TO SEE YOU ONCE AGAIN
Mr. and Mrs. Westbury had gone to Wrexford Grange. Laverne was glad to
have a few days to herself. At first she wrote a long homesick letter
to Miss Holmes. Already she was tired of her new life. Yet more than a
year had passed--three years more and she would be free. But how long
it looked!
After Uncle Jason's tender love she was cruelly hurt by her father's
indifference. He was deeply immersed in business and proud of his
successes. Indeed, why should he not be? He was shrewd enough to take
no honor in coming up from the ranks. He preferred to have his patrons
think he had always been quite high on the ladder of fortune. Making
money was now his chief enjoyment, his one ambition. Laverne was a
pretty enough girl, but not the sort that drew men irresistibly to her
side. His wife was much more attractive. And then Laverne brought some
remembrances that he wished strenuously to forget, that he had once
dismissed from his mind. He had made a little romance of it for his
wife's ears, and he had a vague fear that Laverne might recall some
disagreeable fact that it would not be so easy to disavow. She never
had, but he was not sure how much might linger in her memory.
There was always a gulf between the father and the child. He had
demanded her mostly to please his wife, the rest to satisfy a little
grudge against Jason Chadsey that he had happened to possess himself
of the episode not at all to his, Westbury's, credit. From the bottom
of his heart he wished Chadsey had come back in time to marry Laverne.
It had been a most unfortunate step for him, he reasoned.
Laverne had been in a way fascinated by Mrs. Westbury's protestations
of affection. She had appealed to all that was sweetest and finest in
the girl's nature, all these years she had been studying men and women
on the emotional side, she was not capable of any intellectual
analysis. And though she could assume so much, at heart she had very
little faith in her fellow beings, as she measured them mostly by
herself. An attractive young girl would draw young people, and she
sunned herself in the enthusiasms of youth, they were a tonic to her.
She did not mean to grow old, but she had a quality rare in the people
who cling to youth, she made no silly assumption further than to use
all the arts and aids that she persuaded herself were quite as
necessary as a good diet to conserve health. She enjoyed her world,
her wealth, her little elusive pretexts and inventions, and was amused
to see how easily people who pretended to discrimination were
ensnared.
At first Laverne had been a new toy, a plaything, a puppet that she
could draw in any fashion that she thought best. But presently she was
amazed at the child's utter honesty, her shrinking from dissimulation,
the surprise at some things she read in the clear eyes. It had been
pleasant, but now she was tiring of her toy. Would she be the sort of
girl who would draw lovers to her feet and dismiss them with a wave of
her fan?
There was marriage, of course. This was really her first season. The
daughter of a rich man would not lack offers. She wished she was a
little less cold, self-contained, indifferent.
And now a new scheme had presented itself. Why should not Laverne be
Lady Wrexford? If her father became the virtual owner of Wrexford
Grange, why would it not be a fine dowry? And they could manage that
Lord Wrexford should be judicious in expenditures. It might be best
that the entail should not be meddled with.
Laverne did enjoy the solitude. She was coming to feel that she was
watched continually, criticised gently, of course, but often it hurt.
And she had not gone down to the real heart of anything. Was there a
heart or was it all surface living?
She went out to take her drive each day with her maid. Several young
friends had called.
One afternoon Preston brought up a card. "Mr. Victor Savedra," Laverne
read.
"He requested especially to see you," Preston said. "I was not
sure----" and she glanced inquiringly. "It is all right, quite right,"
the girl made answer, but her heart was in her throat, her voice
husky. She stood there some seconds, fingering the card. Truth to
tell, she felt hurt that Victor had made no effort to see her through
all this time, knowing from his own family she was in London. It was
hardly her place to appeal to him. Indeed, she had soon learned her
old friends were not subjects of pleasure to her new relatives. And
now she had quite given up hope with a sad heartache.
