and words in the brief conversation that had passed, and she felt her
heart failing her in a curious way. 'It is true,' she thought; 'the
chief attachment of my life is crumbling away. As long as I was first
with Cuthbert, he did not see what a faulty, foolish, inconsistent
creature I am. Dora's placid little perfections show me up in a lurid
light. After this he cannot see me without criticising me--without
wondering how, at one time, I seemed to him so dear and lovable. And
I--I shall always be conscious of it, and always say horrid things. Oh,
it is no use my drawing out a little set of rules, resolving to be more
gentle, and sweet, and patient. The things I say, for which I
afterwards hate myself, come to me with handles. "Is this a dagger that
I see before me?" No, it is a stupid little bodkin, that generally
contrives to scratch me. I seem to have got to that stage of life in
which I must take myself for better or worse, as people do in
marriage--meaning mostly for worse. Perhaps, when the glow of courtship
and the honeymoon are over, Cuthbert may cease to criticise me--but that
is too far away to be consoling. I have the unfortunate Australian
temperament. I want the share that falleth to my lot now. And then
there will be not only Dora, whose eyes get rounder at everything I say,
but there will be an elder sister eternally singing out of
tune--practising a little song with a moral in its tail, to sing at a
servantmaids' friendly association. Poor things! it is no wonder they
disappear like the mangles that are bought with subscriptions. After
all, Shah and Ted are less objectionable than many things in life.'
She mocked herself, as she habitually did when she was bent on keeping
sterner, more serious thoughts at a distance. Yet before she fell asleep
her pillow was wet with tears. In the days that followed the brother
and sister gradually drifted apart. He was constantly with the Carters
and their friends during his hours of relaxation from parochial work.
Stella, swayed by a variety of motives, conceived almost a horror of the
Carter household. She even repented of having called Dora 'a little
darling' at their first interview. She described her to Ted as opening
her eyes wide like an automatic doll.
'You don't like having your nose put out of joint, I can see that,'
answered Ted, with an amused chuckle.
Stella made a slight grimace at him, and gave Shah his head. As they
were trotting up the Toorak road, Ted spoke again:
'You see, Stella, that's one strong point about me. I'll never throw
you over for anybody.'
'Oh, for the matter of that, Cuth hasn't; only he's got engaged to the
wrong sort of family. When you get engaged, Ted, please see that the
lady you love has not three unmarried sisters--the eldest desperately
unmusical, but bent on singing.'
'Well, you see, the lady I love has only one unmarried sister. But, of
course, you had that in your mind when you spoke,' said Ted, smiling to
himself under his moustache.
Stella laughed merrily at the imputation.
'Now confess,' said Ted, as they slackened their horses' pace and
dropped into a walk, 'you would be horribly cross if I came to-morrow
morning and said I had got engaged, and instead of begging you to ride
Shah, took out the other young woman.'
*CHAPTER XXIII.*
Next morning the rain came down in torrents. It was out of the question
to go out riding. Nor could Ted make an appointment for the afternoon,
in case it cleared. Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs had formed one of those sudden
attachments for Miss Courtland which characterized the Melbourne lady's
social career. Already, in writing to Stella, she addressed her as an
'ever dear,' and this was the day on which the new 'ever dear' was to be
at Toorak House at twelve o'clock, and spend a quiet evening with a few
special friends.
'That means the people who have souls and pens, Stella,' said Laurette.
'Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs always reads people's characters at a glance. She
quite took you in the first day. You are so sweet and fresh and
naive--so open to new ideas. Fancy my listening to all this without
betraying you!'
'By Jove! you women are a rum lot,' broke in Ted, who stood staring out
through the window, beating a tattoo on his boot with a riding-whip.
'Thank you, dear,' said Laurette, with a pert little bow.
'Yes; here's that Hobbs woman flying at Stella with both arms when they
meet, and Stella going for all the day and most of the night with her;
and then I'll swear she'll have some comic story when she comes back,
like that one about the lean sheep and the Mallee and the native
companion.'
