DR. CRAIG'S WISDOM.
A friend who did not obtrude himself upon the departing travellers, but
spied from the background, rubbed his hands as the train moved off.
Then as the big Boldero omnibus turned empty homewards, Dr. Craig stood
still for a moment in thought, consulted his watch, and finally walked
briskly up the street to his own door.
"What is it?" demanded a voice from an upper window; "forgotten
anything, Humpty?"--and the attentive wife prepared to fly down.
"No, no; stay where you are." Humpty waved her back. "I have some work
to do at home this morning," and he stepped into the surgery, where on
this occasion his young assistant was dutifully busy.
"Hey, I'm going to send you for a run, Tommy; you can finish here when
you come in. Take your bicycle, and go to Mrs. Brooks--you know the
house? You don't? Well, you know Ashford Mill? It's near by. Any one
will tell you the road. Call, and say I'm not coming till to-morrow if
all's going on well. Of course, if I'm wanted, I can look in--let's
see--some time this evening. But I don't expect I shall be wanted. And
Tommy----"
"Yes, sir?"
"You needn't hurry back. Take your time, and get a breath of good air
over the downs."
"Thank you, sir,"--but the dejected countenance did not brighten, and
the rejoinder was mechanical. A few days before what a prospect would
have opened at the above words, now it mattered not to Tommy Andrews
what he did nor where he went. He continued to pound away with his back
turned.
"Come, be off!" said Dr. Craig, good-naturely. "I came back on purpose
to set you free. By the way--ahem!--you need not be afraid of meeting
any one; you won't be tempted to break your word--not that you would, of
course,--but, well, I thought I'd just mention it--the ladies are off to
London."
"The--the ladies, sir?"
"The Boldero ladies. Two of them, at least,--Miss Sue and Mrs. Stubbs. I
was at the station just now, and saw them go, with a pile of luggage
that meant a longish stay. My boy, this ought not to be ill news to
you," continued the speaker, changing his tone of assumed indifference
for one of quiet sincerity; "it's only the natural ending of what ought
never to have begun; and you will live to be glad it came so soon, and
so conclusively. Take your time upon the road, Tommy. There's nothing to
bring you in before dinner."
And at dinner Humpty was in his most genial mood. He was not as a rule
genial at the midday repast, to which as often as not he hurried in
late, only to hurry out again as soon as he had consumed abstractedly
the portion set aside for him; but on the present occasion he subsided
into his armchair at the foot of the table with a leisurely, tranquil
air that spoke of a mind at ease for the time being.
He enjoyed his roast chicken and green peas. He had himself cut the
asparagus and cut it bountifully. Mary was bidden to observe how
asparagus ought to be cut--a couple of inches, not more, below the
surface of the earth; and it should never be allowed to grow too high;
the flavour was lost when it had been long above ground; furthermore, it
should be carried straight from the bed to the pot--but here Mary
laughed outright.
"What are you laughing at?" demanded he.
"You, who never give your food a chance! Tommy knows,"--and the careful
housewife continued to laugh, looking at Tommy, "he has to put down your
plate to the fire five days out of six."
"No, no, Mary."
"And often you could not tell me what's on it if I asked! And if _we_
did not look after your digestion----"
"Well, well; I know what's good, when I have time to think about it. And
since you are so keen on my digestion, have you a mind to give Tommy and
me a treat?" nodding at her--"make us some coffee!"
"And we'll take it out-of-doors," continued the doctor, rising and
throwing his napkin aside. "Under the trees yonder. Bring your pipe,
Tommy; you and I don't often enjoy a lazy hour, but a man must break his
rule sometimes. Come along,"--and he led the way.
Of course Tommy saw, and at first Tommy was inclined to resent. So he
was to be treated like a child, a child who has had his toy taken from
him and is to be comforted with other things? He had been allowed to go
out in the sunshine--(on a bogus errand, he suspected; certainly Mrs.
Brooks had not expected a medical visit that morning)--and now his inner
man was being consoled and pampered, and the raw wound which still bled
from the knife so unsparingly applied the day before, was to be blandly
ignored. He felt both hurt and angry.
But the roast chicken was very good, and so was the currant tart with
cream--and he had covered many miles on an empty stomach, and was young,
and as a rule, ravenous. For the life of him he could not help clearing
his plate.
And next he found himself responding with alacrity to the suggestion of
coffee in the cool shade without, for the atmosphere of the little
dining-room had grown somewhat warm and odorous, pervaded by hot
dishes--while even a prospective _tete-a-tete_ with his host was not
altogether distasteful, since he was to be permitted to smoke.
And though he told himself he would not for worlds have Leonore's name
enter into the conversation, in reality he was listening for it, waiting
for it.
