THE BAZAAR.
It was the first day of the bazaar.
The weather was mild and bright, and the whole town wore an aspect of
excitement. The interior of the hall was not perhaps a vision of
artistic harmony; the carping critic might have seen in it a striking
resemblance to the brilliant, old-fashioned patchwork quilt which
some good woman had sent as her contribution, and which was now being
subjected to a fire of small wit and adverse criticism, in the
process of being raffled; but, to the inhabitants of the place, such
a sight was worth crossing the county to behold, and indeed, at the
worst, it was a bright and festive scene with its brave bunting and
festoons of evergreens.
"Let Kirkstoun flourish!" was inscribed in letters of holly along the
front of the gallery, in which a very fair brass band, accustomed
apparently to performing in the open air, was pouring forth jaunty
and dashing national music, which fell with much acceptance on
well-balanced nerves.
The bazaar had formally been declared open by the great local patron,
Sir Roderick Allison of Balnamora, and already the crowd was so great
that movement was becoming difficult. Whatever Mona's feelings had
been before the "function" came on, she was throwing herself into it
now with heart and soul. All the day before she had been hard at
work, draping, arranging, vainly attempting to classify; and the
Bonthrons had many times found occasion to congratulate themselves on
their choice of an assistant. The good ladies had very shyly offered
to provide her with a dress for the occasion,--"something a little
brighter, you know, than that you have on; not but what that's very
nice and useful."
"Thank you very much," Mona had replied frankly. "I should be very
glad to accept your kind offer, but I have something in London which
I think will be suitable. I will ask a friend to send it."
So now she was looking radiant, in a gown that was quiet enough too
in its way, but which was so obviously a creation that it excited the
attention of every one who knew her.
"She _does_ look a lady!" said the Miss Bonthron with the eyeglass.
"Well, my dear," replied the one with the curls, "she might have
_been_ a lady, if her father had lived. They say he was quite a
remarkable man, like his father before him. Where would we be
ourselves if Father had not laid by a little property? I suppose it
is all ordained for the best."
"I call it simply ridiculous for a shop-girl to dress like that,"
said Clarinda Cookson to her sister. "It is frightfully bad taste.
Anybody can see that she never had on a dress like that in her life
before. She means to make the most of this bazaar. It is a great
chance for her."
Matilda bit her lip, and did not answer. By dint of long effort,
silence was becoming easier to her.
And now none of the stall-holders had any leisure to think of dress,
for this was the time of day when the people come who are really
prepared to buy, independently of the chance of a bargain; and money
was pouring in. Mona was hard at work, making calculations for her
patronesses, hunting for "something that would do for a gentleman,"
sympathising with the people who were strongly attracted by a few,
and a few things only, on her stall, and those the articles that were
ticketed "sold,"--striving, in short, for the moment, to be all
things to all men.
She felt that day as if she had received a fresh lease of youth.
Nothing came amiss to her. She was the life and soul of her corner
of the hall, much to the delight of Doris, who, fair, serene, and
sweet, was watching her friend in every spare moment from the
adjoining stall. Perhaps the main cause conducing to Mona's good
spirits was the fact that Rachel was confined to the house with a
cold. Mona was honestly and truly sorry for her cousin's
disappointment; she would gladly have borne the cold and confinement
vicariously; but as that was impossible--well, it was pleasant for a
day or two to be responsible only for her bright young self.
In a surprisingly short time the ante-prandial rush was over, and
there was a comparative lull, during which stall-holders could
compare triumphant notes, or even steal away to the refreshment-room.
But now there was a sudden stir and bustle at the door.
"Well, I declare," exclaimed Miss Bonthron eagerly, "if this is not
the party from the Towers!"
