"A LITTLE EGOTISTICAL, PERHAPS"
We always like those who admire us, but do not always
like those whom we admire.
--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.
Trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle.
--MICHAEL ANGELO.
The bedrooms at the Wood House opened on a wide corridor which extended
the whole length of the house. It was known by the name of the Red
Gallery, probably from the great stained-glass window through which the
sunset glow filtered on summer evenings, and reflected purple and
crimson stains on the tessellated pavement of the hall below. By some
odd coincidence, a figure of the Thuringian queen St. Elizabeth was the
subject of the window. Something in the figure and the pose of the
crowned head of the saint reminded Malcolm of Elizabeth Templeton; but
the meek beauty of the upturned face resembled Dinah.
The gallery was carpeted, and comfortably furnished with easy-chairs
and one or two oak settles; the walls were covered with pictures. On
winter afternoons, when a great beech log burnt cheerily in the
fireplace, it must have been a pleasant place for a twilight gossip
before dressing for dinner. As the family was small, several of the
bedrooms had never been used; they were twelve in number, and an artist
friend of the sisters had suggested that each chamber should bear the
name of a month of the year. By a happy conceit which had greatly
delighted them, he had with his own hand not only illuminated the name,
but had with exquisite taste painted a spray of flowers that were
typical of each month. For example, over Elizabeth's door--June--hung a
lovely cluster of crimson and white roses; while Dinah, who had
appropriated September, had a cluster of blackberries and traveller's
joy.
When Malcolm had taken possession of the guest-room--April--he had
gazed admiringly at a festoon of pink apple-blossoms over his door, but
when he had praised the novel adornment with his wonted enthusiasm, the
sisters modestly disclaimed all credit.
"It was not our idea," observed Elizabeth regretfully; "neither Dinah
nor I had the genius to evolve it. It was our friend, Mr. Leon Power.
You will know his name; his 'Andromache' was so much talked about last
year.'"
"Of course, every one knows Leon Power," returned Malcolm quickly. "A
friend of mine, Mr. Keston, quite swears by him."
"We know Mr. Keston's pictures well," observed Dinah in her placid way.
"I hear he is to have Mr. Logan's house for the summer, and then we
shall have the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I assure you, Mr.
Herrick, that it was all Mr. Power's idea. He used to come down for a
few days and paint a door at a time. We loved to sit in the gallery and
watch him. You have no idea how it interested us."
When Elizabeth, still carrying her antique lamp, passed swiftly down
the gallery, she paused as usual at her sister's door. Dinah was
sitting in a carved oak chair by the open window with a reading-lamp
beside her. Her evening dress was replaced by a white muslin wrapper,
which made her look younger than ever. The red edges of the St. Thomas
a Kempis that she had been reading was the only spot of colour about
her.
"You are later than usual, dear," she said gently. "Did you go all the
way to Rotherwood?"
"In this garb! My dear child, supposing I had met the vicar! Oh no, we
only walked to the usual trysting-place. Well, Dinah"--seating herself
in a comfortable easy-chair beside her--"what do you think of our new
friend?"
"I was going to ask you that question," returned her sister in a
disappointed voice. "I did so want to know your opinion; but you are so
dreadfully quick, Betty. Of course I like him; he is very gentlemanly
and agreeable, and I think clever."
"Oh, I should say there was no doubt of his cleverness." Then Dinah
brightened up as though she had received a personal compliment.
"I am so glad you think so. The society of a clever, cultured man like
Mr. Herrick must be so good for Cedric; and then he is so pleasant, and
has so much to say on every subject, and he has such original ideas.
Really, poor dear Mr. Carlyon was quite cast into the shade this
evening."
"Oh, there I differ from you. Mr. Carlyon is original too, and can hold
his own with any one;" and Elizabeth spoke with some warmth, almost
with asperity, and her sister looked at her rather anxiously.
"Dear Betty, I meant no disparagement of Mr. Carlyon. He is such a
favourite with all of us that we are not likely to undervalue him. It
struck me once or twice that he was not quite in his usual spirits."
