"HE HAS COME BACK."
Mrs. Reade, being satisfied that she had found out Rachel's
complaint--as indeed she had--put her under treatment without delay.
On the very day of her interview with her mother in the store-room, she
sought and obtained permission to take the patient home with her for a
week's visit, in order to try the experiment of change and a new set of
dissipations, and to make her preliminary investigations undisturbed.
She had a charming house of her own at South Yarra, which she "kept"
admirably, and where, in an unpretensious manner, she had established a
little _salon_ that was a fashionable head centre in Melbourne society,
and well deserved by virtue of its own legitimate merits to be so.
She was not severely orthodox in these matters, like Mrs. Hardy, who
weighted her entertainments with any number of dull people, if they only
happened to be in the right set; though she was quite ready to
acknowledge the propriety of her mother's system in her mother's
circumstances.
There was no want of refinement in her hospitality, but there was a
delicate flavour of Bohemianism that, like the garlic rubbed on the
salad bowl, was the piquant element that made it delightful--to those,
at any rate, who were sufficiently intelligent to appreciate it.
If men and women were uninteresting, she could have nothing to do with
them, though they were the very "best people;" that is to say, she
limited her intercourse to those ceremonial observances which rigid
etiquette demanded.
If they were clever and cultured, and otherwise respectable and
well-behaved, and were capable of being fused harmoniously into the
general brightness of her little circle, she was inclined to condone a
multitude of sins in the matter of birth and station.
Artists of all sorts, travellers and politicians, distinguished members
of every profession (so long as their own merits and accomplishments
distinguished them) were welcome at her house; where they would be sure
to meet the most interesting women that a judicious woman, superior to
the petty weakness of her sex, could gather together.
So it was that Mrs. Edward Reade's afternoons and evenings were
synonymous with all that was intellectually refreshing and socially
delightful to those who were privileged to enjoy them.
But so it was, also, that Rachel, in consideration of her youth, her
impressionable nature, and what were supposed to be her democratic
tendencies, had not been allowed to know much about them hitherto.
"Now, however, the case is different," said Beatrice, authoritatively,
as she sat in her little pony carriage at the front door, waiting for
her cousin to come down stairs. "It will do her good to shake up her
ideas a little, and draw her out of herself. And if she does take an
undue interest in people of the lower orders"--looking at her mother
with mocking bright eyes--"it will be so much the better. Perhaps Signor
Scampadini, with that lovely tenor of his----"
"Oh, no, Beatrice. Mr. Kingston would very much dislike anything of that
sort."
"Anything of what sort?" laughed Mrs. Reade. "Mr. Kingston can trust
me, mamma. And we must counteract Mr. Dalrymple somehow."
"Mr. Kingston himself ought to counteract him--if there is any
counteracting necessary."
"Ah!" sighed Mrs. Reade, shaking her head slightly. She said no more,
but in her own mind she put that argument aside as useless.
There had been a time, indeed, when she had believed Mr. Kingston
sufficient for all purposes, on the basis of Rachel's apparently modest
spiritual needs; but now she knew she had been mistaken.
The girl had grown and changed since then, and the old conditions no
longer fitted her. The little woman was disappointed, but she was too
wise to make a fuss about it. Difficulties had come that she ought to
have foreseen and provided for, but since they had come, they must be
dealt with. "Ah!" she said, with a sigh and a smile; and that was the
extent of her lamentation.
So Rachel went away with her to South Yarra, and had a brilliant week of
it. The weather was warm and lovely, and the soft air full of the
delicate intoxication of spring time, to which she was peculiarly
susceptible.
She basked in sunshine as she rattled about Melbourne streets and
suburbs in Beatrice's little basket-carriage, and as she sat in
Beatrice's bow-windowed drawing-room, gossiping over afternoon tea.
She had a month's allowance of society dissipation of the most seductive
description in that week--music, dancing, _tableaux vivants_, dressing,
shopping, sightseeing, swarms of gay and witty company from noon till
midnight, every conceivable kind attention from her cousin, and the most
flattering homage from everybody else--all in an easy and cosy way that
was very charming and luxurious. It certainly cheered her up a great
deal.
We _do_ get cheered, against our intention and desire, against our
belief almost, by these little amenities that appeal to our superficial
tastes, even when we seem to ourselves to be full of trouble.
It is well for us that we are so susceptible to light impressions, to
the subtle influences of the daily commonplace, which are like delicate
touches to a crude picture in their effect upon our lives; if we were
not, our lives would hardly be worth having sometimes, crippled as they
are with great sudden griefs and disappointments, and wasted with the
lingering paralysis of spiritual loss and want.
Mrs. Reade, watching the effect of her prescription day by day, thought
things were going on very nicely, and took great credit to herself. She
could plainly perceive that the disturbing element in the family
arrangements was no trifling ball-room fancy; but she had great faith in
the girl's youth and gentle character, and in the efficacy of judicious
treatment, and it seemed to her that her faith had not been misplaced.
At any rate, she justified her reputation as a clever woman by the tact
she displayed in the management of her self-imposed task. No one could
have done more, under the circumstances, to further the desired end. She
did not have Mr. Kingston about her house too much; she thought Rachel
would appreciate him more if she had time to miss him a little. Nor did
she force the girl's confidence with respect to Mr. Dalrymple, or even
invite it in any way--that is to say, not in any way that was apparent
to _her_.
She took no notice of the obvious indications of her cousin's anxiety to
extricate herself from her engagement, though secretly they caused her
acute uneasiness. She was a kind little soul, and though quite content
with a _mariage de convenance_ herself, did not like to see another
woman driven into it against her will.
