LADY INGLEBY'S HOUSE PARTY
As Jane took her seat and the train moved out of the London terminus
she leaned back in her corner with a sigh of satisfaction. Somehow
these days in town had seemed insufferably long. Jane reviewed them
thoughtfully, and sought the reason. They had been filled with
interests and engagements; and the very fact of being in town, as a
rule, contented her. Why had she felt so restless and dissatisfied and
lonely?
From force of habit she had just stopped at the railway book-stall for
her usual pile of literature. Her friends always said Jane could not go
even the shortest journey without at least half a dozen papers. But now
they lay unheeded on the seat in front of her. Jane was considering her
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and wondering why they had merely
been weary stepping-stones to Friday. And here was Friday at last, and
once in the train en route for Shenstone, she began to feel happy and
exhilarated. What had been the matter with these three days? Flower had
been charming; Deryck, his own friendly, interesting self; little
Dicky, delightful; and Baby Blossom, as sweet as only Baby Blossom
could be. What was amiss?
"I know," said Jane. "Of course! Why did I not realise it before? I had
too much music during those last days at Overdene; and SUCH music! I
have been suffering from a surfeit of music, and the miss of it has
given me this blank feeling of loneliness. No doubt we shall have
plenty at Myra's, and Dal will be there to clamour for it if Myra fails
to suggest it."
With a happy little smile of pleasurable anticipation, Jane took up the
SPECTATOR, and was soon absorbed in an article on the South African
problem.
Myra met her at the station, driving ponies tandem. A light cart was
also there for the maid and baggage; and, without losing a moment, Jane
and her hostess were off along the country lane at a brisk trot.
The fields and woods were an exquisite restful green in the afternoon
sunshine. Wild roses clustered in the hedges. The last loads of hay
were being carted in. There was an ecstasy in the songs of the birds
and a transporting sense of sweetness about all the sights and scents
of the country, such as Jane had never experienced so vividly before.
She drew a deep breath and exclaimed, almost involuntarily: "Ah! it is
good to be here!"
"You dear!" said Lady Ingleby, twirling her whip and nodding in
gracious response to respectful salutes from the hay-field. "It is a
comfort to have you! I always feel you are like the bass of a
tune--something so solid and satisfactory and beneath one in case of a
crisis. I hate crises. They are so tiring. As I say: Why can't things
always go on as they are? They are as they were, and they were as they
will be, if only people wouldn't bother. However, I am certain nothing
could go far wrong when YOU are anywhere near."
Myra flicked the leader, who was inclined to "sugar," and they flew
along between the high hedges, brushing lightly against overhanging
masses of honeysuckle and wild clematis. Jane snatched a spray of the
clematis, in passing. "'Traveller's joy,'" she said, with that same
quiet smile of glad anticipation, and put the white blossom in her
buttonhole.
"Well," continued Lady Ingleby, "my house party is going on quite
satisfactorily. Oh, and, Jane, there seems no doubt about Dal. How
pleased I shall be if it comes off under my wing! The American girl is
simply exquisite, and so vivacious and charming. And Dal has quite
given up being silly--not that _I_ ever thought him silly, but I know
YOU did--and is very quiet and pensive; really were it any one but he,
one would almost say 'dull.' And they roam about together in the most
approved fashion. I try to get the aunt to make all her remarks to me.
I am so afraid of her putting Dal off. He is so fastidious. I have
promised Billy anything, up to the half of my kingdom, if he will sit
at the feet of Mrs. Parker Bangs and listen to her wisdom, answer her
questions, and keep her away from Dal. Billy is being so abjectly
devoted in his attentions to Mrs. Parker Bangs that I begin to have
fears lest he intends asking me to kiss him; in which case I shall hand
him over to you to chastise. You manage these boys so splendidly. I
fully believe Dal will propose to Pauline Lister tonight. I can't
imagine why he didn't last night. There was a most perfect moon, and
they went on the lake. What more COULD Dal want?--a lake, and a moon,
and that lovely girl! Billy took Mrs. Parker Bangs in a double canoe
and nearly upset her through laughing so much at the things she said
about having to sit flat on the bottom. But he paddled her off to the
opposite side of the lake from Dal and her niece, which was all we
wanted. Mrs. Parker Bangs asked me afterwards whether Billy is a
widower. Now what do you suppose she meant by that?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," said Jane. "But I am delighted to hear
about Dal and Miss Lister. She is just the girl for him, and she will
soon adapt herself to his ways and needs. Besides, Dal MUST have
flawless loveliness, and really he gets it there."