"He is a little worried about his father," returned Elizabeth. "He
thinks Theo does not look after him properly. But we were talking about
Mr. Herrick, were we not?"
Elizabeth was not quite herself. Something in Dinah's speech had
ruffled her. She was a little quick-tempered and impulsive; but she
soon recovered herself.
"Does it strike you, Die, that Mr. Herrick is quite aware of his own
cleverness, and that he rather prides himself on being original and out
of the common. Oh, I mean nothing unkind," as Dinah looked rather grave
at this. "I like him exceedingly. I should be an ungrateful wretch if I
did not," she added to herself. "He is a good man, I am sure of that;
and," with a merry laugh, "I am also sure that to know him will be a
liberal education."
Though Dinah joined in the laugh, she was evidently discomposed by her
sister's observation. "I am afraid you think him conceited," she said
regretfully.
"Oh dear, no; a little egotistical, perhaps--I might even say a little
opinionative; but then we all have our faults, and I fancy he will
improve greatly on acquaintance. When I know him better, Die, I shall
delight in arguing with him. There is no use arguing with Mr. Carlyon,
he always gives in to me at once; but Mr. Herrick would fight it out to
the bitter end."
Dinah shook her head at this lukewarm praise. Elizabeth's opinion was
of the utmost moment to her. She relied on it with a simple faith that
astonished strangers. Malcolm was right in suspecting that the younger
sister was the moving spirit of the house. Elizabeth's vigorous mind,
her clear insight, and strong common-sense, made her quick to judge and
discriminate. As Dinah knew, she very seldom made a mistake in her
opinion of a person. Dinah's charitable nature was rather prone to
overestimate her friends and acquaintances--"all her geese were swans."
As Elizabeth often said, when she cared for any one she simply could
not see their faults. "If we were all as blind as Dinah," her sister
would say, "the world would be a happier place;" but all the same she
loved and reverenced the simple goodness and sweetness that by a divine
alchemy transmuted base metal into gold.
Elizabeth was quite aware why Dinah shook her head so disapprovingly.
Cedric's hero had found favour in her eyes, and she wished her other
self--for so she tenderly termed Elizabeth--to do homage to him
likewise; but Elizabeth's gratitude and her wholesome liking were not
disposed to hero-worship. "Mr. Herrick was very nice, and a great
acquisition, and she was quite sure they would soon be good friends;"
and as Elizabeth always meant what she said, Dinah felt tolerably
satisfied with this verdict.
"And now let me hear about Mr. Carlyon, Betty," she observed
cheerfully. "I do hope his holiday was not spoiled by Theo's shiftless
ways."
"Oh, as to that," returned Elizabeth impatiently, "Theo will be Theo to
the end of her days. It is a mystery to me how good people can be so
aggravating. Her brother always declares that she is really a good
woman."
"I should certainly think he was right, dear."
"Her goodness is rather microscopic then," returned Elizabeth drily.
"Mr. Carlyon--our Mr. Carlyon, you know--told me that it fretted him
sadly to see how his father's little comforts were neglected. Theo puts
her parochial work before her home duties. He said the meals were badly
served and badly cooked; that Theo often came in late for dinner and
took a hasty meal in her bonnet; that in the evening there was no
sociality--his father wrote his sermons or buried himself in his books,
and Theo worked at her accounts or dropped asleep from sheer fatigue on
the couch."
"Poor Mr. Carlyon, he deserves a better daughter; but Theo has always
been a restless, bustling sort of mortal. I suppose David--we really
must call him David between ourselves, Betty, to distinguish him--I
suppose he will have his father as usual in August?"
"Oh dear, yes; and Mrs. Pratt will lead them both a life. She always
does; I never saw such, a woman. I mean to give her a bit of my mind
one of these days."
"She is almost as trying as Theo," returned Dinah with a smile. "I
think David gives in to her too much for the sake of peace."
