Despite her growing indifference towards neighbouring festivities,
Katrine could not resist a thrill of excitement in preparing for the
Barfield Garden Party, which was in truth no ordinary local function,
but an important, almost a national, fete. Among the guests royalty
itself might appear; foreign potentates, ambassadors, distinguished
politicians, disciples of the arts and sciences would be on show on the
wide lawns, and within the splendid rooms of the old Castle. It would
be, as Katrine herself had said, a very Zoological Garden of lions,
among whom an insignificant spinster from a country town must of
necessity appear the smallest of small fry.
Martin, of course, owned a roar of his own, a minor roar, but still
distinguishable among the rest, but his sister had no claim to
celebrity. Her aim was theoretically to see, not to be seen, but the
theory did not prevent a lengthy and painstaking toilette.
It was only a simple ninon dress, it was only a home-made hat, she owned
neither jewels nor laces, nor valuable accessories of any sort to give a
_cachet_ to the whole, but considering these deficiencies there was the
more reason for being thankful for a graceful figure, for a face with
well-cut features, and deep, level eyes.
Surveying the completed toilette in her glass Katrine first smirked and
then sighed. "Very praiseworthy considering, but when I see Grizel, she
will knock the conceit out of me!" she said to herself as she put the
dressing-table in order with a few swift touches, and crossed the
passage to tap at the door of the guest chamber.
"May I come in?"
"What ho!" sounded cheerily from within, and Katrine entered to behold a
Romney picture in grey chiffon pirouetting before the glass, a
ridiculous buckram bandeau pressed turban-like on her head, to which she
was endeavouring to anchor a vast hat, encircled by sweeping white
feathers. The feathers swept, they did not soar, a Grizel-like
distinction between beauty and fashion; there was not a touch of colour
about her, except for the coral brightness of her lips. Katrine felt an
instant conviction that ninon was heavy, that colour was vulgar, that
every item of her own toilette was detestable and ill-chosen. She stood
staring in the doorway, and even as she stood the door of Martin's room
opened, at the opposite side of the passage.
He would have passed on without a glance towards the opened room;
Katrine in her friend's place would have dodged hastily into a corner
rather than have been discovered in the unbecoming stage of bandeau
_sans_ hat, but Grizel hailed him with a cheerful cry:
"Halloa, you man thing! Look upon me, and thank your stars you are not
a woman. I've _got_ to balance this tent upon my head, and nothing
short of clamps will do it. And there's one hairpin, a fiendish
anarchist of a hairpin, simply stacking into my scalp! ... Which would
you rather,--keep the car waiting while I take it down and do it again,
or have me scratching at my head all the afternoon, at the most
compromising moments? Put your fingers in, Katrine! Prod about! Can
you feel it? Not that one, no! For the land's sake don't scatter my
curls on the floor. That's him! That's him! Good girl! ... What a
mussiful relief... Now for the skewers... Deadly, ain't they? But I
have screws for the ends, so you can be aisey... The question of the
hour is, Martin--_do_ you love me better in a veil, or without?"
She faced him, holding before her face lengths of filmy white, no
disfiguring scrolls, no shadows, such as the fashion of the day forces
on an unoffending public, but a gossamer tulle, invisible at a few
yards' distance, yet lending a becoming softness to the features.
Martin, however, gallantly refused to see the improvement, and gave the
verdict "Without!" in unhesitating accents, whereupon Grizel beamed upon
him, and deliberately proceeded to swathe the folds round the wide brim
of the hat.
"Sweet pusson! But you wouldn't, after a long drive, when the ends were
flying! No woman can look distinguished with tousley hair. I'm ready,
my loved ones! If you've any remarks to make, make 'em now, or else for
ever hold your peace. As for Katrine--she's quite unnecessarily
good-looking--no objections to make there. My hobject is--if you can
understand,--to appear as if I were `Somebody,' and have a train of
admirers following wherever I go!--If you didn't know any better, do you
think you could mistake me for `Some one in Particular,' and hang around
to stare?"
The brother and sister smiled indulgently.
"Isn't Grizel Dundas Somebody?" Martin enquired.