The two great local magnates of the neighbourhood were Sir Roderick
Allison of Balnamora and Lord Kirkhope of the Towers. Sir Roderick,
in his capacity of member for the eastern part of the county, took an
interest in all that went on in the place; and although his presence
at public gatherings was always considered a great honour, it was
treated very much as a matter of course. The Kirkhopes, on the other
hand, lived a frivolous, fashionable, irresponsible life;
acknowledged no duties to their social inferiors, and were content to
show their public spirit by permitting an occasional flower-show in
their grounds; so, if on any occasion they did go out of their way to
grace a local festivity, their presence was considered an infinitely
greater triumph than was that of good bluff Sir Roderick. The
parable of the prodigal son is of very wide application; and, where
humanity only is concerned, its interpretation is sometimes a very
sinister one.
Lady Kirkhope had filled her house with a large party of people for
the Christmas holidays; and some sudden freak had induced her to
bring a number of them in to the Kirkstoun Bazaar, just as a few
months earlier she had taken her guests to the fair at St Rules, to
see the fat woman and the girl with two heads. "Anything for a
lark!" she used to say, and it might have been well if all the
amusements with which she sought to while away her sojourn in the
country had been as rational as these. As it was, good, staid
country-people found it a little difficult sometimes to see exactly
wherein the "lark" consisted. Even this fact, however, tended rather
to increase than to diminish the excitement with which the great
lady's arrival was greeted at the bazaar.
Mona, not being a native, was but little interested in the
new-comers, save from a money-making point of view; and she was
leaning idly against the wall, half-smiling at the commotion the
event had caused, when all at once her heart gave a leap, and the
blood rushed madly over her face. Within twenty yards of her, in
Lady Kirkhope's party, chatting and laughing, as he used to do in the
good old days, stood the Sahib. There was no doubt about it. A
correct morning dress had taken the place of the easy tweeds and the
old straw hat, but the round, brotherly, boyish face was the same as
ever. The very sight of it called up in Mona's mind a flood of happy
reminiscences, as did the friendly face of the moon above the
chimney-pots to the home-sick author of _Bilderbuch_.
Oh, it was good to see him again! For one moment Mona revelled in
the thought of all they would have to say to each other, and then----
"My dear," said Miss Bonthron, "I think you have some little
haberdashery-cases like this in your shop. How much do you think we
might ask for it?"
Like the "knocking at the door in _Macbeth_," the words brought Mona
back to a world of prose realities. With swift relentless force the
recollection rushed upon her mind that the Sahib had come with the
"county people" to honour the bazaar with his presence; while she was
a poor little shop-girl, who had been asked to assist, partly as a
great treat, and partly because of her skill in subtracting
three-and-sixpence from the pound.
"Half-a-crown we price them. I think you might say three shillings
here," she said, smiling; but deep down in her mind she was thinking,
"Oh, I hope, I hope he won't notice me! Doris is bad enough, but
picture the Sahib in the shop!" She broke into a little laugh that
was half a sob, and her eyes looked suspiciously bright.
"Mona," said Doris, coming up to her suddenly, "somebody is looking
very charming to-day, do you know?"
"Yes," said Mona boldly, flashing back the compliment in an admiring
glance; "I have been thinking so all morning, whenever intervening
crowds allowed me to catch a glimpse of her."
"I have been longing so to say to all the room, 'Do you see that
bright young thing? She is a medical student!'"
"Pray don't!" said Mona, horrified. "My cousin would never forgive
you--nor, indeed, for the matter of that, should I. How are you
getting on?"
"My dear," was the reply, "I have sold more rubbish this morning than
I ever even saw before. After all, the secret of success at bazaars
lies solely in the fact that there is no accounting for taste!"
At this moment a customer claimed Mona's attention, and, when she
looked up again, Doris was in earnest conversation with an elderly
gentleman. Mona overheard something about "women's power."
"Women," was the reply, delivered with a courteous bow, "have no
power, they have only influence."
Doris flushed, then said serenely, "We won't dispute it. Influence
is the soul, of which power is the outward form."
How sweet she looked as she stood there, her flower-like face
uplifted, her dimpled chin in air, shy yet defiant! Mona thought she
had never seen her friend look so charming, so utterly unlike
everybody else. A moment later she perceived that she was not alone
in her admiration. Unconscious that he was observed, a man stood a
few yards off, listening to the conversation with a comical
expression of amused, admiring interest; and that man was the Sahib.