"He does indeed," said Myra. "You should have seen her last night, in
white satin, with wild roses in her hair. I cannot imagine why Dal did
not rave. But perhaps it is a good sign that he should take things more
quietly. I suppose he is making up his mind."
"No," said Jane. "I believe he did that at Overdene. But it means a lot
to him. He takes marriage very seriously. Whom have you at Shenstone?"
Lady Ingleby told off a list of names. Jane knew them all.
"Delightful!" she said. "Oh! how glad I am to be here! London has been
so hot and so dull. I never thought it hot or dull before. I feel a
renegade. Ah! there is the lovely little church! I want to hear the new
organ. I was glad your nice parson remembered me and let me have a
share in it. Has it two manuals or three?"
"Half a dozen I think," said Lady Ingleby, "and you work them up and
down with your feet. But I judged it wiser to leave them alone when I
played for the children's service one Sunday. You never know quite what
will happen if you touch those mechanical affairs."
"Don't you mean the composition pedals?" suggested Jane.
"I dare say I do," said Myra placidly. "Those things underneath, like
foot-rests, which startle you horribly if you accidentally kick them."
Jane smiled at the thought of how Garth would throw back his head and
shout, if she told him of this conversation. Lady Ingleby's musical
remarks always amused her friends.
They passed the village church on the green, ivy-clad, picturesque,
and, half a minute later, swerved in at the park gates. Myra saw Jane
glance at the gate-post they had just shaved, and laughed. "A miss is
as good as a mile," she said, as they dashed up the long drive between
the elms, "as I told dear mamma, when she expostulated wrathfully with
me for what she called my 'furious driving' the other day. By the way,
Jane, dear mamma has been quite CORDIAL lately. By the time I am
seventy and she is ninety-eight I think she will begin to be almost
fond of me. Here we are. Do notice Lawson. He is new, and such a nice
man. He sings so well, and plays the concertina a little, and teaches
in the Sunday-school, and speaks really quite excellently at temperance
meetings. He is extremely fond of mowing the lawns, and my maid tells
me he is studying French with her. The only thing he seems really
incapable of being, is an efficient butler; which is so unfortunate, as
I like him far too well ever to part with him. Michael says I have a
perfectly fatal habit of LIKING PEOPLE, and of encouraging them to do
the things they do well and enjoy doing, instead of the things they
were engaged to do. I suppose I have; but I do like my household to be
happy."
They alighted, and Myra trailed into the hall with a lazy grace which
gave no indication of the masterly way she had handled her ponies, but
rather suggested stepping from a comfortable seat in a barouche. Jane
looked with interest at the man-servant who came forward and deftly
assisted them. He had not quite the air of a butler but neither could
she imagine him playing a concertina or haranguing a temperance meeting
and he acquitted himself quite creditably.
"Oh, that was not Lawson," explained Myra, as she led the way upstairs.
"I had forgotten. He had to go to the vicarage this afternoon to see
the vicar about a 'service of song' they are getting up. That was Tom,
but we call him 'Jephson' in the house. He was one of Michael's stud
grooms, but he is engaged to one of the housemaids, and I found he so
very much preferred being in the house, so I have arranged for him to
understudy Lawson, and he is growing side whiskers. I shall have to
break it to Michael on his return from Norway. This way, Jane. We have
put you in the Magnolia room. I knew you would enjoy the view of the
lake. Oh, I forgot to tell you, a tennis tournament is in progress. I
must hasten to the courts. Tea will be going on there, under the
chestnuts. Dal and Ronnie are to play the final for the men's singles.
It ought to be a fine match. It was to come on at about half-past four.