"She's a goose anyway!" corrected Katrine, but she said it with a laugh,
and in a voice which held no trace of the ordinary snap. Martin's eyes
turned upon her quickly; he also seemed to be infected with an unusual
gentleness and amenity of manner.
"How nice you look, dear--how very nice!" he said genially. In the way
of definite approval it was more than he had said to Grizel herself.
Katrine flushed with pleasure, and brushed his arm with a caressing
touch. Each was conscious of a longing to make up for the growing
disloyalty of the past months. The position remained unchanged, but
there was a different attitude towards it; they had grown suddenly
softer, kindlier; in each mind was a conviction of personal
responsibility, a disinclination to blame the other. "I haven't
considered her enough. She's had a desperately dull time." ... "I've
been so narrow-minded--so blind. I didn't understand!" Each heart made
its own confession of shortcomings, and felt lightened of a load. It
was in the happiest of moods that the trio started on their ten-mile
drive through the wooded country which stretched between Cumly and
Barfield Castle.
In the matter of rural scenery England stands unsurpassed in the
kingdoms of the world, and a stranger to our isle could not have had a
better introduction to its beauties than the drive through that southern
county. Long avenues of beeches gave entrance to the most picturesque
of villages, with the traditional duck-pond and green; thatched cottages
showed a blaze of flowers in their trim gardens; the smooth white road
curved through the heart of a great forest, dived through the
precipitous High Street of a quaint old town, and climbed steeply to a
breezy down. Everywhere there was a wealth of greenery, a universal air
of prosperity, of order, of well-being, good to behold on this brilliant
summer morning.
Within a few miles of Barfield Castle, however, all peacefulness
vanished from the scene. The converging roads were filled with an
unending stream of vehicles, and the dust rose in clouds above the
hedgerows. The women wrapped themselves closely in dust cloaks and
motor-veils, the pace slackened to a crawl, and at frequent intervals
ceased altogether as the congested lines merged together near the castle
gates. When once that point had been passed, progress was sure though
slow, and the dust of the high roads was replaced by refreshing shade
from the great avenue of trees. The wrappings were thrown aside, to
display the brave toilettes of men and women; and the pedestrians who,
having travelled by train, had been disappointed of finding conveyances
at the station, gazed enviously, curiously, at the occupants of the
various carriages and cars, and were in their turn as mercilessly
scrutinised.
"Everybody is dying to know who everybody else is!" whispered Grizel
gleefully. "Buck up, Katrine, and look haughty. You may be mistaken
for a Duchess, or a variety actress,--you never know your luck! When we
pass the next group, watch me heave, to show off the effect of my massed
gems!"
The "massed gems" consisted of a diamond brooch and a small heart-shaped
pendant to match, which nestled together in the folds of chiffon at
Grizel's breast. It was a charming and ludicrous sight to behold her
inflate her slight form at the prescribed moment, but sure enough, the
stones flashed in response, catching a passing sunbeam and blazing with
a brilliance altogether out of proportion to their size.
"There!" cried Grizel triumphantly, achieving a double chin in her
effort to admire her own splendour. "Never say again that I don't do
you credit!"
The first part of the afternoon was spent pleasantly enough in strolling
about the gardens, or in sitting down to watch the kaleidoscopic
brilliance of the scene. At intervals Martin was hailed by a
fellow-writer or club acquaintance, or Grizel by a friend from town, but
Katrine was never so addressed. Other girls less attractive than
herself flitted about with attendant cavaliers, or formed the centres of
merry groups. What was the use of being "unnecessarily good-looking,"
if no one were influenced thereby?
Across the sunshine of the scene shot grey shadows of depression. In
the midst of a crowd one could be so horribly alone! Among the hundreds
of guests crowding the green lawn, not one cared to pause by her side.
Even Martin and Grizel.--It was a hateful thought, Katrine fought
against it, but her heart acknowledged its truth,--they would be happier
without her! It was inevitable that the mind should leap to the
remembrance of the one man who _would_ have cared; who, entering by
those great gates, would have come swiftly forward, unsatisfied,
unseeing, till he had gained her side!
Across the intervening miles went out a warm, glad thought: "_He would
have cared_!" said Katrine's heart, and at the thought the sun shone
again.