He had to wait however.
"It's a queer life, that of a country doctor;" the elder man laid down
his pipe musingly. "A queer life--but it has its compensations. There's
much to be given up, much to be done without,--there's struggle and
hardship to begin with--strain and anxiety always,--but taken as a
whole, it yields a satisfaction--Tommy, I often think there's no life
on earth meets with such clear recompense for the outlay, be the outlay
what it may."
"Yes, sir; I suppose so, sir;" absently.
"Human nature craves appreciation," the speaker slackened his big-limbed
frame afresh, and puffed luxuriously, "to be watched for and welcomed
and--and appreciated--there is no other word for it--wherever one goes,
_is_ something, who can deny it? One may never rise to eminence, one
may be humble and obscure, as the world has it, all one's days, and
yet----" again he paused.
"Yes, sir?" But at the second "Yes, sir," Dr. Craig roused himself.
"You aren't following me, Tommy. You think you knew all this before, and
it sounds like a dull droning in your ears. Isn't it so, my boy?"
"I'm afraid I'm very poor company, sir. But you--you know what makes me
so."
"And you would like to talk about it, and find every other subject
uninteresting? Maybe you're right. What is it then? _Her_, I suppose?"
And a faint smile, not unkindly, accompanied the last words.
"I do want you to believe that she is not to blame. I can't get over
it, your saying what you did. You seemed to infer that I had been
befooled and----"
"If you had, you are not the first--but let that pass. I own I cannot
understand how otherwise you could have presumed to think at all about a
lady so high above your head."
"I did presume, sir."
"And----?"
"And I think I showed it, sir."
"Wilfully?"
"No, unconsciously. But it was _my_ fault--not hers."
"And you acquit her, absolutely?"
Tommy was silent, colouring.
"You would like to acquit her, and you hoped I should do so, without the
need of more? You have a chivalrous soul, and you may thank God for it,
young man; it is a great possession. Respecting Leonore Stubbs, I may be
too hard upon her----"
"Indeed, sir, indeed----"
"I _may_ be, but time alone will show. When she first came back here, a
poor bit widow-creature, more child than woman, it would have touched a
heart of stone to see her and what's more, I saw they were not going the
right way to work with her. She was put into a sort of strait-jacket.
She was made to appear just what the Bolderos thought she ought to
appear. They made no account of the sort of lassie she really was. I
saw, for I was often at the house that winter. And I think Leonore was
glad to be ill sometimes--(she caught colds and chills that year)--just
for the sake of having something to think about, and even old me to talk
to. But of late--I don't know--I seem to fancy she's altered. She breaks
loose. Her face has a kind of reckless look. And it struck me she'd been
angered and fretted till she was ripe for mischief. Did she--did she let
you make love to her, Tommy?"
"Never, sir. There was never a word of the kind between us. I told you
so before."
"Aye; words aren't always needed. You and she were walking in a maze,
and a maze neither of you had the wit to look beyond. Heaven knows where
you would have found yourselves--or, rather, where _you_ would have
found yourself--if I had not brought you up sharp. But don't imagine
I think the worse of you for it, Tommy; and don't you go and fret
and gloom by yourself. The thing's done and can't be undone, and
I'll not deny I'm sorry it is so. Still--" he rubbed his chin
thoughtfully,--"perhaps you have learnt something you would have learnt
no other way, and for the rest, my advice is--forget. Forget as fast as
you can, for," a grim smile, "of one thing you may take your oath, Tommy
Andrews, however quick you may be, the little lady who's gone to London
to-day will be quicker still."
* * * * *
And of course Leonore was. There is no need to indicate the precise
moment at which the figure of her humble village admirer faded clean out
of sight after having hovered reproachfully over a few brief penitential
musings, but certain it is that it vanished, to return no more.
London in the season was a revelation to our heroine. Hitherto her sole
experience of it was confined to passing through, and that mainly at
other periods of the year,--since it was an article of faith with her
husband that one big town was as good as another, and he had all he
wanted of town life at home.
So that all was new, strange, wonderful, glorious--and at first she was
utterly dazzled. True, a modern girl would have laughed in her sleeve
could she have heard Leo's idea of the gay world. She would have said
this unsophisticated creature went nowhere and knew nothing. She would
have marvelled--perhaps as much as Leo would have marvelled at her.
Leo did more than marvel, she was secretly shocked and disgusted on
several occasions, but with the fidelity of the young to the young she
said nothing to Sue. Sue thought the houses she took her young sister to
all that was prudent and respectable. Some of them were rather great
houses--the Bolderos, when they did seek society, moved on a high plane,
and the very fact that they seldom sought it, told in their favour.