Don't wait to do any changings. Your maid and your luggage can't be
here just yet."
"Thanks," said Jane; "I always travel in country clothes, and have done
so to-day, as you see. I will just get rid of the railway dust, and
follow you."
Ten minutes later, guided by sounds of cheering and laughter, Jane made
her way through the shrubbery to the tennis lawns. The whole of Lady
Ingleby's house party was assembled there, forming a picturesque group
under the white and scarlet chestnut-trees. Beyond, on the beautifully
kept turf of the court, an exciting set was in progress. As she
approached, Jane could distinguish Garth's slim, agile figure, in white
flannels and the violet shirt; and young Ronnie, huge and powerful,
trusting to the terrific force of his cuts and drives to counterbalance
Garth's keener eye and swifter turn of wrist.
It was a fine game. Garth had won the first set by six to four, and now
the score stood at five to four in Ronnie's favour; but this game was
Garth's service, and he was almost certain to win it. The score would
then be "games all."
Jane walked along the line of garden chairs to where she saw a vacant
one near Myra. She was greeted with delight, but hurriedly, by the
eager watchers of the game.
Suddenly a howl went up. Garth had made two faults.
Jane found her chair, and turned her attention to the game. Almost
instantly shrieks of astonishment and surprise again arose. Garth had
served INTO the net and OVER the line. Game and set were Ronnie's.
"One all," remarked Billy. "Well! I never saw Dal do THAT before.
However; it gives us the bliss of watching another set. They are
splendidly matched. Dal is lightning, and Ronnie thunder."
The players crossed over, Garth rather white beneath his tan. He was
beyond words vexed with himself for failing in his service, at that
critical juncture. Not that he minded losing the set; but it seemed to
him it must be patent to the whole crowd, that it was the sight, out of
the tail of his eye, of a tall grey figure moving quietly along the
line of chairs, which for a moment or two set earth and sky whirling,
and made a confused blur of net and lines. As a matter of fact, only
one of the onlookers connected Garth's loss of the game with Jane's
arrival, and she was the lovely girl, seated exactly opposite the net,
with whom he exchanged a smile and a word as he crossed to the other
side of the court.
The last set proved the most exciting of the three. Nine hard-fought
games, five to Garth, four to Ronnie. And now Ronnie was serving, and
fighting hard to make it games-all. Over and over enthusiastic
partisans of both shouted "Deuce!" and then when Garth had won the
"vantage," a slashing over-hand service from Ronnie beat him, and it
was "deuce" again.
"Don't it make one giddy?" said Mrs. Parker Bangs to Billy, who
reclined on the sward at her feet. "I should say it has gone on long
enough. And they must both be wanting their tea. It would have been
kind in Mr. Dalmain to have let that ball pass, anyway."
"Yes, wouldn't it?" said Billy earnestly. "But you see, Dal is not
naturally kind. Now, if I had been playing against Ronnie, I should
have let those over-hand balls of his pass long ago."
"I am sure you would," said Mrs. Parker Bangs, approvingly; while Jane
leaned over, at Myra's request, and pinched Billy.
Slash went Ronnie's racket. "Deuce! deuce!" shouted half a dozen voices.
"They shouldn't say that," remarked Mrs. Parker Bangs, "even if they
are mad about it."
Billy hugged his knees, delightedly; looking up at her with an
expression of seraphic innocence.
"No. Isn't it sad?" he murmured. "I never say naughty words when I
play. I always say 'Game love.' It sounds so much nicer, I think."
Jane pinched again, but Billy's rapt gaze at Mrs. Parker Bangs
continued.
"Billy," said Myra sternly, "go into the hall and fetch my scarlet
sunshade. Yes, I dare say you WILL miss the finish," she added in a
stern whisper, as he leaned over her chair, remonstrating; "but you
richly deserve it."
"I have made up my mind what to ask, dear queen," whispered Billy as he
returned, breathless, three minutes later and laid the parasol in Lady
Ingleby's lap. "You promised me anything, up to the half of your
kingdom. I will have the head of Mrs. Parker Bangs in a charger."