Laverne walked slowly down the broad staircase, lingered a moment,
while she felt her color coming and going in great bounds. Then there
was a step, a figure emerged from the reception room, and caught both
hands in his. Neither of them spoke, but simply glanced in each
other's eyes. He had changed, matured, and was a really handsome young
man in the somewhat brilliant Spanish style. But the soft eyes had not
lost their olden tenderness.
"Oh," he began, "I was afraid I should never see you again," and the
glance seemed almost to devour her.
"You have been in London all this time." There was the faintest touch
of reproach in her tone.
"And you? It seems to me if one can credit society news you have been
very gay."
She flushed, and her eyes were downcast, the brown lashes making a
shadow on her cheek.
"You must not upbraid me. I made some effort to find you. I was so
amazed at the strange turn of affairs. Isola and mother wrote to me
and begged me to call on you. At last I did learn where you were and
sent you a note, directed to your father's care. It was answered by
Mrs. Westbury, who explained that you were not in society, a gentle
suggestion that I might have been rather forward, also that you were
going to some French watering place, but no hint that I might be
welcome on your return," and he half smiled.
"I never saw the note--I never heard. Oh, did you think I could forget
an old friend when all things were so strange and I so lonely?"
Now the lashes were gemmed with tears. He longed to kiss them away.
An infinite pity stirred his heart.
"Have you been lonely and unhappy? Forgive me, but I thought of you as
gay and full of pleasure. I have not been much in ladies' society. I
have made some fine friends among men, and it has been study, study,
but I have achieved most of my plans and pleased the best of fathers.
Last summer with some friends I made a walking tour of Switzerland.
This summer I return home. I like America best. And how San Francisco
will look after four years' absence! Nothing of the kind could happen
in this staid old world. I wonder sometimes if I have not dreamed part
of it. And if I have not dreamed about you! Oh, what a brute I am.
Come and sit down and let us talk it all over. And your poor
uncle--what do you hear from him?"
She wiped the tears from her eyes and in a broken voice said:
"Nothing."
"Oh, poor child!" All his heart went out to her. He had thought
nothing of love before. He had been but a boy, but he knew he loved
her now with a man's love, and with a sudden resolve he determined to
take her back with him even if it had to be his wife without his
parents' blessing and God speed.
"No one hears, I believe," she replied when she had recovered her
voice. "Only--I promised to come back to him when I was twenty-one and
free, and he will be waiting for me, I know."
Then this new relationship had not been happy. He had besought Miss
Holmes to tell him about it, but she had been very non-committal. He
gathered from that she had not been favorably impressed with either
Mrs. or Mr. Westbury, although under the circumstances there was
nothing else to be done.
When they had recovered self-possession a little they began to talk of
the old times, the old days that had been full of delight, it
appeared, now touched by the enchanter, memory. The first time they
had danced together when she was a little girl, his Saturday at the
old house, and the ride they had taken down the coast. Snippy, and the
verses they had tried to make for the dead Balder. How he had hated to
tell her _he_ was going away for four long years, and how glad he had
been to get Isola's extravagant letters, "for you know she simply
adored you," he confessed, with a smile.
"It has all changed," she said mournfully, "There will be no more San
Francisco. The hill has been lowered so much, and our old house has
gone with it. Olive was married in the autumn, you know."
"And Howard is turning into a fine young business fellow, father
writes. Uncle Personette may well be proud of his children, who have
had the kindest of stepmothers. I always liked Aunt Grace and your
Miss Holmes. Mother thinks she couldn't do without her. And it's
queer," laughing a little, "she declined a very nice offer of marriage
that a friend of father's made her, the captain of a vessel going up
and down to the Isthmus. She was very fond of you."
The sweet eyes filled with tears again. Had she left all love behind
in the grand city guarded by the Golden Gate?
The room grew dusky. The maid came in to light up, and glanced sharply
at them.
"Oh, what an unconscionable visit I have been making," and yet he
laughed lightly, not at all troubled by the proprieties that he had
really outraged--and he knew better.
