In the drawing-room Mr Farrell and his two nephews were standing with
their backs to the fire, in the position affected by mankind in that
trying wait before dinner. Little Mrs Wolff was stiffly perched upon
an uncomfortable chair, twisting her mittened fingers together and
looking supremely uncomfortable, and there appeared to be no attempt at
conversation. Everyone looked at the two girls as they crossed the wide
room, and once again Mollie surprised that curious gleam of disapproval
in Victor Druce's veiled eyes. Mr Melland was apparently still on his
high horse, a faint flush upon his face, his nostrils curved and
dilated. As for Uncle Bernard himself, his set face showed no sign of
approval or the reverse; he simply bowed to his nieces, and waved them
towards a seat, saying curtly--
"Our party is not complete. I have asked the vicar and his wife to dine
with us, and make your acquaintance. They will probably arrive in a few
minutes."
"Oh yes!" said Ruth vaguely. Even Mollie suffered a moment's eclipse,
during which she sought in vain for an appropriate remark. It was too
absurd, she told herself, to sit round the room like mutes at a funeral.
What was the use of a lady chaperon if she could not fill up the gaps
with harmless inanities? She glanced from one stolid face to another,
then made a desperate plunge.
"What time do the posts go, Uncle Bernard? We ought to let mother know
of our arrival."
"I have already directed a telegram to that effect to be despatched.
May I suggest that you delay any communication on your own part until we
have had a future conversation."
Checkmate! Mollie gave a vague murmur of assent, and cast about for
remark number two.
"It seems so funny to be here and to see all the things we have heard
about so often! I recognise this room quite well from mother's
description. There is an alcove behind me, isn't there, with a harp in
the corner?"
"The harp was removed years ago. I imagine there are a great many
alterations since your mother's last visit. The use of the word `funny'
is somewhat inappropriate, is it not? I see nothing ludicrous in the
position."
Check number two! Mollie's wide-eyed perturbation was almost pathetic
in its intensity. She was not accustomed to being snubbed in this
public fashion, and, after the first shock, a feeling of resentment
brought the colour rushing into her cheeks.
"I meant `curious.' The two words are often used for each other."
"Mistakenly so. Many situations are curious which are not in the least
degree amusing."
"They are indeed!" was Mollie's mental comment. "The present, for
example; anything much less festive I fail to imagine." Her lips
twitched involuntarily as the thought passed through her mind, and,
looking up, she met Jack Melland's eyes fixed full on her, with an
answering twinkle in their blue depths. For one agonising moment she
trembled upon the brink of laughter, when mercifully the door was thrown
open to announce the arrival of the vicar and his wife. Mr Thornton
was tall and thin, with a much-lined face full of shrewd kindness and
sympathy; his wife was a pretty, plump little woman, who looked on
exceedingly good terms with herself and the world at large.
"Thank goodness, they will talk! They look alive, not mere graven
images," Mollie said to herself thankfully, as the necessary
introductions were taking place. Then the squire gave his arm to Mrs
Thornton, Mr Thornton offered his in turn to Mrs Wolff, and Victor
Druce, evidently obeying a previous instruction, paired off with Ruth,
leaving Mollie to his companion.
In silence the little company crossed the hall; in silence they seated
themselves round the dinner-table and prepared for the feast. Ruth's
grey eyes were brilliant with excitement as she turned from side to
side. She did not want to talk; conversation would have been but an
interruption at the moment; she wanted but to look and to think.
The walls were covered with portraits of ancestors--Captain Farrell who
sailed the seas with Nelson's fleet; General Farrell who fought under
Wellington; Lord Edward Farrell, the famous judge; fresh-faced country
squires in quaint, old-world costumes. The dim faces looked down from
their frames with a curious, haunting likeness running through all; and
at the head of the table sat the last of his race, the grim old man to
whom death was coming. Ah, it must be hard to look back on so good a
race, to realise that no son remained alive to carry on the name, and
that one of the strangers now seated round his own table would shortly
reign in his place!
Ruth thrilled with pity; her beautiful eyes grew soft and dreamy; and
the clergyman, looking at her across the table, could scarcely restrain
an exclamation of surprise. He had understood that Mr Farrell
possessed only distant relatives, but this girl was a true chip of the
old block; allowing for difference of age and sex, here was the same
face which was repeated again and again upon the walls--the aquiline
features, the melancholy lips, the straight heavy brows.
Mr Thornton knew that the time had come when his host was to choose his
successor at the Court, and, looking from one to the other of the four
young people, he personally felt no doubt as to the one on whom the
choice would fall. Ruth Farrell bore her credentials in her face, and
with a thrill, half painful, half amused, he realised how great a factor
in his own life this slim young girl might be. As lady of the Court and
his own patron, she would have it in her power to ensure his comfort or
the reverse. Ah, well, well, it was too early to speculate! The child
had a sweet, good face; no doubt all would be well.
While Ruth and the vicar were absorbed in their own thoughts, Mrs Wolff
was also silent, overcome with the weight of responsibility which
pressed heavily on her unaccustomed shoulders. Little Mrs Thornton
prattled of cheery nothings at the other end of the table, and Jack
Melland, turning towards his companion, remarked formally--
"I--ah--I think we have met earlier in the day!"
"In the train, you mean; yes! We saw you get out at the station, but
you disappeared so quickly that I could not think what had happened to
you."
"Nothing mysterious. A dogcart had been sent for me. I jumped into it
with my bag, and was out of sight before you had gathered together your
possessions."