"Oh, shut up, Billy!" exclaimed Jane, "and get out of the light! We
missed that last stroke. What is the score?"
Once again it was Garth's vantage, and once again Ronnie's arm swung
high for an untakable smasher.
"Play up, Dal!" cried a voice, amid the general hubbub.
Garth knew that dear voice. He did not look in its direction, but he
smiled. The next moment his arm shot out like a flash of lightning. The
ball touched ground on Ronnie's side of the net and shot the length of
the court without rising. Ronnie's wild scoop at it was hopeless. Game
and set were Garth's.
They walked off the ground together, their rackets under their arms,
the flush of a well-contested fight on their handsome faces. It had
been so near a thing that both could sense the thrill of victory.
Pauline Lister had been sitting with Garth's coat on her lap, and his
watch and chain were in her keeping. He paused a moment to take them up
and receive her congratulations; then, slipping on his coat, and
pocketing his watch, came straight to Jane.
"How do you do, Miss Champion?"
His eyes sought hers eagerly; and the welcoming gladness he saw in them
filled him with certainty and content. He had missed her so unutterably
during these days. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had just been weary
stepping-stones to Friday. It seemed incredible that one person's
absence could make so vast a difference. And yet how perfect that it
should be so; and that they should both realise it, now the day had
come when he intended to tell her how desperately he wanted her always.
Yes, that they should BOTH realise it--for he felt certain Jane had
also experienced the blank. A thing so complete and overwhelming as the
miss of her had been to him could not be one-sided. And how well worth
the experience of these lonely days if they had thereby learned
something of what TOGETHER meant, now the words were to be spoken which
should insure forever no more such partings.
All this sped through Garth's mind as he greeted Jane with that most
commonplace of English greetings, the everlasting question which never
receives an answer. But from Garth, at that moment, it did not sound
commonplace to Jane, and she answered it quite frankly and fully. She
wanted above all things to tell him exactly how she did; to hear all
about himself, and compare notes on the happenings of these three
interminable days; and to take up their close comradeship again,
exactly where it had left off. Her hand went home to his with that firm
completeness of clasp, which always made a hand shake with Jane such a
satisfactory and really friendly thing.
"Very fit, thank you, Dal," she answered. "At least I am every moment
improving in health and spirits, now I have arrived here at last."
Garth stood his racket against the arm of her chair and deposited
himself full length on the grass beside her, leaning on his elbow.
"Was anything wrong with London?" he asked, rather low, not looking up
at her, but at the smart brown shoe, planted firmly on the grass so
near his hand. "Nothing was wrong with London," replied Jane frankly;
"it was hot and dusty of course, but delightful as usual. Something was
wrong with ME; and you will be ashamed of me, Dal, if I confess what it
was."
Garth did not look up, but assiduously picked little blades of grass
and laid them in a pattern on Jane's shoe. This conversation would have
been exactly to the point had they been alone. But was Jane really
going to announce to the assembled company, in that dear, resonant,
carrying voice of hers, the sweet secret of their miss of one another?
"Liver?" inquired Mrs. Parker Bangs suddenly.
"Muffins!" exclaimed Billy instantly, and, rushing for them, almost
shot them into her lap in the haste with which he handed them,
stumbling headlong over Garth's legs at the same moment.
Jane stared at Mrs. Parker Bangs and her muffins; then looked down at
the top of Garth's dark head, bent low over the grass.
"I was dull," she said, "intolerably dull. And Dal always says 'only a
dullard is dull.' But I diagnosed my dulness in the train just now and
found it was largely his fault. Do you hear, Dal?"
Garth lifted his head and looked at her, realising in that moment that
it was, after all, possible for a complete and overwhelming experience
to be one-sided. Jane's calm grey eyes were full of gay friendliness.
"It was your fault, my dear boy," said Jane.
"How so?" queried Garth; and though there was a deep flush on his
sunburned face, his voice was quietly interrogative.
"Because, during those last days at Overdene, you led me on into a time
of musical dissipation such as I had never known before, and I missed
it to a degree which was positively alarming. I began to fear for the
balance of my well-ordered mind."
