"Who is here with you?"
"Nobody."
"You do not mean that you are _alone_ here, Dolly?"
"No. Oh no. I mean, nobody in the house. Aunt Harry and Uncle Ned are
at Baxter's. Aunt Harry only left me an hour or two ago, when it was
time to expect you."
"It was very kind of her to leave you!" said Sandie frankly.
"We have been here a fortnight. When I found I could not have mother, I
wrote to Aunt Hal; and she came."
"What was the matter with your mother?"
Dolly half unwound herself from the arms that held her, and turned her
face away. She was trying to choke something down that threatened to
stop her speech.
"Father"----
"What of him?" said Sandie with a grave change of tone.
"I am not sorry," said Dolly. "But, oh! to think that I should not be
sorry!" She covered her face.
Sandie was silent, waiting and wondering. It could not be Mr. Copley's
death that was in question; but what then could it be? He waited, to
let Dolly take her own time. Neither did he have to wait long.
"You remember," she began, still with her face turned away,--"you
remember what I told you one day in Brierley Park--about father?"
"Certainly I remember."
"You understood me?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Then you knew that I was--very anxious"--Dolly caught her
breath--"about what might come? Oh, it is not treason for me to talk to
you about it--now!" cried Dolly.
"It is not treason for you to tell me anything," said Mr. Shubrick,
drawing her again closer, though Dolly kept her face bent down out of
his sight. "Treason and you have nothing in common. What is it?"
"I told you, I knew there was no safety," she said, making a quick
motion of her hand over her eyes. "I hoped things would be better over
here, away from those people that led him the wrong way; and they
_were_ better; it was like old times; still I knew there was no safety.
And now--he is taken care of," she said with a tremble of her lip which
spoke of strong pain, strongly kept down. "He went to see some new fine
machinery in somebody's mill. Somehow, by some carelessness, his coat
got caught in the machinery; and before the works could be stopped his
leg was--fearfully broken." Dolly spoke with difficulty and making
great effort to master her agitation. The arms that held her felt how
she was quivering all over.
"When, Dolly? When did this happen?"
"Soon after we came home. It is six weeks ago now."
"How is your father now?"
"Doing very well; getting cured slowly. But he will never walk again
without--support. Oh, do you see how I am so sorry and glad together?
Isn't it dreadful, that I should be glad?"
She looked up now, for she would not distress Mr. Shubrick by giving
way to the tears which would have been a relief to herself. She looked
up with such a face! the eyes shining through tears, the mouth
trembling with a smile; sunshine and rain all in one glitter. "And
_that_ is the way he has been taken care of!" she said.
Mr. Shubrick stooped his face gently to hers with a mute, caressing
motion, leaving her time to get rid of those encumbering tears or to
shed more of them; waiting till the tremor subsided a little. Soon
Dolly spoke again.
"It has been such a weight on me--oh, such a weight! I could hardly
bear it sometimes. And now--this is better."
"Yes," he said.
"You had to know of it. I was very sorry!"
"Sorry that I should know?"
"Oh yes, yes! Sorry and ashamed. Sorry for you, too." Dolly's trembling
was excessive.
"Hush!" said Sandie softly. "What is yours is mine; sorrow and joy
together. I think I had better go and take up my old office of nurse
again."
"Oh," said Dolly, starting, and a glad tone coming into her voice,
"would you? How he would like that!"
"It must have been a little hard for them both to have you come away
just now. I think we will go and comfort them up, Dolly."
"You are very, very good!" said Dolly, with her eyes glistening, and
speaking from hearty conviction.
"Whom are you talking to? I have not heard my name yet."
"I have not got accustomed to you yet, you know," Dolly said with a
little nervous laugh. "Besides,--I never did."
"Never did what?"
"I never called you anything but--Mr. Shubrick."
"Christina did."
"Poor Christina!" said Dolly.
"Why?" said the other merrily. "She is the rich Mrs. St. Leger; why do
you say 'Poor Christina'?"
"I am afraid I have come between her and happiness," Dolly said,
blushing frankly.
"You have no occasion to say that," Sandie said, laughing. "She has got
what she wanted. There was a terrible danger that she might have come
between _me_ and happiness. But for her--I am not at all sure that she
would have been happy with me."
"I remember," said Dolly, "she told me one time, she knew she would not
'_have her head_' so much, if she were once married to you."
"She would not have approved my old house, either," said Sandie
contentedly, letting Dolly go that he might put up the fire, which had
tumbled down, after the fashion of wood fires.
"She might have liked it," Dolly answered.
"You do?"
"Oh, very much! Aunt Hal and I think it is charming. And it is full of
lovely things."