How very charming he was, standing up there, just medium height, with
one of the figures that is often likened to Mercury or Ganymede. The
rich tinted Spanish complexion, the dark melting eyes, when he
smiled--could they ever look fierce? the narrow mustache, leaving the
red line on the short upper lip, the chin rounded out with youth and
health, the hands dainty enough for a lady. They reached over and held
hers, the eyes smiled into hers, but all the same there came a sharp
pang at his going.
"For the next two weeks I shall be awfully busy," he explained. "Then
come the Christmas holidays. I didn't have any last year. I just
stayed and ground in the mill. I was bound to reach a certain point.
But now I shall spend a week in London. I think I can persuade Mrs.
Westbury to admit me."
Why should she not? Laverne thought.
A happy girl sat down to her solitary meal. She was no longer lonely.
Christmas was near. Of next summer she would not think.
A letter came from Mrs. Westbury with news that scarcely touched
Laverne, and perhaps after all had not much of real sadness in it.
They had gone to Wrexford Grange to settle some important business,
and before it was finished the poor old paralytic, who for the last
year had been scarcely conscious of anything but breathing, had passed
out of life. Lord Wrexford had insisted upon their staying until after
the funeral. Would she mind if she gave up the Liscombes' dance? Mrs.
Leigh would be pleased to chaperon her, but it would be in better
taste to remain at home.
Laverne did this cheerfully. To be sure, the days were rather lonely,
but the driving and a little shopping and going to some picture
exhibitions with Mrs. Leigh filled them up.
There was a pile of notes and invitations on Mrs. Westbury's desk when
she returned. Laverne often answered the least important. Between them
she sandwiched Wrexford Grange. It was an old, old estate, the title
dating back for more than three hundred years, and though it had been
neglected of late could be put in excellent order again. Such grand
rooms, such a splendid hall, such a great stone stairway with oaken
railing. Family portraits and a copy of the First Charles,--the
Wrexfords had been royalists,--but all these things had been hidden
away until the accession of the son, with the old family silver,
rather clumsy, she thought, but she was wise enough to know that age
redeemed it.
"Oh," she began suddenly, "the Doncasters want you for their Christmas
Bazaar. The Thorleys are coming up--yes, I think you must go. It is
for the doctor's pet charity, those crippled babies. I think it would
be a mercy if the Lord took some of the poor things out of the world,
but while they are here they must be taken care of. It is only one day
and evening. We must give a luncheon to Florence and Claire Thorley.
I'm sorry Lord Wrexford must be counted out of the Christmas gayeties.
Yes, write an acceptance."
When she came down to the bottom she glanced over the cards, smiling,
then frowning, not sorry to have missed some of the calls.
"Victor Savedra," she exclaimed, "why----"
"It is those Spanish people at home, at least, the son is here at
Oxford, and he called."
She confessed it very quietly, without a change of color or
embarrassment.
"Oh, yes--let me see--he asked permission to call--I think I told
you--sometime in the early summer--we were going away."
These little half truths annoyed Laverne, but she made no comment.
Mrs. Westbury had accomplished one step toward what she thought would
be the crowning point of her life, and she was amazed that it had been
done so easily. As Laverne was an important factor in it she was
prepared to be very sweet.
"He is still at Oxford?"
"Yes, he will be through in June, and then he will return to America."
She was not even troubled when Preston told her the young man had
stayed two good hours. In fact, Laverne was rather surprised at her
amiability and indulgence. She saw very little of her father, but he,
too, seemed awakening to a new interest in her. There were business
and board meetings and dinners of directors, but he was always in
excellent spirits. He sometimes wondered himself how it was that fate
seemed to send everything his way. He was very lavish with Christmas
money to his wife and daughter.
So she went to the Bazaar in the best of spirits. She really liked Amy
Doncaster, though she was finding that the type of Olive Personette
was by no means an uncommon one. Amy was deeply interested in her
brother's hospital, and often visited it and made garments for the
poorer patients.