"Well," said Myra, coming out from behind her red parasol, "you and Dal
can have orgies of music here if you want them. You will find a piano
in the drawing-room and another in the hall, and a Bechstein grand in
the billiard-room. That is where I hold the practices for the men and
maids. I could not make up my mind which makers I really preferred,
Erard, Broadwood, Collard, or Bechstein; so by degrees I collected one
of each. And after all I think I play best upon the little cottage
piano we had in the school-room at home. It stands in my boudoir now. I
seem more accustomed to its notes, or it lends itself better to my way
of playing."
"Thank you, Myra," said Jane. "I fancy Dal and I will like the
Bechstein."
"And if you want something really exciting in the way of music,"
continued Lady Ingleby, "you might attend some of the rehearsals for
this 'service of song' they are getting up in aid of the organ deficit
fund. I believe they are attempting great things."
"I would sooner pay off the whole deficit, than go within a mile of a
'service of song,'" said Jane emphatically.
"Oh, no," put in Garth quickly, noting Myra's look of disappointment.
"It is so good for people to work off their own debts and earn the
things they need in their churches. And 'services of song' are
delightful if well done, as I am sure this will be if Lady Ingleby's
people are in it. Lawson outlined it to me this morning, and hummed all
the principal airs. It is highly dramatic. Robinson Crusoe--no, of
course not! What's the beggar's name? 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'? Yes, I knew
it was something black. Lawson is Uncle Tom, and the vicar's small
daughter is to be little Eva. Miss Champion, you will walk down with me
to the very next rehearsal."
"Shall I?" said Jane, unconscious of how tender was the smile she gave
him; conscious only that in her own heart was the remembrance of the
evening at Overdene when she felt so inclined to say to him: "Tell me
just what you want me to do, and I will do it."
"Pauline will just love to go with you," said Mrs. Parker Bangs. "She
dotes on rural music."
"Rubbish, aunt!" said Miss Lister, who had slipped into an empty chair
near Myra. "I agree with Miss Champion about 'services of song,' and I
don't care for any music but the best."
Jane turned to her quickly, with a cordial smile and her most friendly
manner. "Ah, but you must come," she said. "We will be victimised
together. And perhaps Dal and Lawson will succeed in converting us to
the cult of the 'service of song.' And anyway it will be amusing to
have Dal explain it to us. He will need the courage of his convictions."
"Talking of something 'really exciting in the way of music,'" said
Pauline Lister, "we had it on board when we came over. There was a nice
friendly crowd on board the Arabic, and they arranged a concert for
half-past eight on the Thursday evening. We were about two hundred
miles off the coast of Ireland, and when we came up from dinner we had
run into a dense fog. At eight o'clock they started blowing the
fog-horn every half-minute, and while the fog-horn was sounding you
couldn't hear yourself speak. However, all the programmes were printed,
and it was our last night on board, so they concluded to have the
concert all the same. Down we all trooped into the saloon, and each
item of that programme was punctuated by the stentorian BOO of the
fog-horn every thirty seconds. You never heard anything so cute as the
way it came in, right on time. A man with a deep bass voice sang ROCKED
IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP, and each time he reached the refrain, 'And
calm and peaceful is my sle-eep,' BOO went the fog-horn, casting a
certain amount of doubt on our expectations of peaceful sleep that
night, anyway. Then a man with a sweet tenor sang OFT IN THE STILLY
NIGHT, and the fog-horn showed us just how oft, namely, every thirty
seconds. But the queerest effect of all was when a girl had to play a
piano-forte solo. It was something of Chopin's, full of runs and trills
and little silvery notes. She started all right; but when she was
half-way down the first page, BOO went the fog-horn, a longer blast
than usual. We saw her fingers flying, and the turning of the page, but
not a note could we hear; and when the old horn stopped and we could
hear the piano again, she had reached a place half-way down the second
page, and we hadn't heard what led to it. My! it was funny. That went
on all through. She was a plucky girl to stick to it. We gave her a
good round of applause when she had finished, and the fog-horn joined
in and drowned us. It was the queerest concert experience I ever had.