"So I often tell him." "I wish Mr. Charrington would invite Mr. Carlyon
to the vicarage. Mrs. Finch is such a comfortable soul; she thinks
nothing a trouble. But I suppose such an idea would never enter the
vicar's head."
"Oh dear, no. But after all it does not matter, Die; nothing would
induce Mr. Carlyon to leave his son's roof. I do not believe that any
amount of creature comforts or learned conversations would tempt him
away from his boy. I think their affection for each other is one of the
most touching things I know."
"Indeed it is, Betty," and Dinah looked at her sister rather wistfully;
but Elizabeth was too much engrossed with her subject to notice her.
"David's attachment to his father is quite beautiful," she went on;
"but I cannot help wondering over it sometimes. He seems as proud of
that shabby, mild-spoken little man as though he were a bishop in lawn
sleeves, and not a broken-down, hard-working curate-in-charge, who
preaches dull, dry little sermons."
"But his life is his best sermon, Betty!"
"Ah, you are right there," and Elizabeth's beaming look was good to
see. "David sometimes tells me that his father's patience with Theo is
almost angelic. 'I don't know how he bears it,' he said once. 'I am not
particular about food myself, and would dine cheerfully on bread and
cheese any day; but I hate a smoky chimney and dust; and really that
Bridget of theirs is a terrible female, and one of the worst specimens
of a maid-of-all-work that I ever knew. I took to dusting the place
myself, but Theo never noticed it.' Well, well, it's a queer world,
Die. Now it is late and I am keeping you up," and then the sisters
kissed each other affectionately, and Elizabeth withdrew to her own
room.
Dinah sat still in her chair, and there was a thoughtful, almost a
perplexed look on her face.
"I wish I could understand it," she said to herself; "but in some
things Betty is so reserved. People who only know her a little would
never find it out. They persist that she is frankness itself, but there
are limits that no one can overstep--even I dare not." Here Dinah
paused. "But she knows very well that I should never ask her the
question."
"All the same," a moment later, "I am sorely puzzled. Is it only a
friendship between those two, or is it something else on David
Carlyon's part? Once or twice I have seen him looking at her as a man
only looks at one woman."
"If I could venture to give her a hint, to beg her to be careful!
Elizabeth is so careless. She has no idea of her own attractions, and
how irresistible she can be. It is all very well for her to say she is
older than David, and that she takes a sisterly interest in him because
Theo is so unsatisfactory; but there is no need to give him so much of
her company. Oh, no need at all, and it will only make people talk."
And here the careful elder sister sighed as though she were oppressed
with her responsibilities.
"Elizabeth is only thirty," she went on. "Why, that is quite young
nowadays, and after all David is not more than three or four years
younger. It is not the age that matters, or David's poverty, for Betty
has plenty of money of her own. But he is not good enough for her. She
is such a grand creature--when she marries she ought to have a husband
worthy of her--one whom she could honour and obey as well as love--a
man of intellect and power." Had a name suddenly occurred to Dinah, for
as she rose hastily a girlish blush came to her cheek? "I am quite
ashamed of myself," she whispered. "If there is one thing or person I
detest it is a match-maker. How could such an idea come into my head!"
But whatever idea it was, Dinah soon banished it, and before long both
the sisters were sleeping sweetly on their lavender-scented pillows.
Malcolm saw little of his hostesses the next day. Elizabeth spent the
greater part of the day at Rotherwood, and Dinah was busy with her
household duties. He and Cedric played tennis the most of the morning.
Then they lounged about the garden and woodlands in their flannels, and
chatted and smoked endless cigarettes, and after luncheon Cedric
ordered out the dog-cart and showed his friend some of the beauties of
the surrounding neighbourhood. They drove back through Rotherwood, and
as they turned the corner by the church they came upon Mr. Carlyon.
Malcolm did not recognise him at first in his straw hat, until he
hailed them in a cheery voice.
"Hallo, Cedric, are you going to cut me? Look here, my dear fellow, you
and Mr. Herrick must have some tea at my digging. It is a few steps
farther. The mare looks hot. Why don't you put her up at 'The Plough'
and let her have a feed and a rub down?" And as Cedric approved of this
arrangement, Malcolm was obliged to acquiesce, though he was inwardly
bored by the delay.