"Wants a new carpet, I should say," said Sandie, eyeing the threadbare
one under his feet, which Mrs. Eberstein had objected to.
"There!" said Dolly. "Aunt Hal said you would never know what was on
the floor. I told her she was mistaken."
"What gave her such a poor opinion of my eyesight?"
"Oh, nothing, it was not of your _eyesight_, I don't know, unless she
thinks that is the way with men in general. Uncle Ned had brought me a
present of a beautiful new carpet for this room, and Aunt Harry wanted
me to have it put down; but I wouldn't until I knew whether you would
like it."
"Whether I would like it!" Sandie repeated, rather opening his eyes. "I
should think the question was, whether _you_ would like it. I like new
carpets."
"I did not know but you might have some affection for this old one,"
said Dolly. "I did not want to change the look of the room before you
came, so that it would not seem like home. Aunt Harry said I would
spoil you."
"What did you answer to that?"
"I said it was more likely you would spoil me," said Dolly, dimpling up
and flushing.
"Do you think I will?" said Sandie, taking her hand and drawing her up
to him.
Dolly hesitated, flushed and dimpled more, and answered, however, a
frank "No."
"Why?" was the quick next question.
"You ask too many things," said Dolly. "Don't you want something to
eat?"
"No, not at all!--Yes."
"I thought so," said Dolly, laughing. "Come, then."
She put her hand in his and led him across the broad hall to the
dining-room. And during the next hour Sandie might have recurred with
reason to his late remark; that Christina had been near coming between
him and happiness. The careless luxury of her way of entertaining him,
was in strongest contrast to the sweet, thoughtful, delicate
housewifery of his wife. It was a constant pleasure to watch her.
Tea-making, in her hands, was a nice art; her fingers were deft to cut
bread; and whenever the hands approached him, whether it were to give a
cup of tea or to render some other ministry, it was with an
indescribable shyness and carefulness at once, which was wholly
bewitching. Sandie was hungry, no doubt; but his feast was mental that
night, and exquisite.
Meanwhile, he talked. He gave Dolly details of his voyage home, which
had been stormy; got from her a full account of the weeks since she had
set foot on American ground; and finally informed her that his having a
ship was certain, and in the near future.
"Poor Christina!" said Dolly.
"Hush!" said he, laughing and drawing her with him back into the other
room; "you shall not say that again. Would you like to go to
Washington? The probability is that you will have to go."
"Anywhere," said Dolly.
They stood silently before the fire for a few minutes; then Mr.
Shubrick turned to her with a change of tone.
"Why did you think I would not spoil you?"
She was held fast, she could not run away; he was bending down to look
in her face, she could not hide it. Dolly's breath came short. There
was so much in the tone of his words that stirred her. Besides, the
answer--what came at last was--
"Sandie, you know you wouldn't!"
"Reasons?"
"Oh!--reasons."
"Yes. I want to know the reasons, Dolly."
In her desperation Dolly looked up, one good glance of her brown eyes;
then she hid her face. I think Sandie was satisfied, for he asked no
more.
"Yes," he said presently. "I love you too well, and you love me too
well. We will try to help each other up; not down. Dolly, I would not
spoil you for the whole world! and I do not believe I could if I tried."
The lady from whom this story comes, remembers having seen Mrs.
Shubrick when she was a beautiful old lady. Then and all her life she
wore her cable watch-chain.
THE END.
Typographical errors silently corrected:
Chapter 1: =if they don't know Him= replaced by =if they don't know him=
Chapter 3: ='The sails are said= replaced by =The sails are said=
Chapter 4: =what strange shapes:= replaced by =what strange shapes;=
Chapter 4: =unschoolgirl-like;= replaced by =unschoolgirl-like,=
Chapter 6: =for calculation,= replaced by =for calculation;=
Chapter 10: =all her beauty she= replaced by =all her beauty, she=
Chapter 10: =pay my gardener.= replaced by =pay my gardener."=
Chapter 11: =old-fashioned flowers showed= replaced by =old-fashioned
flowers, showed=
Chapter 18: =with it. I should= replaced by =with it, I should=
Chapter 18: =No" said Rupert= replaced by =No," said Rupert=
Chapter 20: =If Lawrence, had= replaced by =If Lawrence had=
Chapter 22: =there by interpreting= replaced by =there, by
interpreting=
Chapter 22: =to him, Dolly= replaced by =to Him, Dolly=
Chapter 23: =in thee.--I am= replaced by =in thee.'--I am=
Chapter 25: =and he cometh.= replaced by =and he cometh.'=
Chapter 25: ="Though people do= replaced by ="though people do=
Chapter 26: =ways, of private= replaced by =ways of private=
Chapter 28: =hateth you."= replaced by =hateth you.'"=