As soon as Mr Ridsdale and Miss Loraine found themselves alone, they
seated themselves on the rustic seat lately vacated by the vicar and Dr
M‘Murdo. Master Archie lighted a cigarette.
Clarice Loraine at this time had just left her nineteenth birthday
behind her. She was tall and limber as any fabled nymph of the woods,
with an easy, swaying grace in all her movements such as Art alone
could never have taught her. She had a cloud of silky, pale-gold hair,
that looked as if some sportive zephyr had ruffled it in passing;
while her eyes were of the deepest and tenderest blue. Her habitual
expression was one of sweet seriousness, of most gentle gravity; but
when she smiled, which she did often, she smiled both with her lips and
her eyes: it was like the lighting up of a beautiful landscape with a
sudden flash of sunshine.
And the young man to whom she had given away her heart? Well, he was
a stalwart, good-looking enough young fellow, about twenty-five years
old, with dark-brown hair, and a moustache to match; with frank,
clear-gazing eyes, which looked as if nothing in the world could
cause them to flinch; in short, one of those manly, clear-skinned,
resolute-looking young Englishmen of whom those who choose may see
scores any day during the season in London town.
‘Are you sure, darling, that you are not too tired to go on the lake
this evening?’ asked Archie presently.
‘I am just a little tired now; but I shall not be a bit tired when the
time comes to start. To-night it will be full moon.’
Archie looked at his watch. ‘The afternoon post will be in in about
half an hour. I wonder whether it will bring us anything from the
pater?’
‘O Archie, if it should bring a letter from your father in which he
orders you to give me up!’
‘As if I had not told you a hundred times already that I am not going
to give you up for any one in the wide world!’
‘It would make me ever, ever so unhappy to think that I should come as
an obstacle between your father and you.’
‘Don’t be a little goose. I’m old enough to choose a wife for myself;
and I’ve chosen you, and mean to have you in spite of everybody. If the
pater chooses to turn rusty about it, I can’t help it. He did the very
same thing when he was a young fellow. He ran away with my mother—oh,
I’ve heard all about it!—and I’m not aware that he ever had cause to
regret having done so. Of course it would be pleasanter—a jolly sight
pleasanter—to have his consent and good wishes and all that; but if he
won’t give us them, I daresay we shall be able to get along somehow or
other without them. There are worse things in the world than poverty,
when two people love each other as you and I love each other, sweet
one.’
What bold beings are these lovers! Nothing daunts them. They will take
the world by storm and set Fortune herself at defiance. A very Paladin
seemed Archie in the eyes of the girl who loved him. How beautifully he
spoke—what noble sentiments fell from his lips!
‘I am not afraid to face poverty or anything else,’ she murmured, ‘so
long as I know that you care for me.’ Tears trembled in her eyes.
‘And that I shall never, never cease to do!’ he responded fervently.
He had sidled a little closer to her on the rustic bench, and he now
tried, after a fashion old as the hills, to insinuate one arm gently
round her waist.
‘No—no, Archie, dear, you must not do that! We are not alone. Although
that young curate pretends to be reading, he’s watching us all the
time.’
‘Confound his impudence!’ growled Archie with a glance over his
shoulder at the obnoxious individual. Then he drew exactly an inch and
a half further away, and proceeded to light a fresh cigarette.
The fact was that, after the immemorial fashion of lovers, our two
young lunatics had been so absorbed in themselves and their own affairs
that they had had no eyes to note the fresh arrivals which the last
steamer had brought to the hotel. One of these was a young man dressed
in the garb of a modern curate. The afternoon was hot, and as he came
slowly up the path that led from the level of the lake to the elevated
ground on which the hotel was built, he fanned himself with the broad
brim of his low-crowned felt hat. Behind him marched a porter carrying
a bulky portmanteau, a mackintosh, and an exceedingly slim umbrella.
A little way from the path stood an immense elm, round the bole of
which a seat had been fixed for the convenience of visitors. It looked
cool and tempting; the young man glanced at it and hesitated.
‘Why go indoors just yet?’ he asked himself. Then turning to the
porter, he said: ‘Take those traps into the hotel and secure a bedroom
for me. Then find out whether you have a Lady Renshaw and a Miss Wynter
staying in the hotel, and come back at once and let me know.’