"Excuse me one moment!" cried Martin hurriedly. "That man over there.--
I've been wanting to catch him for months..."
He darted across the lawn, and the two girls subsided into chairs,
afraid to leave the spot, lest in the crowd he might not be able to find
them on his return. Already Grizel was looking tired and spent; the
little face beneath the sweeping hat was white as a tired rose, but the
whimsical light shone bright as ever in the golden eyes as she turned
them on the passing throng, and from her lips bubbled an endless stream
of nonsense. It was difficult for a listener to preserve a due decorum
of manner as each group passed by, heralded by biographical sketches in
those low, rich tones.
"--Aunt Hepsibah and her niece Jane... County family. Redooced, but
proud. `A lace shawl,' says Auntie, `is _always_ le mode! And Jane
shall wear my bertha.' ... Mrs Ponsonby de Tompkins. Left cards
regularly for years past, angling for an invitation, and at long last
one arrived. A handsome new dress for the occasion! The very _best_
satin, and everything to match, Husband excepted! Ponsonby wishes to
goodness he'd never come! ... Rich Mr Stock-broker on the point of
proposing to Emily Maud. Emily'll have him. Observe the smirk! I
_always_ refuse men who propose to me at garden parties... Ha! whom
have we here? Looks like a Duchess, but probably is _not_. Old lady in
puce probably _is_, and has no right to be... Long-haired pus-son
probably an Anabaptist, or a Poet, or something of that ilk."
"It's all very well, but I want to _know_!" objected Katrine in tones of
strong disapproval. "It's the dullest thing in the world to be
surrounded by celebrities, and not to recognise a single one. Martin
goes about so little that he is no use as a guide. The dozens and
dozens of interesting invitations which he has refused these last years!
I think he might introduce us to some of his friends who _do_ know!
It's the literary people who interest me most. And the artists. It's
too tiresome!"
"Keep calm, Sweet One! We'll ask him when he comes back, and," Grizel
smiled, a slow, sweet smile, "_I_ might know one or two myself! If we
sit here patiently, some one is sure to pass. I'll keep a bright
look-out."
"Oh, do! Yes, of course, you meet all kinds of people. I've lived in a
rut. Grizel, do you know, I'm getting _tired_!"
The words were used in their deeper sense, and Grizel's long glance
proclaimed her understanding. Grizel always _did_ understand, Katrine
acknowledged ungrudgingly, but the deep, contemplative glance aroused a
remembrance of the parting of the night before, and to her annoyance she
felt the blood once more stain her cheeks. Now if Grizel proceeded to
joke, question, insinuate, she felt she could _not_ endure it, but
Grizel was silent, and spoke no word. They sat together for a long five
minutes without exchanging a remark, then suddenly strolling towards
them came a strikingly handsome woman followed at a few yards' distance
by a man and a girl, evidently members of the same party, whom for the
moment she chose to ignore. She wore a trailing gown of a deep rose
pink, and over it a cloak of chiffon, elaborately embroidered in silks.
Her head was swathed in turban-like folds, on the front of which a
diamond bosque held the end of a rampant plume. Her expression was as
unusual as her appearance, the blankness on most of the passing faces
being replaced in her case by a radiant audacity which proved her to be
no ordinary character. So striking and queenly a figure attracted
instant attention, and Katrine's melancholy reflection that this _must_
be one of the many unrecognised celebrities, was followed by a thrill of
joy, as Grizel rushed forward with friendly _empressement_.
"Grizel Dundas, by all that is charming! And who brought _you_ here,
dear person?" enquired the tall lady warmly, at which question Grizel's
eyes turned upon Katrine, with a twinkling gleam. One hand still rested
on her friend's arm, pressing upon it as with a special significance;
with the other she made a sweeping gesture of introduction.
"I drove over from Cumly. I am staying with my friends, the Martin
Beverleys. Let me introduce you... This is Miss Beverley, and she has
been lamenting all afternoon that she does not know Who's Who, and is
surrounded by celebrities, whom she can't recognise. Now she's going to
have a treat. Providence has been kind in sending you to our aid, for
you are one of her special heroines. Prepare yourself, Katrine! You
_are_ a lucky girl! If you've had to wait, you've got a big catch at
the end... Guess what is the name of this fine, this very fine, this
superfine lady whom you now behold before you."