Take your eyes off him, Mona, Mona, if you do not wish to be
recognised! Too late! A wave of sunlight rushed across his face,
kindling his homely features into a glow that gladdened Mona's heart,
and swept away all her hesitation. Verily she could trust this man,
whom all women looked upon as a brother.
He resolutely dismissed the sunshine from his face, however, as he
came up and shook hands. He could not deny that he was glad to see
her, but nothing could alter the fact that she had treated him very
badly.
"I called on you in London," he said in an injured tone, after their
first greetings had been exchanged, "but it was a case of 'Gone; no
address.'"
"Oh, I am sorry," said Mona. "It never occurred to me that you would
call."
He looked at her sharply. Her regret was so manifest that he could
not doubt her sincerity; and yet it was difficult sometimes to
believe that she was not playing fast and loose. It was not as if
she were an ordinary girl, ready to flirt with any man she met. Was
it likely, after all they had said to each other in Norway, that he
would let her slip out of his life without a protest? Was it
possible that the idea of his calling upon her in London had never
crossed her mind?
Mona was very far from guessing his thoughts. Strong in the
conviction that she was not a "man's woman," she expected little from
men, and counted little on what they appeared to give. She had a
feeling of warm personal friendship for the Sahib, but it had never
occurred to her to wonder what his feeling might be for her. Had
they met after a separation of ten years, she would have welcomed
with pleasure the cordial grasp of his hand; but that in the meantime
he should go out of his way to see her, simply, as she said, never
crossed her mind.
"Who would have thought of meeting you at a bazaar?" he said.
"It is I who should have said that. But, in truth, I am not here by
any wish of my own. The arrangement was made for me. I should have
looked forward to it with more pleasure if I had known I was to meet
you."
His face brightened. "It is my turn now to protest that it is I who
should have said that! My hostess brought a party of us. I am
helping to spend Christmas in the old style at the Towers. Where are
you staying, or have you just come over for the function?"
Mona's heart sank. "No; I am visiting a cousin in the neighbourhood."
"Then I hope I may give myself the pleasure of calling. Have you had
lunch?"
"Not yet."
"That is right. I am sure you can be spared for the next quarter of
an hour."
Mona introduced him to Miss Bonthron as a "family friend," and then
took his arm. Now that they had met, no ridiculous notions of
propriety should prevent their seeing something of each other.
"Do you know Lady Kirkhope?" he asked, as he piloted the way through
the hall.
"No. I had better tell you at once that I am not in the least likely
to know her; I----"
"Lady Kirkhope," said the Sahib suddenly, stopping in front of a
vivacious dame, "I am sure you will be glad to make the acquaintance
of Miss Maclean. She is the daughter of Gordon Maclean, of whom we
were talking last evening."
"Then I am proud to shake hands with her," said the lady graciously.
"There are very few men, Miss Maclean, whom I admire as I did your
father."
A few friendly words followed, and then the Sahib and Mona continued
their way.
"Oh, Mr Dickinson," said Mona, when they had reached the large
refreshment-room, and were seated in a deserted corner, "what _have_
you done?"
"Well, what have I done!" said the Sahib, in good-humoured
mystification. "I ought to have asked your permission before
introducing you in a place like this; but Lady Kirkhope is not at all
particular in that sort of way, and we met her so _à propos_. I am
sure you would not mind if you knew how she spoke of your father."
"It is not that." Mona drew a long breath. "It is not your fault in
the least, but I don't think any human being was ever placed in such
a false position as I am." She hesitated. When she had first seen
the glad friendly smile on the Sahib's face, she had fancied it would
be so easy to tell him the whole story; but now the situation seemed
so absurd, so grotesque, so impossible, that she could not find words.
"Mr Dickinson," she said at last, "Lady Munro really is my aunt."
"She appears to be under a strong impression to that effect."
"And Gordon Maclean was my father."
"So I have heard."
"And my mother, Miss Lennox, was a lady whom any one would have been
glad to know."
"That I can answer for!"