‘Yes, sir—Lady Renshaw and Miss Wynter.—What name shall I have put down
for the bedroom—your name, sir?’
‘My name? Um. By-the-bye, what _is_ my name?’ the young man asked
himself in some perplexity. Then his face brightened, and he said
impressively: ‘My name is Mr Golightly.’
‘Yes, sir—the Reverend Mr Golightly.’
‘No, sir’—with severity—‘not the Reverend Mr Golightly. Plain Mr
Golightly—of London.’
‘Yes, sir. Plain Mr Golightly. I’ll be sure not to forget. Back in five
minutes, sir.’ Mr Golightly went and sat down in the welcome shade of
the elm.
‘I’m fairly in for it now,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve passed the Rubicon, and
there’s no going back. If they are not here already, they will be sure
to arrive by the next train. Will Bella recognise me in this rig-out, I
wonder? Upon my word, I don’t think she will.’
Presently the porter came back. ‘No ladies stopping here by the name
you spoke of, sir,’ said the man.
‘At what hour is the table-d’hôte?’
‘At seven o’clock, sir.—Got you a very nice bedroom, sir—splendid view
across the lake. No. 65, sir.’
‘When is the next train due in from London?’
‘One about due in now, sir. The drive from the station takes about
twenty minutes. Thank ye, sir.’
‘About twenty minutes; I may as well wait here,’ remarked Mr Golightly
to himself as soon as the man had left him. ‘This will be a capital
“coign of vantage” from which to spot the arrivals.’
He yawned, crossed his legs, and produced from his pocket a soberly
bound little volume, which might have been a volume of sermons, only it
was not. He read a page or two, then he yawned again, and then he shut
up the book.
‘No, not even Alphonse Daudet has power to charm me this afternoon.
Will she come?—will she not come? Does she love me?—does she not love
me? Upon my word, I’m in a regular fever; pulse about a hundred and
twenty to the minute. I wonder why they can’t inoculate one for love,
the same as they do for other things. A mild attack for about a week,
and then we should get over it for life.’
Suddenly he started and threw a keen look at the two young people some
little distance away, whom he had scarcely noticed before. ‘Archie
Ridsdale, by all that’s wonderful! I’ve not seen him for a century.
Does Lady Renshaw know that he’s here, I wonder? and is she dragging
Bella down to this place that she may try to catch the rich baronet’s
son for her niece’s husband? It’s just like one of her ladyship’s
moves. Well, I’m not going to worry myself with jealousy. Besides,
somebody at the club said that Archie had engaged himself to a girl
without a penny. I wonder whether that is the demoiselle in question.
She looks pretty enough to turn any fellow’s head.’
Mr Golightly whistled softly to himself for a minute or two; then he
muttered: ‘Wretched slow work watching another fellow spoon and not be
able to join in the fun one’s self! That must be the girl. By Jove!
Master Archie seems about as hard hit as I am.’
This latter remark was elicited by the sight of Mr Ridsdale sidling up
to Miss Loraine with the evident intention of encircling her waist with
his arm; but, as we have already seen, he was very properly repulsed.
Presently Clarice rose and gathered up her heap of ferns and grasses.
‘You are not going indoors already, Clarice?’
‘Already! Commend me to your sex for being unreasonable. A pretty
scolding I shall get from Mora for having been out so long.’
‘I don’t believe Madame De Vigne could scold any one, were she to try
ever so much.’
‘You don’t know her. She has a terrible temper. It runs in the family.’
‘I am glad you have told me. I shall be prepared for the worst.—We
shall meet again at the table-d’hôte; meanwhile, I’ll go and look after
the postman.’
‘Should there be a letter, you will let me know as soon as possible?’
‘Never fear.’
With a smile and a nod, she left him, and speeding across the lawn,
entered the hotel by a French-window, one of a number which stood wide
open this sunny afternoon.
Archie gazed after her admiringly till she was out of sight. Then he
buried his hands in his pockets and turned and sauntered slowly up
towards the main entrance to the hotel.
‘Ah! here’s Ridsdale coming this way,’ exclaimed Mr Golightly. ‘Wonder
whether he’ll know me? What larks!’
But Mr Ridsdale was thinking his own thoughts, and he passed Mr
Golightly, who was apparently deep in the perusal of his sober-looking
volume, as though there was no such person in existence. But he had not
got more than a few yards beyond the tree when he heard himself called.
