MRS. OGILVIE.
"So you and Harvey are going for a drive?" Francesca remarked.
It was a tolerably fine afternoon three days later. The high dog-cart,
Harvey's favourite vehicle, stood before the front door, the two
spirited horses, Prince and Emperor, champing their bits and tossing
their heads, eager to be off. The men at their heads seemed to have
some trouble in restraining them. Julia was on the doorstep, dressed
in hat and jacket, a pair of gloves in her left hand. Mrs. Trevor had
come out of the drawing-room, with a woollen shawl round her
shoulders.
"I thought I had told you. Harvey has some business to arrange with a
gentleman eight miles off—Captain Woodthorpe is the name, I believe.
He asked me to go with him. You would not care for the drive."
"Thanks—not I! If Paris boulevards were in question, that would be
another matter. Nothing is more dismal than interminable country
lanes, with dead leaves dropping in all directions, and the prospect
of coming home in a pelt. Nothing to see, and nobody to see one! No;
I'll wait for East Bourne. There'll be a chance of meeting some human
beings on the parade. Besides, I don't like those horses. The last
time I went out they frightened me to death with their pranks."
"Harvey would know if they were not safe."
"Harvey knows everything, of course! My dear, what man ever thinks
about safety in connection with horses? He just wants to make a show.
So long as he has the best thorough-breds in the country round,
his neck may take its chance, and his wife's too. But I prefer not
to have mine broken."
"You won't keep well if you never go out."
"There's nothing to go out for in Westford. I don't want to cultivate
a country complexion, thanks—and my wardrobe wants attention. One will
have to be respectable in East Bonnie. Is Harvey still set upon not
going till Thursday or Friday in next week?"
"Quite!"
"Absurd! We shall just lose those lodgings in Mostyn Terrace. It's
nothing on earth but Hermione's nonsense, otherwise we might be off
on Tuesday. What does she mean to do?"
"I don't know," Julia answered, in an undertone.
"Nor anybody else, apparently. Mittie asked Miss Fitzalan if Hermione
meant to come with us, and Miss Fitzalan said she was not sure. If I
were Harvey, I would make her say 'Yes' or 'No' at once, without any
more nonsense."
"She has said 'No."
"In a passion; but that means nothing. I believe the Fitzalans won't
take her in, and she is waiting to arrange something else before she
speaks." A shrewd guess this on the part of Mrs. Trevor. "And Harvey
is just giving her extra time to make arrangements. If he had decided
to go straight off without delay, she would have had no choice about
coming. Much the best plan! Not that I want her in East Bourne, but I
shouldn't be sorry for once to see her compelled to give in."
"Francesca, do be careful! You will be overheard," Julia entreated,
in alarm at the raised tone.
"No fear, my dear! John hasn't any attention to spare from the horses.
And as for Hermione, she's going the round of her favourite cottages,
I suppose, preaching patience to all the old women, and expatiating
on her own wrongs. I wish some of them would preach to Hermione for a
change. She needs it, if any one does."
To Julia's relief, Harvey appeared. He seemed in unusually good
spirits, and she was much delighted at his proposal to take her
with him. Of late he had systematically avoided prolonged and
unnecessary têtes-à-tête. Twice, at least, when she had offered to be
his companion in the dog-cart, he had had out the brougham instead,
persuading Francesca to join them. The feeling appeared now to have
worn off.
The horses, once off and out of the garden, claimed all Harvey's
energies. John sat aloft behind, with folded arms and stolid face.
Julia was supremely happy, quite content to be silent and to watch
proudly her husband's capable handling of the reins. Ordinarily she
was apt to be nervous about horses, but when Harvey sat beside her
she did not know what fear meant.
"We have done our first two miles in style," Harvey remarked, when
they came to a hill so steep that the horses showed themselves willing
to walk. John dropped to the ground, and strode in their rear,
apparently glad to use his limbs.
"Have we really come two miles already? I never know distances
in Westford."
"What was Francesca saying about Hermione?"
The question took her by surprise, for he usually shirked as far as
possible all talk respecting Hermione and her doings. Julia glanced
at him quickly, but failed to decipher his look.
"She was wondering what Hermione would do about East Bourne. Nobody
seems to know."
"Hermione must come with us, of course. I depend upon you to arrange
that."
Julia felt and looked dismayed. "But I have no power over her."
"You are the right person. Francesca has nothing to do with it."
"But I don't think either Francesca or I could turn Hermione, if she
has made up her mind. She is so very determined."
"I always thought there was a spice of obstinacy—"
"Is that obstinacy? I thought it was firmness."
"People generally confuse the two. Determination will hear reason, and
obstinacy won't. Obstinacy sticks to what it has said, just because it
has said it. That is Hermione all over."
Julia could not question the assertion. She was aware of its truth.
"The fact is," Harvey added, "I particularly wish Hermione to go with
us, and I look to you to bring it about."
"Would you mind so very much if she paid a visit to the Fitzalans
instead?"
"Yes; and she will not go to them. I have had a few words with
Mr. Fitzalan; but don't mention this. He thinks with me that it is too
soon for a break, and that she will shake down better among us if we
have a few more weeks together—especially away from Westford. There
has been too much talk among the good folks here as to her real and
supposed troubles."
"Yes—perhaps—" Julia began, and paused. "Francesca will have it that
Hermione gossips with the old women in the cottages."
"It is not supposed to be gossip, but I dare say she manages to look
pathetic, and to work on their feelings. I want to get her out of it
all for a time."
"I don't see what I am to do."