It was quite a pet charity in one circle. There were hundreds of other
things in the great city, but they had their share of patronage. The
hall was dressed with evergreens, and though some of the half-hidden
flowers were paper they looked quite as pretty and did not wither in
the heat and light. Tastefully arranged tables, with handiwork both
useful and ornamental, attractive for Christmas gifts; young girls in
simple white attire, the fashion of those days, older ones with more
elegance keeping supervision and adding dignity. Carriages came and
went before the broad doorway, and visitors seemed generously
inclined.
She was very happy, this charming American girl. At the middle of the
century there were not so many of them to share and often fight for
triumphs. Then, Mr. Westbury had won a standing of his own and was
paving a golden path. It was not trade, something that was held in
higher esteem. Miss Westbury might be quite an heiress. There was no
older brother to demand a share. For we had not outgrown the idea that
the brothers must be provided for first of all.
When the hall was lighted up and the young men began to throng in, the
scene was brilliant and the moneychangers brought out their best
charms and sweetest smiles. Mrs. Westbury had been in during the
afternoon and had gone to a "high tea" at old Lady Carcroft's. So in
the early evening she came again.
Fred Doncaster, who had elected the Church for a profession, since
there was a very excellent living in the other branch of the family,
and he being a second son, brought in his friend Victor Savedra.
"He is a Spaniard," explained Amy Doncaster to a group of girls. "And
isn't he handsome! Fred brought him over once, they are great chums,
and he has the most charming manners. Oh, Miss Westbury, he
lives--well--it isn't far from that wonderful San Francisco where you
came from, and they must be very rich, Fred thinks, though he never
boasts of it, but it must be something like a big English estate. Oh,
they are coming over here."
They made their way through, and Victor's face lighted with intense
satisfaction. Laverne flushed "celestial rosy red." He reached over
and took her hand, exclaiming, "What a pleasure! I am so glad to see
you here."
"Hillo!" and Fred gazed from one to the other.
"We have been friends from childhood--isn't it?" smiling out of his
delight. "And Miss Doncaster--I came almost purposely to buy some of
your wares," glancing at that lady.
"Oh, thank you," she returned gayly.
The rest of the introductions were given and the party fell into a
social chat. Mrs. Westbury entered the hall at that juncture with Mrs.
Doncaster. A spasm of something like anger shot over her. Yes, she was
quite sure that must be Victor Savedra. Was Laverne making secret
engagements with him?
"Oh," Mrs. Doncaster began, "there is Fred's friend, a young Spaniard,
who has been over here for his education. We were all charmed with him
when Fred brought him to dinner one night, and wished we had made his
acquaintance earlier, since he leaves us in the summer. The Spaniards,
I believe, were some of the old settlers on the western coast. I don't
quite understand all the distinctions of American people."
Mrs. Westbury recalled the fact that she had met the elder Mr.
Savedra, who had come to say farewell to Laverne and to assure her
that they would do their best to make Miss Holmes happy. Then she was
formally introduced to the young man, who had a notably distinctive
charm, partly due no doubt to his foreign air.
Fred certainly was in high spirits, and helped the girls in their
sales, even if he did call them shopkeepers. Then he insisted that
Miss Westbury should accompany him around to "spy out the nakedness of
the land," he said, which in this case meant an accession of funds for
the Hospital. "My brother _would_ study surgery," he said, with a half
protest. "Minturn is a born philanthropist, so between us both we
shall care for bodies and souls. I'd worlds rather have my
profession."
Amy and Savedra were talking just in front of them, now and then
pausing at a booth, where the girl proudly introduced her companion.
Some stalls were already sold out; indeed, every one seemed jubilant
over the success. In a little rather private corner groups were having
some refreshments, and at one they found Miss Doncaster and an
admirer, who made room for them, and they had a merry time. Victor sat
on one side of Laverne, and they exchanged bits of talk mostly
satisfactory to each.
Savedra had accepted an invitation from the Doncasters. It was true
Londoners were rushing out to country homes, or to holiday house
parties, but there were hosts of them left.