‘Archie, dear!’ cried some one softly. If it were not a feminine voice
that spoke, it was a very good imitation of one.
Mr Ridsdale started, and turned. Beyond two or three loungers round
the door of the hotel, some distance away, not a creature was visible
save the clerical-looking young man seated under the tree and intent on
his book.
Archie’s eyes struck fire and his face flamed suddenly. He advanced
three or four paces. ‘Did you address that remark to me, sir?’ he
sternly demanded.
‘Of course I did, sir,’ answered Mr Golightly, looking up innocently in
the other’s face. Then before Archie’s wrath had time to explode, he
flung down his book and started laughingly to his feet. ‘Ridsdale, old
chappie, how de do?’ he exclaimed. ‘Awfully glad to meet you. Don’t you
know me?’
‘No, sir, I do not know you,’ answered Archie with a cold stare. ‘Never
saw you before in my life, that I’m aware of.’
‘What! Not recollect Dick Dulcimer?’
‘Dick Dulcimer! You!’ eyeing him from top to toe. ‘It can’t be.’
‘But it is—at least I’ve every reason to believe so, and _I_ think I
ought to know.’
‘But’——, and again he eyed him critically over.
‘Why this thusness, you would ask. I’ll explain in a few words. But sit
down for a minute or two; it’s too hot to stand.—You remember Bella
Wynter?’
‘Rather. One of the prettiest girls out, the season before last. I was
nearly a gone coon in that quarter myself.’
‘Well—I’m quite a gone coon.’
‘Glad to hear it. Congratulate you, old man.’
‘It’s the old story, of course. I’ve next to nothing, Bella has
less. There’s a dragon in the path in the shape of Lady Renshaw,
Bella’s aunt. But probably you remember her ladyship?’—Mr Ridsdale
nodded.—‘Well, she detests me, and has set her heart on Bella marrying
money.’
‘Of course. But what has Miss Wynter herself to say in the matter?’
‘Oh, I think Bella likes me—a little; in fact, I’ve not much doubt on
that point, although, like the young person in the play, I’ve never
told my love. But she has been brought up to think it a crime to marry
a poor beggar without a fortune, and then she’s so completely under the
dowager’s thumb that she dare scarcely call her bonnet her own. The
Fates only know how it will end.’
‘And you are down here?’——
‘To meet them. I expect them by the next train. Bella corresponds with
my sister, and Madge gave me the hint. I got a fortnight’s leave,
and made up my mind to follow them; but apparently I’m here first.
Of course it would never have done to let Lady R. find me here; she
would have taken the alarm at once, and have carried off Bella by the
next train. What was to be done? All at once it struck me that I had
lately been playing the part of a curate in some amateur theatricals
in town. A month hence we are going to play the same comedietta again
for another charity, so that, as it happened, I had the togs, obtained
for the first performance, still by me. I shaved off my beard and
moustache, had my hair and eyebrows dyed black, donned my clerical
garb, took a ticket from Euston, and here I am.’
‘Your own mother wouldn’t know you if she were to meet you.’
‘Not much fear of the dowager recognising me, eh?’ asked Mr Dulcimer
with a chuckle. Then he added more seriously: ‘If I can only get Bella
to myself for an hour while she’s down here—there was no chance of it
in town—I’ll know my fate one way or the other. She’s an arrant young
flirt, I know; but I’ll have no more of her shilly-shallying; she shall
give me a plain Yes or a plain No.’
‘I commend your resolution, and wish you every success with the fair
Bella. Of course your secret is quite safe in my hands, and if I can do
anything to assist you’——
‘I’m sure you will. Thanks, Ridsdale. Don’t forget that there’s no Dick
Dulcimer here. I am’——
‘The Reverend?’——
‘No; not the Reverend, but plain Mr Golightly. It may be all very well
to play the part of a curate in a comedietta, but I don’t care to
_pose_ for the character in real life.’
‘But your clerical garb—everybody will take you for a parson.’
‘I can’t help that. If driven into a corner, I will tell people that
I’m a preceptor of youth, in fact a tutor, which is no more than the
truth, because, you see, I’m teaching Will Hanover to play the fiddle,
so that he’s my pupil and I’m his tutor.’
‘But what made you choose such an outlandish name as Golightly?’ asked
the other with a smile.