"You must arrange it, my dear, one way or another. Women can always
manage these things. I should be extremely annoyed if Hermione stayed
behind just now. It would give additional colour to a great deal of
nonsense that is talked about her and us. And you must contrive
somehow to hinder Francesca from exciting her."
Two "musts" easy to utter, but hard to carry out—how hard Julia knew
too well. She made no further protests, however, only gave herself up
to consideration of the difficulty. The top of the hill was reached,
and John swung himself up behind. Then they were off again at full
speed, trees and hedges sweeping past unnoticed by Julia in her
abstraction.
"Is this Captain Woodthorpe's?" she asked, waking up with an
astonished start when the horses came to a standstill.
"This is Captain Woodthorpe's—queer little house, isn't it? And a
queer place for any man to choose! Not even a cottage within a quarter
of a mile."
"I suppose the village is not far-off."
"A mile or more. It must be deadly dull—two people living together."
"His wife?"
"No; his daughter. Will you come in? They are rather agreeable
people."
"O no; I would rather wait outside."
Harvey put the reins into her hands, John taking up his position once
more at the horses' heads. Julie studied dreamily the trellis-work
of the porch, and the jasmine trained prettily thereon, till roused
by voices.
A grey-haired man, thin and upright, stood beside her husband on the
gravel-walk; and beyond them was a lady in black, perhaps about
thirty-five years old, somewhat tall and largely built, with a pale
strong face, hardly handsome, but interesting from its sweetness and
its calm capability. The thought came to Julia, "That is one whom
I could lean upon in trouble!" She little dreamt how soon this should
be put to the test.
"Julia, Captain Woodthorpe and Mrs. Ogilvie wish you to come indoors
for a cup of tea."
Harvey handed her down, and Julia made no resistance. She was willing
to see more of Mrs. Ogilvie—a widow evidently, but a widow of a
different type from Mrs. Trevor. Greetings were exchanged, and the two
gentlemen returned to the Captain's study, whence apparently they had
emerged, while Julia found herself in a small sitting-room,
old-fashioned but cosy. Mrs. Ogilvie led her to a seat near the fire.
"It is chilly to-day," she said, "especially for driving. Will you not
take off your jacket, for fear of a chill when you go out?"
"I never take cold, thanks," Julia answered; and soon the question
followed, in some wonder, "Do you really live here all the year
round?"
"Except a month in London at Christmas."
"And you like it?"
Mrs. Ogilvie smiled. "My father does," she said.
"But you?"
"I should not mind a few neighbours near at hand."
"Have you none?"
"None near. I am a fairly good walker, and we have an untirable pony.
It is not, perhaps, the life I would choose; but, when a life is
chosen for one, apart from one's own wishes, there is the comfort
of knowing that it must be right."
"Is Captain Woodthorpe so fond of the country?"
"Yes, of absolute country, as country. He does not like a chimney-pot
to be within view, except his own. Not from any real objection
to society. I hardly know what gives rise to the feeling. He says
he cannot breathe comfortably among houses."
Julia looked her sympathy. Mrs. Ogilvie asked next—
"How is Miss Rivers?"
"Quite well, I believe." Julia grew suddenly shy. "Are you one of
Hermione's friends?"
"Not in any intimate sense. I was very fond of her mother in my
childhood, and that gives me a particular interest, of course,
in Hermione. We only meet occasionally, however. She is a pretty
girl."
"Yes," Julia assented.
"She was quite 'the old man's darling' while Mr. Dalrymple lived."
"Yes."
"And now, perhaps, she is a great pet with all of you?"
There was a curious expression hovering round Mrs. Ogilvie's lips
as she put the question. Did she expect an affirmative in reply?
Julia hesitated, then said—
"No!"
"Ah!" said Mrs. Ogilvie.
"I don't know why she is not. I wish she were. My husband and I wish
so much to make her happy. And everybody thinks Hermione so
wonderfully sweet and good; yet somehow we don't get on well. I could
love her if she would let me, but I always have a feeling of being
almost despised by Hermione. Perhaps I ought to say 'disdained.'
'Despised' is too strong an expression."
Julia had not had the least intention of saying all this. The words
broke from her, drawn out by that quiet comprehending face. She caught
herself up suddenly—
"I am sorry to say so much. Harvey would not be pleased. He hates
gossip, and, indeed, it isn't my way. Please don't let it go further;
and forget it yourself. Such things are best not talked about, and I
dare say we shall fit in better by-and-by. Perhaps it is partly my
fault that we don't now."
"No, I think not. I hardly expected to hear anything different,"
Mrs. Ogilvie answered. For half-a-minute she studied carefully the
young face before her. Twice Julia's black eyes were lifted to meet
the gaze, and sank before it. At the half-minute's close, to Julia's
exceeding surprise, Mrs. Ogilvie bent forward and kissed her cheek.
Julia flushed up brightly, with an odd shy sense of pleasure.
"Hermione is a girl of peculiar temperament, and she has had a
peculiar training," continued Mrs. Ogilvie. "I know her character
well. You need not regret having spoken frankly, for I never repeat
things. Perhaps I am as good a confidante as you could have chosen,
for having loved her mother so dearly seems to give me a kind of right
over the child herself. She is not a child now, but one clings to the
term."
"I don't think I have heard Hermione speak of you."
"Very likely not. I am not a great favourite of Hermione's."
Julia's wondering eyes made Mrs. Ogilvie laugh.
"My own fault, I am afraid. I had once to suggest to her that a
certain line of action was not right, and Hermione did not seem
grateful for the suggestion. But perhaps she has got over it now,
and I should like to see her again. Cannot you both drive over to
lunch one day next week?"