They had been out for hours, and he was rather weary of the lad's
chatter. Some new acquaintances of the name of Jacobi had been the
subject of Cedric's talk--a brother and sister living in Gresham
Gardens. It was in vain that Malcolm had repeated more than once that
he knew nothing of them. Cedric would not take the hint, and he held
forth on the brother's cleverness and the sister's beauty. To listen to
the boy one might have thought the Jacobis were much above the average
of human beings--that there must be something idyllic, angelic, and
altogether seraphic in their persons and dispositions; but Malcolm, who
knew his man, discounted largely from this, and kept his amusement and
incredulity to himself.
But the name of Jacobi palled on him at last, and he was counting the
milestones between him and the Wood House rather anxiously, when they
saw Mr. Carlyon standing on the curb with his straw hat very much
tilted over his eyes.
No maiden lady of uncertain age loved her tea better than Malcolm.
Nevertheless, the curate's invitation did not please him.
As he got down from the dog-cart he thought regretfully of the cool,
shady drawing-room at the Wood House, and the pretty tea-table with its
silver urn and old-fashioned china. Cedric was so thoughtless. Of
course his sisters would be expecting them. Carlyon seemed a pleasant
fellow, but he was not sure that he desired a closer acquaintance with
him. Malcolm was inclined to be a little distant, but neither of his
companions seemed to notice it. A low white cottage, standing back in a
shady little garden, was their destination. As Mr. Carlyon unlatched
the gate, Cedric said in an audible aside--
"It is not washing-day, is it, David? I hope Mother Pratt has her
kettle boiling, for Herrick and I are as thirsty as fish."
"My dear fellow, I have no idea," and Mr. Carlyon looked a little
alarmed. "Just look after Mr. Herrick for a few minutes while I tackle
the good lady."
"I don't believe Mrs. Pratt will bring the tea-things for another
half-hour," observed Cedric cheerfully. "Poor old Davie, it is awful
hard lines for him to have such a landlady. She imposes on him
shamefully."
"Why does he put up with it?" returned Malcolm drily. He was not in the
humour to discuss Mr. Carlyon's household arrangements. The room into
which Cedric had ushered him was a very pleasant one. It was rather
low, but a side window with a cushioned recess looked out on a small
lawn, with beautifully-kept flower-beds and long borders filled with
old-fashioned herbaceous flowers, where brown bees were humming in the
sunshine.
"Mrs. Pratt evidently keeps a good gardener," he said, as he took note
of the neatly-shaven and carefully--swept paths.
"David is the gardener," returned Cedric laughing. "The garden is his
hobby. He is at work sometimes at six o'clock in the morning. It is
rather a good garden, as you see; but when David first came to the
White Cottage it was a perfect wilderness. A lone widder woman cannot
be expected to attend to house and garden too," he continued in a
lackadaisical voice. "Hallo, Davy, what cheer, my lad? Are the fates
propitious?"
"Not exactly," in a depressed tone. "I am afraid it is washing-day, and
that Mrs. Pratt will keep us waiting. I filled the kettle for her
myself, but it has got to boil; but if you don't mind waiting--" in a
still more embarrassed manner.
"What's the matter, good friends?" observed a cheery voice. "Can I be
of any use and assistance? I am not afraid of a dozen Mrs. Pratts. May
I join your tea-party, Mr. Carlyon? I was just going to ask Mrs. Finch
for a cup, but as I passed I saw Cedric at the window," and before any
could answer Elizabeth had advanced into the room with a smile that
seemed to evoke responsive smiles on every face.
"Thank goodness! Bet," exclaimed her brother devoutly; "we shall get
along now."
"Oh yes, we shall get along," and Elizabeth took off her hat and
hastily smoothed her hair. "Now for the Pratt woman and tea. Au revoir,
gentlemen." And then she vanished, and after a moment's hesitation Mr.
Carlyon followed her.