Laurette looked thoroughly mystified. Though Stella dearly loved to
tell a funny story, she was very careful not to make a confidante of one
with so slippery a tongue as Laurette's. Ted perceived the situation,
and his heart beat with joy. Stella was sitting on a low arm-chair near
the fire, cutting the leaves of a magazine. Ted sat down on the
fender-stool at her feet, and said in an undertone: 'After all, what you
told me in the top of the she-oak so many years ago is quite true.'
'Oh, as for Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs, she gives herself away to everyone,' said
Laurette viciously. There had been an ardent friendship at one time
between the two, which had long since been offered up as alms to
oblivion, and Laurette suspected that Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs had confided
some story to Stella under the bond of secrecy. 'There was that absurd
story about herself and the Russian commander last season. Oh, I mean
when the Russian man-of-war was here. Of course, Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs gave
a grand ball, and Joseph--that's her husband--rather forgot himself. She
was so mortified, she began to speak to the commander in a bow-window,
and a broken voice, of the withering bonds of the conjugal life, just
merely to show off how sensitive and refined she was. She didn't mean a
word of it, you know. The commander thought she was proposing to elope
with him, and explained in fragmentary English that his official
position would not permit any irregularity, but that he hoped to return
before long.'
'Really, Laurette, I don't think you should tell a story like that
before me,' said Ted, who was engaged in trying to purloin a bow of
ribbon off Stella's shoe.
'And then the way she dresses,' said Laurette, who, like many others,
found it difficult to curb her enthusiasm as soon as she had begun
discussing an absent friend. 'You noticed her the other evening at
Government House, arrayed in an extraordinary pea-green, with yellow
marabout feathers on the train? She reads the "Court Circular," you
know, and makes a point of dressing like a young princess--quite
forgetting she is getting on in life, and never had a complexion.'
'If you say much more, I shall stay to see you hugging and kissing her
when she comes in,' said Ted, slipping a knot of crimson satin ribbon
into his vest pocket.
'That reminds me; I must write a note or two before I go,' said Stella.
One of these was to Louise, her brother Hector's wife, at
Lullaboolagana.
'You say you are not very well, and are longing to see me,' she wrote.
'Well, if you write in your answer "I want you at once," you will see me
twenty-four hours after I get it. I feel an ungrateful wretch--for
Laurette is all kindness in her way--but the Mallee Scrub spoils one for
the kind of society in which money is the one great distinction, and
where women have no time for anything but to be insignificant victims of
those sinister successes of life which end in choking it with
superfluities. As for Cuth--ah me!--one little dimple of Dora's pretty
face is worth all I am or can be. Yes, this is partly jealousy--a mean
sort of reptile which I used to think I was quite above. I suppose we
are above most failings as long as there is no temptation.'
'Well, Ted,' said his sister, when the two were alone, 'it seems to me
that you and Stella are getting on.'
Laurette did not really think so; but money affairs were day by day
assuming a sterner aspect, and she was anxious to make belief in the
success of Ted's suit a ground for making 'sacrifices' on his behalf.
Laurette's ideal of a sacrifice was making someone pay very heavily for
an action that had cost her nothing.
'Oh, do you think so?' answered Ritchie. Then he walked up and down the
room for a little. 'Look here, Larry,' he said suddenly, 'do you think
Stella has heard anything?'
Laurette was just then like a _chiffonnier_, who discards nothing that
comes to hand till it is examined at leisure.
'I do not know,' she answered slowly; 'what makes you ask?'
'Well, at times she is so merry and full of fun; then she gets a silent
fit; and though we are friendly, we never seem to get any further. The
more I see of her the less I know what is going to happen.'