‘Because Golightly belongs to me, dear boy—it’s my own property. Know,
good my lord, that my full name is Richard Golightly Dulcimer. My
godfather was Dr Golightly, who’s now Bishop of Melminster. Many’s the
tip I’ve had from him in the days when I wore a jacket and turn-down
collar. But he wasn’t a bishop then, and my dad hadn’t lost his
fortune, and things now in that quarter are by no means what they used
to be.’
‘I’ll not forget the name. And now I must go; I’m expecting an
important letter. We shall meet later on.’
‘For the present, ta, ta,’ said Mr Dulcimer.
‘Sly dog! Never said a word about his own little affair,’ muttered
Dick. ‘Intolerably slow work waiting here. I wonder how much longer
they’ll be? Ha! happy thought.—Hi!’
The last exclamatory remark was addressed to a waiter who was in the
act of removing an empty bottle and some glasses from a garden-table a
little way off.
Up came the waiter, a smiling, little, bullet-headed fellow, French
or Swiss, with his black hair closely cropped, and clean-shaved,
blue-black cheeks and chin.
‘Bring me a pint of bitter beer in a tankard,’ said Richard loftily.
‘Oui, m’sieu.’
He was not away more than a couple of minutes. Dick was very thirsty,
and he seized the tankard eagerly.
‘Wait,’ he said laconically. Then he blew off the beads of creamy
froth, raised the tankard to his lips, and slowly and deliberately
proceeded to empty it.
While he was thus engaged, two ladies, followed by a maid carrying
wraps and umbrellas, came round a corner of the shrubbery. They had
driven from the station by way of the lower road, and hence had to walk
through a portion of the grounds in order to reach the hotel.
‘A clergyman, and drinking beer out of a metal pot!’ exclaimed the
elder of the two ladies. ‘What can the Establishment be coming to!’
Dick, whose back was towards the party, gave a great start and nearly
dropped the tankard. ‘The dragon’s voice! I’m caught!’ Then giving
the tankard back to Jules, he said with an affected lisp: ‘Thank you
very much, my friend. On a sultry day like this, nothing can be more
refreshing than a little iced lemonade.’
‘Lemonade! Ah-ha; monsieur s’amuse,’ murmured Jules with a slight
lifting of the shoulders as he took back the tankard and marched away.
‘After all, dear, he was drinking nothing stronger than lemonade,’
remarked the elder lady, who was none other than Lady Renshaw, in a low
voice to her niece. ‘No doubt he acquired the habit of drinking out of
pewter while at college. I am told that they have many strange customs
at the universities, which have been handed down from more barbarous
times.—An interesting-looking young man.’
‘Very,’ assented Miss Wynter, who had started at the first sound of
Dick’s voice, and was now looking inquiringly at him. ‘That voice!’ she
said to herself. ‘I could fancy that it was Dick—I mean Mr Dulcimer,
who was speaking. But that is impossible. And yet’——
Meanwhile, Dick had turned, and after gravely lifting his hat to the
ladies, had resumed his seat, and was now intent again on his book.
Lady Renshaw was a fine, florid specimen of womanhood, who among her
intimate friends gracefully acknowledged to being thirty-five years
of age, but was probably at least ten years older. She still retained
considerable traces of those good looks which several years previously
had captured the elderly affections of the late Sir Timothy. Although
her figure might display a greater amplitude of proportions than of
yore, yet was her hair still black and glossy, her large dark eyes
still as coldly bright as ever they had been, while if the fine bloom
on her cheeks owed nothing of its tints to the lily, there are many
people who prefer the rich damask of the rose even in the matter of
complexion. Here, among the Westmoreland hills, her ladyship was
dressed as richly and elaborately as if for a little shopping in Regent
Street or a drive in the Park. Herein she showed her knowledge of the
eternal fitness of things. Lady Renshaw in a cotton gown or a seaside
wrapper would have looked little better than a dowdy. Simplicity and
she had nothing in common. But Lady Renshaw fashionably attired in
satins and laces was a sufficiently good imitation of a lady to pass
current as such with nine people out of every dozen.