Katrine smiled, blushed, waited, agape with curiosity; so--it would have
appeared to the eye of a beholder--did the superfine lady also. Grizel
gave another sweep of the small gloved hand, and pronounced a name in a
tone of triumph:
"Mrs--Humphrey Ward!"
"Oh-h!" an irresistible exclamation burst from Katrine's lips, her
attitude became on the moment instinct with deference, with the most
transparent and whole-hearted adulation. The lady on her part cast a
rapid glance at Grizel, from Grizel to Katrine, simpered, attitudinised,
and gently coughed.
"So pleased!" she murmured softly. "So happy; so _braced_! In the
midst of this alien throng to meet a Kindred Soul,--that is refreshment
indeed!" She held Katrine's hand between both of her own, gazing at her
with a fond affection. "Tell me, dear; I am so pining to know,--_which_
of my books do you cherish most?"
That "cherish" struck a jarring note, but Katrine's answer came none the
less promptly. She had no hesitation in pronouncing her preference for
_Eleanor_; it was her hearer who for a moment looked blank and vague.
"Ah-h!" she said thoughtfully, then with a sudden radiant smile, "I call
her Nellie! We mothers have pet names for our children. Dear little
Nell! She was a sweet thing. Hard on her, wasn't it, while still so
young? So dear of you to love her... Well, dear, I shall always
remember you, and love you for your sweet sympathy. And you want my
autograph, of course? Don't mind asking--I shall be only _too_
pleased!"
Katrine's flush deepened to rose. Bewilderment, embarrassment, and a
chilling disillusion seemed for the moment to have deprived her of
speech. The gorgeous figure towered over her, the brilliant eyes blazed
relentlessly upon her face. Grizel stood meekly in the background, her
face all infantile sweetness.
"I,--thank you! I don't collect autographs, but I shall be--honoured to
have yours. Miss Dundas can give you my address."
"That's quite all right. I'll send it soon, with an appropriate
quotation for your dear little album. `Be good, sweet maid, All lame
dogs aid,' With best wishes from Nellie's Mother..."
She smirked once more. Katrine was breathlessly demanding of herself if
this could indeed be the woman who had written such masterly books, when
the girl who had been standing at a discreet distance during the short
interview, came forward and spoke in an apologetic voice:--
"Mrs Singleton! I'm sorry, but father has an appointment to meet a
friend in the rose garden, I'm afraid we must really move on."
"Singleton... Incognito! The name she travels by, don't you know,"
naughty Grizel mumbled in explanation, as the little party turned away,
but the truth burst upon Katrine in an all-illuminating flash, and she
was not to be caught again.
"Grizel, you horror! To make me a laughing stock... What a fool she
must have thought me, standing gaping with admiration! `Nellie's
Mother' indeed! An idol toppled at that moment. I _was_ disillusioned,
but living in the same house with an author prepares one for so many
eccentricities, that I still believed... Well! it came off very well
that time, but don't try it again!"
Grizel continued to chuckle in soft, retrospective enjoyment.
"Oh, it was grand! Mrs Singleton is a capital actress, and she played
up like a man. It _was_ delicious to see you standing there, all
humility and adulation, such a douce, modest, young woman, burning
incense to a master mind. If only that tiresome girl had not come up at
the wrong moment, I might have faked all the wig bigs in turn, and had
the time of my life!"
Katrine's lips twisted in an enigmatical smile. She was feeling gay and
young; the prickly dignity which had made her resent any approach to a
joke at her own expense, had given place to a humorous enjoyment.
Mentally she stood beside Grizel, looking on at the little scene which
had just been enacted, appreciating the alertness of Mrs Singleton, and
enjoying the spectacle of her own credulity.
Meantime each passing moment brought with it a fresh picture. Now it
was a group of Chinamen, attired in the gorgeous colourings of the East,
conversing with friendly cordiality with their black-coated friends;
again it was a slender, dark-skinned woman, moving to the jingle of
innumerable bangles, her timid eyes alight with childlike curiosity;
anon, it was an ecclesiastic of the Church, or a group of court
officials. The kaleidoscopic groups streamed in and out of the great
house, passing each other on the marble staircase of the terrace, while
the strains of massed bands sounded from a discreetly-arranged distance.