"I had no idea the Doncasters knew you," Victor said. "I am glad we
have a mutual friend. I shall spend all the holidays in town, and we
must see a good deal of each other to make up for the lost time."
Her eyes drooped and a delicious flush overspread her face. How shy
and sweet she was! He would not think of the time when he must go away
and leave her behind.
Mrs. Doncaster accepted a seat in Mrs. Westbury's brougham. The young
people would walk home, as the doctor headed the party. The girls had
planned to have a little dance the night after Christmas, just an
informal, suddenly arranged matter, and Laverne must be sure to come.
They were to go to a Christmas dinner, but there was no engagement for
Friday evening.
After they had set their companion down at her own door, Mrs. Westbury
still commented on the success of the Bazaar and the prettiness of the
girls.
"And I thought that young Savedra quite _épris_ with Miss Amy, didn't
you? He was devoted to her."
"They all like him very much." She was so happy there was no room in
her heart for jealousy. Indeed, gladness forbade the thought of
possessorship.
"And English girls don't mind marrying and going to the ends of the
earth. That Miss Morven went to Canada to marry her betrothed, who was
in some government position, and couldn't leave. And Lady Estee's
daughter went out to India. Of course, Laverne, you will not give a
second thought to Fred Doncaster. It will be two years before he can
be ordained. And there's such a family, six children!"
"Oh, no," returned Laverne cheerfully.
She had it in her mind to say: "Your father has other views for you,"
but caution intervened. Still, when she glanced her over in the light
of her room as she was saying good-night, she thought how really
pretty the girl looked to-night, her soft eyes shining, her mouth
settled in the curves of a half smile that would tempt any lover to
kiss, the clear, beautiful complexion, the long bronze lashes that
seemed to play with the dainty color on her cheek, as the sun over
dimpling waters. Yes, she wanted the excitement of pleasure.
Laverne went to the dance with great gladness of heart and a strange
freedom. Victor danced with the Doncaster girls first, they were the
hostesses. Then it came Laverne's turn, and they had a delightful time
between the figures.
"Oh, do you remember how frightened you were that night at Uncle
Personette's? I really made you dance, didn't I? I wonder that you
were not vexed. Was I worse than importunate?" laughing.
"Oh, I thought you were so good, so delightful, to take the trouble.
And I was such a child. There were so many big girls. How could I have
been vexed? That would have been ungrateful."
"We have always been such friends. And now I shall venture to call on
you. I had a fancy that Mrs. Westbury didn't quite like--well, of
course, you were not in society. Customs are different."
"You are going back so soon." She said it with a most adorable little
sigh.
"There will be the Easter vacation, and we must make the best of this.
When I am away I shall think of you half the time. Let us see. Can't
we make a plan--just at twilight, let us say. No matter where we are
we will send a thought to each other. There's a queer new belief,
magnetism or some such thing, that you _can_ send an influence to your
friends across any space, that if you sit still a few moments and
think of them they will respond."
"Oh, that is a most felicitous thought!" Could she make Uncle Jason or
any one think of her in that manner?
"Let _us_ promise--just at twilight."
Some one took her in the next figure. What a slim, graceful girl she
was. How like a bird she skimmed along when she ran races with Elena!
And how they had scrambled over rocks and sat on the summits
overlooking the ocean! There were no such fascinating memories with
any other human being. There was no one quite like her.
And they did have a merry, delightful time. A week of going somewhere
every day, of chances to slip in bits of charming confidences, of
strolls in the old Museum and other famous places, and then it came to
an end.
Fred and Savedra, friends as they were, dropped in to say good-by.
Mrs. Westbury was present. He went over and took her hand--what
magnificent rubies those were!
"I want to thank you for a great deal of courtesy," he said, "and
much pleasure. And now we must both return to our old pastures and dig
away at the dry roots and forget about everything but the exams."
He shook hands quietly with both ladies.