"Ah, yes; we had boxes in the van." Mollie tilted her head to its
characteristic angle and smiled at him with wide grey eyes. "And you
watched our toilette across the carriage, little guessing it was for
your own benefit. We knew that we were to meet other visitors here, but
had no idea who they were or how many there might be. We imagined
walking into the midst of a big house-party; hence the preparations. It
was only natural we should want to look nice."
"Perfectly! I am glad I was fortunate enough to see the result, since I
suppose no one else--"
Mollie shook her head tragically.
"Not a soul! Mrs Wolff met us and sent us straight up to our room. If
it had not been for you, the new gloves would have been wasted on the
desert air; but now we can console ourselves that our trouble was of
some use, after all, since at least half the party had the benefit.
Were you also despatched straight upstairs?"
"I was. Afterwards, Druce and I had tea in the billiard-room, and went
on to join you in the library. It has been a somewhat trying
opportunity; I sympathised with your conversational efforts before
dinner."
Mollie's brows went up at this, and she made a sceptical little grimace.
"That is not my idea of sympathy! You stood by and watched me flounder
without making a effort to help. It's not at all pleasant to be snubbed
before a roomful of strangers. You might easily have remarked that it
was a fine day, or that the train was punctual. Anything is better than
a ghastly silence."
"But, you see, I had had my innings before you arrived. As a matter of
fact I had introduced those very subjects, and added some original
remarks on the beauty of the scenery. I fared no better than you, so my
fellow-feeling made me sympathise with you, though I had no spirit to
try again."
Mollie laughed under her breath, the influence of her surroundings
instinctively subduing the usual merry trill. This Mr Melland was an
unexpectedly pleasant companion, now that his former gloom and
irritability of manner had disappeared. It was as if a dreaded prospect
had been removed, and he was luxuriating in recovered freedom. Mollie
wondered what the change of circumstances could be; time, no doubt,
would show; and, when they had reached a greater degree of intimacy, she
would tease him about his sudden change of front, and treat him to a
pantomimic imitation of his former gloomy frowns. The prospect pleased
her, and she laughed again, showing the pretty dimples in her cheek,
while Jack Melland looked at her inquiringly.
"What's the joke? May I hear it?"
"Oh, nothing--I was just imagining! All sorts of things fly through
one's head, especially to-day, when we really are in an exciting
position. At home my sister and I have a very quiet time, and we get
most of our excitement in dreams. We imagine things until they are
almost real. Don't you know the feeling?"
"No!" cried Mr Melland bluntly. His brows were arched, his nostrils
curved with the old look of scornful superiority. "I have no experience
of the kind, and I don't want to have. It's a dangerous habit. We have
to live among realities, and very commonplace realities, for the most
part; and it unfits one for work to be dreaming of impossibilities."
"No, no, no; it helps one! It is like a tonic which braces one up for
the ordinary routine."
"It is like a sleeping draught--agreeable for the time, but mischievous
and relaxing in its after effects."
Grey eyes met blue with a flash of defiance, then softened into smiles.
"It depends upon disposition," said Mollie firmly. "We find nothing
relaxing about it, but a great deal of innocent amusement. When we are
out shopping and want something badly and can't have it, because it
costs five shillings and we only possess half a crown, Ruth says to me,
`Let's pretend a letter arrived by the afternoon post to say someone had
left us a million pounds! What would you do first of all?' Then we can
talk about it for the rest of the walk, and decide what dresses we would
have, and where we should live, and the papers we should have in the
entertaining room, and the furniture in our bedrooms; and we choose
things out of all the shop-windows as we pass, and decide where they
shall go. I've furnished my house so often that I really know the
rooms, and love them into the bargain."
"And when you go back into the real house you are discontented and
amazed at the contrast."
"Oh dear, no! That would be silly. I am so refreshed by my visit to
the castle that I can laugh over the shabbiness which annoyed me before.
You don't think it wrong to read an interesting book? Very well, then,
why is it wrong to indulge in a little fiction on one's own account?"
"Wrong is rather a strong word, perhaps, but there is a great difference
between the two. In reading a book you forget yourself in your interest
about others; in dreams--excuse me--you think constantly of yourself,
and play the part of hero. It is a habit which is inclined to make one
consider oneself the most interesting person on earth."
"Well, so you are! To yourself, I mean; you know you are!" cried
Mollie, with an innocent _naivete_ which made Mr Melland laugh again.
It was seldom, indeed, that anyone was honest enough to confess to self-
love, and her candour seemed infectious, for, on the verge of
contradicting her assertion with regard to himself, a sudden
recollection rushed through him of his own thoughts, doubts, conflicts,
and final determination of the past twenty-four hours. Did not every
one of these concern himself as a primary, if not an only, motive? Was
he not exercised, first of all, by a sense of his own importance, so
that the wishes of a dying man availed nothing against the preservation
of his own dignity? The laugh gave place to a frown as he replied--
"If it is so it ought certainly to be discouraged. One ought not
deliberately to pamper selfishness."
Mollie's eyes dropped to her plate, and her lips pouted in an
involuntary grimace.
"Rather inclined to preach," she said to herself naughtily, "and so
intensely practical and matter of fact! I must devote myself to the
education of his higher faculties. I shall have something to say to
you, Mr Jack Melland, the first time that will of yours comes into
opposition with my own.--`One ought not deliberately to pamper
selfishness.'--Delightful sentence! I must not forget it."