Presently Martin returned, and was duly regaled with an account of the
Singleton episode, which being done Grizel laid upon him her own
commands.
"Let's go into the house and be fed! Eating is my one solace on these
occasions," she said, yawning. "One sees so many better-looking women
than oneself.--I rather believe I am going to faint!"
The threat brought her companions to their feet. Martin offered his
arm, and Grizel hung upon it with an air of exhaustion, her reed-like
form and misty draperies investing her with an almost ghostly air of
fragility. She made her way towards the house, followed by eyes of
commiserating admiration, but once seated in the great hall she
displayed an appetite for, and appreciation of the dainties provided,
which put her more robust friends in the shade. Martin hovered around
her with a solicitude which provoked Katrine to the bluntness of truth.
"There's not much wrong with her when she can eat those cakes! She's
not half so bad as she pretends. I wish I had half her appetite."
"Do you grudge me my humble board!" Grizel grimaced with the air of a
cheeky schoolboy, oblivious of the stare of a haughty flunky who was at
the moment supplying her with cream. She sipped luxuriously at the
delicious coffee, and proceeded reflectively:--
"Last time I was here was at the Ball of the Creases. Such a tragic
occasion, Katrine! It was the hour of wool-satins; no other material
had a look in, and every mortal woman had clothed herself therein. Most
of them had a railway journey, or a long drive across country, and oh,
the shock when they alighted, and took off their wraps in the cloak
room!!! Creases, creases, nothing but creases! It was a pitiful scene;
mothers afume, daughters in tears, rows of dowagers turning themselves
before the fire, like turkeys on a spit; plaintive pleadings for
flat-irons. When we got upstairs to the ballroom, it was worse than
ever, with the great electric chandelier blazing down, and showing up
every deficiency. And we revolved beneath them looking like so many
rag-bags. I have never seen so many badly-dressed women in my life."
"Serve you right," was Martin's comment. "Sheep! Sheep! Why _will_
you all dress alike? I can never see the fascination of being a replica
of a hundred other women, when one might be a woman by oneself."
Certainly the female portion of the crowd which continually surged in
and out of the great door formed an admirable illustration of Martin's
indictment. Old and young, tall and small, fat and thin, all hobbled
within the same tight folds, and hid their hair beneath enormous hats
which descended on the shoulder, entirely concealing both hair and neck.
Viewed from the front the costume achieved on occasions a not
unbecoming effect, but the back!
"Oh would some power the giftie gie them, To see their backs as others
see them!" chanted Grizel softly, as a distinguished party crossed the
floor at a few yards' distance. She laughed as she spoke, her deep,
gurgling laugh, at the sound of which the colour rose in Martin's cheek.
He looked at her and said quickly:
"Grizel! didn't you want to see the picture gallery? Shall I take you
now?" As he spoke, his expression seemed to take a significance apart
from the words; delicately but unmistakably his eyebrows rose, asking a
secret question, and as delicately Grizel's eyes met his, and signalled
a reply.
Katrine saw, guessed, was in the act of defiantly fighting against the
suggestion, but Grizel was before her.
"Presently. There's plenty of time. Katrine was wishing, Martin, that
you could introduce her to some one who could act as guide, and point
out the celebrities. It's dull for her dragging about with us."
"Of course. Certainly! I saw old Deeds a minute ago. There could be
no one better. I'll bring him along."
Martin dashed off with a haste seldom characteristic of altruistic
enterprises, while Katrine sat rigid on her seat, consumed with anger.
"Us!" That word was the crux of the offence. "Us!" having for its
meaning Martin and Grizel, leaving herself coldly outside the pale.
Katrine hardly realised it at the time, but in reality another word had
cut almost as deep. "_Old_!" Old Mr Deeds. "No one could be better!"
The first old man who came within reach appeared a fitting companion
for her, the while her companions went their unhindered way.
She sat rigid, her lips pressed in a hard, straight line. By her side
Grizel cast sorrowful glances. On occasions it is almost as
disagreeable to do good, as to be the object of benevolent designs!