Miss Bella Wynter was a brunette, not very tall, but with a slender,
graceful figure, black, sparkling eyes, and the sauciest little chin
imaginable. Naturally, she was an unselfish, generous-hearted girl; but
the circumstances of life and her aunt’s hard worldly training were
doing their best to spoil her. She, too, was dressed in the extreme of
the prevalent fashion, and looked as if she might just have stepped out
of the show-room of a Parisian _modiste_.
‘There can be no harm in speaking to him,’ said Lady Renshaw in a low
voice to her niece. ‘He may be the son of a bishop or the nephew of a
lord; one never can tell whom one may encounter at these big hotels.’
Then going a little nearer to Dick, she said to him: ‘I presume, sir,
that you are staying at the _Palatine_?’
Mr Dulcimer started, rose and bowed. ‘For a day or two, madam, on my
way north.’ He spoke with the same little affected lisp with which he
had addressed Jules the waiter.
‘I’m nearly certain it’s Dick,’ said Bella to herself with her heart
all a-flutter. ‘But what daring! what effrontery!’
‘Then perhaps you can inform me at what hour the table-d’hôte takes
place?’ said her ladyship.
Dick knew quite well, but was not going to tell. ‘I only arrived a
couple of hours ago, madam; but I will at once ascertain.’
‘No, no, no! Greatly obliged to you, but we are going indoors
presently, and can then ascertain for ourselves.’
‘It _is_ he!’ exclaimed Miss Wynter under her breath. ‘O Dick, Dick!’
Lady Renshaw had turned, and was gazing through her eyeglass. ‘Really,
my love, the view from this spot is too utterly exquisite,’ she said.
‘Such luminosity of atmosphere—such spontaneity of sunshine! Observe
that magnificent effect of _chiaro-oscuro_ among the hills. Quite
Ruskinesque. I dote on nature—especially in her wilder moods.’
‘No doubt nature is infinitely obliged to your ladyship,’ murmured
Richard under his breath.
Bella seemed as if she could not keep her eyes off him. ‘He has shaved
off his darling beard and moustache, and come all this way on purpose
to be near me!’ she mused. ‘Does any one else care enough for me to do
as much as that? Heigh-ho! why is he so poor?’
‘And now, dear, I think we had better go indoors,’ said her ladyship
blandly. ‘The heat is somewhat trying.’ Then turning to Dick: ‘We shall
probably meet again, Mr—er—Mr—?’
‘Golightly, madam. Mr Richard Golightly, at your service.’
‘—— At the table-d’hôte, or somewhere, Mr Golightly.’ This very
graciously.
‘I trust, madam, to have the honour,’ and Mr Dulcimer bowed deeply.
‘O you wicked boy!’ murmured Bella.
‘The old she-dragon suspects nothing,’ said the wicked boy to himself
with a chuckle as soon as the ladies had turned their backs.
‘A Golightly, my dear,’ remarked Lady Renshaw to her niece. ‘There are
several good families of that name. One in Devon and another in York.
The young man may be worth cultivating. I hope you will endeavour to
make yourself agreeable to him.’
‘I will do my best, aunt,’ answered the young hypocrite demurely.
‘How thankful I am that we have got rid of that odious Mr Dulcimer!’
Bella’s black eyes danced with mischief; it was all she could do to
keep back a laugh. ‘O auntie, auntie, if you only knew!’ she whispered
to herself.
When she reached the door of the hotel, she could not resist turning
her head for a parting look. No one was about, and Dick blew her a
kiss. She blushed, she knew not why, but it was certainly not with
indignation.
‘Well,’ mused Mr Dulcimer with a sigh as he resumed his seat under
the tree; ‘if she won’t have me, I’ll cut the old country and try
sheep-farming at the antipodes. Capital cure for love, sheep-farming.’
Taking a pipecase out of his pocket, he extracted therefrom a highly
coloured meerschaum. ‘Come along, old friend; let you and me have a
confab together. Stay, though, is it the correct thing for a curate—and
I suppose everybody will insist on taking me for one—to smoke a
meerschaum? Well, if they don’t do it in public, lots of them do it in
private. Jolly fellows, some curates—others awful duffers.’ He rose
and stretched himself. ‘There must be a quiet nook somewhere among
those trees where a fellow can enjoy a whiff without the world being
the wiser?’ Whereupon he sauntered away towards the lower part of the
grounds, his hands behind his back and his book under his arm, totally
unaware that his movements were being watched by a pair of bright black
eyes from an upper window of the hotel.