'She doesn't know herself. Stella Courtland is one of those girls who
seem to be wise and even strong-minded--but all the time she is torn in
twenty directions. It runs all through her. At seventeen she wouldn't
be confirmed, because she wanted to be a Catholic. She has never been
confirmed to this day, and never turned Catholic. She stays away from
Church far more than I do, and yet she'll read her Bible by the hour, as
if it were a French novel. She scoffs at people thinking they can do
any good to the poor, and still she has a trick of going to see them and
listening to everything they choose to say far more patiently than she
would to you or me. She has been absurdly fond of her brother Cuthbert
all her life; and instead of being glad he has got engaged to a pretty
well-connected girl, she mopes over it. I have no doubt she thinks in
her heart that I am a very poor shallow creature; but at any rate I know
what I want, and I generally succeed in getting it; and for once I
change my mind, she changes hers fifty times. Let her go on a little
longer, and if the whim should take her in the end that she doesn't care
to marry you, I think I can bring her to her bearings. It used to be a
great weakness with her, even as a girl, to believe she could do good.
It's a sort of family superstition. She may not have it very strong
now; but still enough to get at her through her conscience.'
'Through her conscience!' repeated Ritchie; as though in the case of a
woman this were a theological abstraction, not to be lightly brought up
in secular conversation.
'Yes, precisely,' returned Laurette, with a firm voice. Conscience was,
on the whole, the mental faculty of which she knew least, and she felt
therefore all the better qualified to reckon on its mystic influence
with a character so unstable. 'But after giving you so much
encouragement, she'll never finally reject you.'
'Well, as to the encouragement, Larry, it's more that I won't give in,
you see--and take "no" for an answer.'
'Then don't be impatient. The longer you are thrown together in this
sort of way the better for you.'
When Stella came back from Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs' that evening, she found
Laurette looking very much discomposed over a telegram that awaited her
return from a musical evening at Sir Thomas and Lady Danby's, who were
next-door neighbours at Monico Lodge. She said nothing, however, as to
the cause of her evident vexation, but chatted about the events of the
day until Ted came in. He launched into details of a dinner that had
been given at the Melbourne Club to Colonel Aldersley, prior to his
departure for England.
'There was little Jingo of Wyoming,' he said, 'laying it on as usual
with a trowel: "The presence of men like Colonel Aldersley amongst us,"
says he, "has more than social significance. It is the influence of
such high-toned people that rivets the bonds that bind us to the
mother-country," and a lot more I can't remember. And there was the
colonel trying to look as if he believed it, and the other fellows
jogging each other, and little Eardley Everson--a brat of a boy of
eighteen, who has lost over L20,000 to the colonel--pinching himself to
see if he was awake.'
Stella was much diverted by this, but Laurette re-read her telegram with
a care-laden face. Then she left the room, saying she would be back in
a few minutes.
On this, Ted entered into more personal talk.
'I say, Stella, what do you call that dress you have on--I mean, what
stuff is it?'
'Crepe de Chine--pale pink, as you see!'
'And that stuff peeping out round your shoulders?'
'Cream-coloured crepe lisse.'
'Would you mind being married just in a dress like that?'
'Why, Ted, that's like fishing for an invitation!'
'Nothing of the sort. Who ever heard of a bridegroom asking to be
invited to---- Now, Stella, don't move; sit just as you are. And what
are these roses in your hair and bosom?'
'Scarlet fairy roses. Aren't they too dear and sweet? Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs
still has heaps of them, though they were nearly over with us when I
left home.'
'Tell me about Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs before Larry comes back. I won't let
the cat out of the bag on you this time!'
Stella was sitting on her favourite chair, near the fire. The flames
leaped rosily, and cast rosy reflections on her face--stealing to it on
each side of the Japanese screen, with its flock of wide-winged storks
hovering above their slender bamboos. Ritchie had planted himself
straight in front of her, sitting horseback fashion on a chair, his
hands, which were crossed on the back of it, supporting his chin.
At this request Stella began to laugh, and her eyes sparkled with
amusement. It was the expression that her companion best loved to see
her wear. When she looked like that he always understood what she said.