"But I never told you all that? I never traded on my relatives or
even spoke of them?"
"I scarcely need to answer that question. Your exordium is striking,
but don't keep me in suspense longer than you can help."
Mona did not join in his smile.
"All that," she said with a great effort, "is true; and it is equally
true that at the present moment I am living with a cousin who keeps a
small shop at Borrowness. I have been asked to sell at this bazaar
simply because--_c'est mon mètier, à moi_. I ought to do it well.
Now you know why I did not wish to be introduced to Lady Kirkhope."
It was a full minute before the Sahib spoke, and then his answer was
characteristic.
"What on earth," he asked, "do you do it for?"
Mona was herself again in a moment.
"Why do I do it?" she said proudly. "Why should I not do it? My
cousin has as much claim on me as the Munros have, and she needs me a
great deal more. If I must stand or fall by my relatives, I choose
to fall with Rachel Simpson rather than to stand with Lady Munro."
She rose to go, but he caught her hand.
"You said once that you had no wish to measure your strength against
mine," he said, in a low voice. "I don't mean to let you go, so
perhaps you had better sit down. It would be a pity to have a scene."
"Let my hand go in any case."
"Honest Injun?"
She yielded unwillingly with a laugh.
"Honest Injun," she said. "As we are here, I will stay for ten
minutes," and she laid her watch on the table.
"That is right. I never knew any difficulty that was made easier by
refusing to eat one's lunch."
"I don't admit that I am in any difficulty, and your way, too, is
clear." She made a movement of her head in the direction of the
door. "I am only sorry that you did not give me a chance to tell you
all this before you introduced me to Lady Kirkhope. If I had known
you were coming, I should have given you a hint to avoid me."
"Miss Maclean," he said, "will you allow me to say that you are a
little bit morbid?"
She met his eyes with a frank full glance from her own.
"That is true," she said, with sudden conviction.
"And for a woman like you to see that you are morbid is to cease to
be morbid."
"I am sure I don't want to be; but indeed it is so difficult to see
what is simple and right. I have often smiled to think how I told
you in summer, that the 'great, puzzling subject of compromise' had
never come into my life."
"You said on the same occasion, if I remember rightly, that my life
was infinitely franker and more straightforward than yours. I
presume you don't say so still?"
"I do, with all my heart."
"H'm. Do you think it likely that I would go routing up poor
relations for the pleasure of devoting myself exclusively to their
society?"
Mona's face flushed. "Mr Dickinson," she said, "I ought to tell you
that I arranged to come to my cousin before I met the Munros. I
don't say that I should not have done it in any case, but I made the
arrangement at a time when, with many friends, I was practically
alone in the world. And also,"--she thought of Colonel Lawrence's
story,--"even apart from the Munros, if I had known all that I know
now, about circumstances in the past, I am not sure that I should
have come at all. That is all my heroics are worth."
"You are a magnificently honest woman."
"I am not quite sure that I am not the greatest humbug that ever
lived. Two minutes more. Do you bear in mind that Lady Kirkhope
said she would call on me?"
"I will see to that. Am I forgiven for introducing you to her?"
Mona smiled. "I shall take my revenge by introducing you to a much
greater woman, my friend Doris Colquhoun."
"When am I to meet you again? May I call?"
"No."
"How do you get home to-night?"
"Miss Bonthron sends me in a cab."
"Shall you be at the ball?"
"No."
"You can easily get a good chaperon?"
"Oh yes."
"Will you go to the ball if I ask it as a personal favour to me?"
Mona reflected. "I don't see why I should not," she said simply.
"Thank you. And in the meantime, Miss Maclean, don't be in too great
a hurry to stand or fall with anybody. You have not only yourself to
think of, you know; we are all members one of another. And now
behold your prey! Take me to your stall, and I will buy whatever you
like."
The Sahib was not the only victim who yielded himself up unreservedly
to Mona's tender mercies that day. Mr Brown came to the bazaar in
the afternoon with a five-pound note in his pocket, and something
more than four pound ten was spent at Miss Bonthron's stall.