But we all enjoyed it. Only we didn't enjoy that noise keeping right on
until five o'clock next morning."
Jane had turned in her chair, and listened with appreciative interest
while the lovely American girl talked, watching, with real delight, her
exquisite face and graceful gestures, and thinking how Dal must enjoy
looking at her when she talked with so much charm and animation. She
glanced down, trying to see the admiration in his eyes; but his head
was bent, and he was apparently absorbed in the occupation of tracing
the broguing of her shoes with the long stalk of a chestnut leaf. For a
moment she watched the slim brown hand, as carefully intent on this
useless task, as if working on a canvas; then she suddenly withdrew her
foot, feeling almost vexed with him for his inattention and apparent
indifference.
Garth sat up instantly. "It must have been awfully funny," he said.
"And how well you told it. One could hear the fog-horn, and see the
dismayed faces of the performers. Like an earthquake, a fog-horn is the
sort of thing you don't ever get used to. It sounds worse every time.
Let's each tell the funniest thing we remember at a concert. I once
heard a youth recite Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade with much
dramatic action. But he was extremely nervous, and got rather mixed. In
describing the attitude of mind of the noble six hundred, he told us
impressively that it was"
"'Theirs not to make reply;
Theirs not to do or die;
Theirs BUT TO REASON WHY.'"
"The tone and action were all right, and I doubt whether many of the
audience noticed anything wrong with the words."
"That reminds me," said Ronald Ingram, "of quite the funniest thing I
ever heard. It was at a Thanksgiving service when some of our troops
returned from South Africa. The proceedings concluded by the singing of
the National Anthem right through. You recollect how recently we had
had to make the change of pronoun, and how difficult it was to remember
not to shout:"
"'Send HER victorious'? Well, there was a fellow just behind me, with a
tremendous voice, singing lustily, and taking special pains to get the
pronouns correct throughout. And when he reached the fourth line of the
second verse he sang with loyal fervour."
"'Confound HIS politics,
Frustrate HIS knavish tricks!'"
"That would amuse the King," said Lady Ingleby. "Are you sure it is a
fact, Ronnie?"
"Positive! I could tell you the church, and the day, and call a whole
pewful of witnesses who were convulsed by it."
"Well, I shall tell his Majesty at the next opportunity, and say you
heard it. But how about the tennis? What comes next? Final for couples?
Oh, yes! Dal, you and Miss Lister play Colonel Loraine and Miss
Vermount; and I think you ought to win fairly easily. You two are so
well matched. Jane, this will be worth watching."
"I am sure it will," said Jane warmly, looking at the two, who had
risen and stood together in the evening sunlight, examining their
rackets and discussing possible tactics, while awaiting their
opponents. They made such a radiantly beautiful couple; it was as if
nature had put her very best and loveliest into every detail of each.
The only fault which could possibly have been found with the idea of
them wedded, was that her dark, slim beauty was so very much just a
feminine edition of his, that they might easily have been taken for
brother and sister; but this was not a fault which occurred to Jane.
Her whole-hearted admiration of Pauline increased every time she looked
at her; and now she had really seen them together, she felt sure she
had given wise advice to Garth, and rejoiced to know he was taking it.
* * * * *
Later on, as they strolled back to the house together,--she and Garth
alone,--Jane said, simply: "Dal, you will not mind if I ask? Is it
settled yet?"
"I mind nothing you ask," Garth replied; "only be more explicit. Is
what settled?"
"Are you and Miss Lister engaged?"
"No," Garth answered. "What made you suppose we should be?"
"You said at Overdene on Tuesday--TUESDAY! oh! doesn't it seem weeks
ago?--you said we were to take you seriously."
"It seems years ago," said Garth; "and I sincerely hope you will take
me--seriously. All the same I have not proposed to Miss Lister; and I
am anxious for an undisturbed talk with you on the subject. Miss
Champion, after dinner to-night, when all the games and amusements are
in full swing, and we can escape unobserved, will you come out onto the
terrace with me, where I shall be able to speak to you without fear of
interruption? The moonlight on the lake is worth seeing from the
terrace. I spent an hour out there last night--ah, no; you are wrong
for once--I spent it alone, when the boating was over, and thought
of--how--to-night--we might be talking there together."