'Oh, the salon, Ted; it was really too funny. You must know that after
dinner we assembled in what Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs calls her boudoir, but it
is as large as any ordinary drawing-room. It is hung with panels of
peach-coloured satin, very beautifully embroidered--some with Graces and
Cupids tumbling over wreaths of roses. But the design I liked best was
a great spray of double white cherry-blossoms, with a pair of sweet
little gray love-birds billing in the midst----'
'Yes, they're jolly little animals. I wish some people would take a
little more after them.'
'Now, if you interrupt I must remember bow late it is. Perhaps I ought
to tell you that this work was done by a Russian countess that Mrs.
Anstey-Hobbs met abroad. She got into trouble with her husband, or the
Government, or something. So one night, instead of returning home from
a ball, she ran away to the Riviera, where she designed and worked
lovely things for people who have two hundred thousand sheep in the
woods of Australia. When you come to think of it, there is something
that fascinates the mind in the idea of eloping with a crewel-needle
from the reach of the police, or an objectionable husband.'
'Nonsense, Stella; no woman worth her salt runs away from her husband
like that,' answered Ted promptly. He may have had reasons of his own
for entertaining strict views on this point. 'Besides, if you knew all,
you may depend it was not with a crewel-needle she eloped.'
'Well, at any rate it was with a crewel-needle she lived. And she was
known as the Countess Olga. But where was I? Oh, the salon--well, you
must figure to yourself that Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs was draped _artistement_
in a wonderful Indian fabric, and that she lived in an enormous armchair
covered with citron-coloured velvet. Beside her was a little octagon
table carved out of Angola ivory; on it the daintiest little notebook in
the world with jewelled clasps--a notebook in which to enter the _bons
mots_ of the evening.'
'What are _bons mots_? Have I ever heard any?'
'Oh, Ted, Ted--to think that I climbed trees with you in my infancy, and
have seen you at intervals ever since, and that you should ask such a
question! How shall I explain--it must be in the concrete. You
remember the last time you were out riding you told me of an Oxford man
who was a knock-about-hand at Strathhaye for some time, and how,
speaking of the old Greeks once, he said their only idea of trade was
piracy, and I answered it remained for modern times to combine the two?
Well, that was something in the nature of a _bon mot_.'
'Oh, you are always saying things of that kind. But why the dickens
should the old frump want to put them in a notebook?'
'Why, indeed,' answered Stella, laughing heartily. 'Well, you see, Ted,
the prosperity of a salon depends on its _bons mots_--but I am obliged
to confess I did not hear any. There were twenty of us, and the first
part of the evening was monopolized by a Yankee newspaper-man, who sends
columns of lies every week to a daily paper in New York. He stood with
his back to the fire, and held forth through his nose for nearly an hour
on the merits of cremation. He proved conclusively that a casket ten
inches by eight would contain the calcined ashes of an adult. And then
he asked the host in an audible aside for a "nip of dog's nose." What
in the world is that?'
It was now Ted's turn to laugh. 'Why, it's a horrid mess made of gin
and beer mixed.'
'Then that accounts for Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs' confusion. She told me
beforehand that in striving to establish a _salon d'esprit_ she was
determined to keep the grosser pleasures of the palate in the
background--to have nothing more material than macaroons and lemonade.
I think Mr. Hobbs himself went to brew the unholy mixture. I am sure he
would not dare to ask it from the butler, who is a magnificent creature,
whose former life has been passed in the bosom of the British nobility.
What can be keeping Laurette so long?'
'Oh, I dare say the kiddies have got measles or something,' answered
Ted. 'Go on, Stella, tell me some more. Were there many to dinner?'
'Yes, about a dozen. These endless costly dinners are my horror. I
like my food plain and unmixed, like a bird or a peasant. On one side
of me there was a parched-up-looking woman, who seemed to be in a state
of nervous tension about her spoons and forks. On the other a man
hardly middle-aged, who gobbled away till the veins on his forehead
stood out. Pastor Fiedler's nine little pigs used to dine much more
peacefully, and then their grunts were so much more eloquent than
anything he said.'
'I've been to Toorak House a few times,' said Ted, laughing. 'It always
seemed crammed up with things from everywhere.'