It was for Rachel's good that she should be tided over those temptations
to squander a substantial future for a romantic present, which were
peculiarly dangerous to a girl so undisciplined in worldly wisdom as
she, and it was absolutely necessary to guard her against the
machinations of profligate spendthrifts; but if she _could_ have fallen
in with the excellent arrangements that had been made for her, without
repugnance and suffering, what great cause for thankfulness there would
have been!
So, although she never wavered in her determination to do what she
considered her duty, she did it, not only with judgment, but with the
utmost gentleness and consideration.
She took Rachel to call on certain shabby and faded women who had made
rash marriages with poor or unsteady men, that she might see the
consequences of such imprudence in the sordid tastelessness of their
dress and their household furniture.
She likewise presented to her notice the charming spectacle of a young
bride of fashion, as she "received" on her return from her honeymoon,
surrounded by all the refinements of wealth and culture in a
perfectly-appointed home.
She spoke incidentally, but often, of the habits and customs of fast
young men, in general and in particular, drawing picturesque
illustrations from her own experience, which tended to show that they
invariably made love to every girl they came across, and forgot all
about her the moment her back was turned. She showed her poetic
photographs of foreign cities; she taught her the value of old lace and
china.
And by these and other insidious devices, she really contrived to do
something towards weakening the impression that Mr. Dalrymple had made,
and strengthening the antagonistic cause.
But when the week was over, and she took her young charge back to her
mother, intending to apply for an extension of leave, that she might
pursue the treatment that had proved so beneficial, alas! all her
patient work was undone in a moment, like the web of the Lady of
Shalott, when she left off spinning to look at the irresistible Sir
Lancelot riding by.
They arrived at the Toorak house rather late in the afternoon, after a
visit to the Public Library to see the last new picture, and one or two
entertaining calls; and they were told that Mrs. Hardy was out, but was
expected in every minute.
Rachel jumped down from the carriage first, and ran lightly up the white
steps into the hall, with a pleasant greeting to the servant who
admitted her; and there she stood a few seconds, to look round upon all
the familiar appointments, as people do when they return home after an
absence.
And as she looked, her eye fell upon a card on the hall table, which she
immediately picked up.
"John," she called sharply, wheeling round upon him with a sudden
fierceness of excitement that Mrs. Reade, a dozen yards off, understood
to mean disaster of some sort; "John, when did this gentleman call?"
"About half an hour ago, miss."
"Oh, _John_--only half an hour!"
"He said he would call again to-morrow, miss."
Mrs. Reade came softly into the hall, carelessly adjusting her long
train behind her.
"Who is it, dear?" she asked. But she had already guessed who it was.
Rachel held out the little slip of pasteboard with an unsteady,
shrinking hand. She could not speak. There was a great light and flush
of excitement in her face, which yet was as full of fear as joy.
"Roden Dalrymple," murmured Beatrice, reading hesitatingly, as if the
name were unfamiliar to her. "Is not that one of Lucilla's friends?"
"Yes," said Rachel, drawing a long breath and speaking softly. "He was
at Adelonga when we were there. He went away to Queensland, but--he has
come back."
"Evidently he has. What a pity we missed him. He may have brought us
some news from Adelonga. Oh, dear me, don't you want your tea very
badly? I do. John go and get us some tea, will you?"
Mrs. Reade did not intend to commit herself to any course of action
until she had time to think over this new and most embarrassing
complication, so she dismissed Mr. Dalrymple from the conversation.
Rachel turned the card about in her hands, reading its inscription over
and over again. She was going to carry it away; but she reluctantly went
back and laid it where she had found it. Then she followed Beatrice into
the drawing-room like one in a dream.
The little woman watched her closely from the corner of her bright eyes,
and she was terribly alarmed. She had had no idea until now what a
formidable person this Roden Dalrymple was. The girl was in a quiver of
excitement from head to foot. She wandered restlessly about the room,
vaguely fiddling at the furniture and ornaments; she could not control
her agitation.
John brought in the teapot, and Mrs. Reade peeled her gloves from her
small white hands, and rolling them into a soft ball, tossed them down
amongst the cups and saucers. She began to pour out the tea in silence,
wondering what in the world she had better do.
The silence was broken by the sound of carriage wheels crunching up the
drive. Rachel came to a standstill in the middle of the room, and
listened with a rigid intensity of expectation that was quite as painful
to her companion as her more demonstrative emotion had been.
They heard the bustle of Mrs. Hardy's arrival, heard John open the front
door, heard the sweep of silken draperies in the hall. And then they
heard a familiar voice, raised several notes above its ordinary pitch.
"John!"
"Yes'm."
"When did this gentleman call?"
"About an hour after you left'm."
"Did you tell him we were all out?"
"Yes'm. And he'll call again to-morrow, he says."
"Oh, indeed--will he! You'll just tell him, _whenever_ he calls, that I
am not at home, John--that _nobody_ is at home. Do you hear? That
gentleman is not to be admitted."
"Oh, you stupid woman!" Mrs. Reade sighed to herself, not meaning to be
disrespectful, but grudging to see delicate work marred by inartistic
hands.
And then she looked at Rachel, and realised the catastrophe that had
occurred. All the colour had gone out of the sensitive face, all its
agitation, all the soft, submissive tenderness that had characterised
it hitherto. She looked straight before her, with stern eyes full of
indignant passion, and with her lips set in a hard, thin line.
The meek little child, who had been so easy to manage, was going to
assert the rights of womanhood, and to take the conduct of her affairs
into her own hands.