"Certainly I will come," said Jane; "and you must feel free to tell me
anything you wish, and promise to let me advise or help in any way I
can."
"I will tell you everything," said Garth very low, "and you shall
advise and help as ONLY you can."
* * * * *
Jane sat on her window-sill, enjoying the sunset and the exquisite
view, and glad of a quiet half-hour before she need think of summoning
her maid. Immediately below her ran the terrace, wide and gravelled,
bounded by a broad stone parapet, behind which was a drop of eight or
ten feet to the old-fashioned garden, with quaint box-bordered
flower-beds, winding walks, and stone fountains. Beyond, a stretch of
smooth lawn sloping down to the lake, which now lay, a silver mirror,
in the soft evening light. The stillness was so perfect; the sense of
peace, so all-pervading. Jane held a book on her knee, but she was not
reading. She was looking away to the distant woods beyond the lake;
then to the pearly sky above, flecked with rosy clouds and streaked
with gleams of gold; and a sense of content, and gladness, and
well-being, filled her.
Presently she heard a light step on the gravel below and leaned forward
to see to whom it belonged. Garth had come out of the smoking-room and
walked briskly to and fro, once or twice. Then he threw himself into a
wicker seat just beneath her window, and sat there, smoking
meditatively. The fragrance of his cigarette reached Jane, up among the
magnolia blossoms. "'Zenith,' Marcovitch," she said to herself, and
smiled. "Packed in jolly green boxes, twelve shillings a hundred! I
must remember in case I want to give him a Christmas present. By then
it will be difficult to find anything which has not already been
showered upon him."
Garth flung away the end of his cigarette, and commenced humming below
his breath; then gradually broke into words and sang softly, in his
sweet barytone:
"'It is not mine to sing the stately grace,
The great soul beaming in my lady's face.'"
The tones, though quiet, were so vibrant with passionate feeling, that
Jane felt herself an eavesdropper. She hastily picked a large magnolia
leaf and, leaning out, let it fall upon his head. Garth started, and
looked up. "Hullo!" he said. "YOU--up there?"
"Yes," said Jane, laughing down at him, and speaking low lest other
casements should be open, "I--up here. You are serenading the wrong
window, dear 'devout lover.'"
"What a lot you know about it," remarked Garth, rather moodily.
"Don't I?" whispered Jane. "But you must not mind, Master Garthie,
because you know how truly I care. In old Margery's absence, you must
let me be mentor."
Garth sprang up and stood erect, looking up at her, half-amused,
half-defiant.
"Shall I climb the magnolia?" he said. "I have heaps to say to you
which cannot be shouted to the whole front of the house."
"Certainly not," replied Jane. "I don't want any Romeos coming in at my
window. 'Hoity-toity! What next?' as Aunt 'Gina would say. Run along
and change your pinafore, Master Garthie. The 'heaps of things' must
keep until to-night, or we shall both be late for dinner."
"All right," said Garth, "all right. But you will come out here this
evening, Miss Champion? And you will give me as long as I want?"
"I will come as soon as we can possibly escape," replied Jane; "and you
cannot be more anxious to tell me everything than I am to hear it. Oh!
the scent of these magnolias! And just look at the great white
trumpets! Would you like one for your buttonhole?"
He gave her a wistful, whimsical little smile; then turned and went
indoors.
"Why do I feel so inclined to tease him?" mused Jane, as she moved,
from the window. "Really it is I who have been silly this time; and he,
staid and sensible. Myra is quite right. He is taking it very
seriously. And how about her? Ah! I hope she cares enough, and in the
right way.--Come in, Matthews! And you can put out the gown I wore on
the night of the concert at Overdene, and we must make haste. We have
just twenty minutes. What a lovely evening! Before you do anything
else, come and see this sunset on the lake. Ah! it is good to be here!"