'Oh yes; I should think that temples in the far East must have been
rifled for screens, and rugs, and mantel-drapes. There are some things
I have quite fallen in love with. One is a very old Egyptian
drinking-cup--greenish-gray, in the shape of a lotus-leaf. Another is a
slender Etrurian vase in jade.... But how late it is!' she cried
suddenly. 'Laurette must be seeing the children through all the phases
of a lingering malady. Good-night, Ted.'
'Good-night.' But he did not release her hand. 'Oh, Stella, if you
would let me take one kiss--just one. You did once before, you know,
when we were engaged--that afternoon in the garden at Fairacre.'
She drew back, but he had taken both her hands, and held them firmly in
his.
'Let me go at once, Ted,' she cried in quick anger and something of
dismay.
'Stella, when is this to come to an end? How long am I to wait and beg,
and play the fool? Have pity on me. You do like me a little. That's
all I want to begin with. You have thought that you might marry me; you
must have thought that you would let me kiss you. There, don't look as
if I frightened you. Try and make up your mind----'
'I have made up my mind,' she cried, sweeping past him, an indignant
flush on her face.
It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, and she found Maisie fast
asleep in the dressing-room, where she had been waiting her mistress's
return. Stella made her go to bed at once, but she herself sat in a
dressing-gown by her bedroom fire. She was angry; first at Ted and then
herself. It was ridiculous of her to sit and talk with him so long.
Laurette was a sneak, who had no doubt purposely stayed away. Even
chaperons had not been invented without a cause. Probably the most
jaded institutions of society were founded upon some battered relic of
reason. But was it necessary to run full tilt against them before
acknowledging this?
How absurd it was getting, this determined, endless wooing! What would
be the end of it? Her anger died away as she tried to answer the
question. She could not pretend to dislike Ted. She reflected on the
endless variation of dulness that entered so largely into the lives of
the bulk of women. After all, money was one of the greatest safeguards
against that mildew of unexpectant monotony with which the years were so
largely infected when once one began to find things out. She was really
beginning to feel as if Ted had a right to her. Finally, she resolved
that she would hasten her departure for Lullaboolagana, and there make a
final, an irrevocable decision. Then she pictured herself writing to
Ted; no, she would see him, it would be kinder; she would ask him to
meet her in Melbourne on her way back. 'Ted, this must come to an end.
You must take my final answer; I cannot marry you.' Would he call it
'coming a cropper,' and rend her with reproaches? And then a little
panic seized her, that no reason she could urge would stand the tide of
Ted's remonstrances. She did not acknowledge it to herself, and yet a
vague consciousness underlay her musings, that the masterful way in
which he had held her hands, and looked at her with ardent eyes, made
some hitherto unknown chord of her nature vibrate in unison with his
will. Perhaps it was a faint reminiscence in her blood of the remote
ancestresses of pre-civilization, who were knocked on the head if they
did not fall in with the marital arrangements made for them.
*CHAPTER XXIV.*
Stella had not been unfair in conjecturing that Laurette's absence from
the drawing-room, after her brother came in, was not accidental. It had
not, however, been her design to stay away so long, a circumstance which
was in point of fact due to her having a bitter fit of crying. This was
with her an extremely unusual circumstance, and was caused by no
sentimental weakness. The laconic telegram she had received would not
of itself have thrown much light on her emotion. It was dated from
Sydney, and merely contained the words:
'Cannot be back for some days to come.
'TALBOT TARELING.'
That was all; but its bitterness, like that of many other events, lay in
the context. There was no legitimate excuse for his sojourn in Sydney.
Even business, elastic as it is in the hands of a wary and unfaithful
husband, could not in any possible guise be held accountable for this
move. In order to go to Sydney from Banjoleena, Tareling must have
passed through Melbourne. Laurette had no need to waste time in asking
herself why he had done so, like a fugitive. It was owing to the recent
departure for Sydney of a wretched little opera singer who was
Tareling's last infatuation. Laurette reviewed the situation in the
light of past events.