The sisters were not overwhelmed with invitations, but they had enough
to gratify the elder and delight the younger. Leo did not dance; indeed,
she did not know how, so the one ball to which she was bidden was
declined, but the two went to a fair amount of dinner-parties, not of
the most lively order, but pictorial and majestic. They were invited to
opera boxes--generally on the grand tier. Leo was on the box seat of a
coach occasionally. As for teas, they overran every afternoon, and
concerts, bazaars, charity entertainments, Hurlingham and Ranelagh
filled up the interstices.
It was in short a giddy round, and perhaps as good a cure for the sort
of complaint from which our poor little girl was suffering as could have
been devised.
It swept her off her feet--and in another sense swept her on to her
feet.
She learned in curious ways a good deal.
Her shell was broken, and albeit the outer air was none of the purest,
it served its purpose of blowing away the cobwebs that had so long
encircled her outlook.
July, however, was passing, and soon, all too soon, fairy-land would
vanish in a myriad of shattered sparklets, and then?
"I suppose we could not go to Cowes, Sue?" A very tempting invitation
for the Cowes week had come, and there had been hints of further
house-parties, and shooting-parties,--but of these latter Leo knew at
once that she must not think. For Cowes, however, she would make a push.
"It is so near, and we could go home as easily from there as from
here,"--she murmured, wistfully. "And the Beverleys are very nice
people, Sue."
"Oh, very; but--I don't know. I am afraid it would hardly do to suggest
it. You see father has already been asked twice to let us stay on, and,
dear Leo, he has been _very_ good about it. Even Aunt Charlotte was
surprised."
"It was Aunt Charlotte who did the trick though;" Leo wagged her head
wisely. "Her sending him a card for her reception was a masterpiece. I
almost wonder he didn't come up for it. Well, what about Cowes?"
"We will think it over, dear."
"I could go by myself, you know."
"No," said Sue, decidedly.
Her orders were that Leo was to go nowhere by herself, and she had more
than once eaten humble pie in consequence--for her sister's sake hanging
on to her skirts, a neglected and undesired appendage by the rest of the
party.
Leo alone would be mindful of her, pleasant towards her. Leo was
certainly growing more affectionate and considerate than of old--but Leo
must not go to Cowes alone.
"I will try what I can do," said Sue, after a pause, during which she
absently broke open another envelope in her hand. "I will read what Maud
says of how they are getting on at home. I see she has returned from her
visit to the Fosters, so perhaps----" An exclamation, quite a violent
exclamation for the prim Miss Boldero, followed. Then she looked up, her
face, we should like to say scarlet, or crimson, but truth compels the
statement that Sue's flushes were of a deeper tint, not quite purple,
but that way. Even her brow was now suffused by this tint. "Oh, Leo!"
But Leo was absorbed in a letter of her own.
"This is really--Leo--listen, Leo!"
"Well?" said Leo, absently. "Here's another idea for Cowes. However,
your news first."
"Yes, indeed. You will say so when you hear it. Maud----"
"She's not coming here, is she?"--quickly.
"Maud writes to announce that she is engaged to be married."
"Good gracious!" The effect was electrical. Leo bounded from her seat
and almost tore the sheet from her sister's hands. "Let me see--let me
see," then reading aloud: "Major Foster--Mr. Foster's younger
brother--home from India--left the army--father pleased (that's a good
thing!)--and coming here next week!--Oh, Sue!----Stop, there's more,"
cried Leo, recovering, for the "Oh, Sue!" had been emitted with dolorous
mental reference to the Cowes scheme, now obviously knocked on the head.
"What's this over the page?" and she turned it in Sue's fingers; "only
the man's name--Paul. She doesn't say very much, does she? I thought
people usually put in something about----"
"What?" said Sue, smiling.
"About being happy, and that. Or at least about the man himself--not
merely who he is, and who his people are."
"She will tell us all when we meet. Maud is not much of a writer, and
she is the last person to--to speak of her feelings; but I do not doubt
she is happy," quoth Sue, radiantly. "Dear Maud! To think that she on
her quiet visit--and at the Fosters, the last people one would have
expected--and father pleased----"
"Oh, it's fine," cried Leo, kissing her, "it really is fine. If she had
only waited till after the Cowes week it would have been perfect.
Anyhow, we'll hie back, you and I, with something to look forward to. We
shan't leave all the sweets behind, now that Maud has done the civil by
us with her 'Paul'. I did hate the thought of going home before," she
was running on, when something stopped her, something that sent a little
cold shiver down her back. It was--yes, it was--_the look_. The look on
Sue's face.
For quite a long while now she had lost sight of the goal once set
before her eyes by this. Imagination had ceased to be fired by its
memory. The three impulsive dashes made in its direction had been so
utterly futile that she could only recall the first with mirth, the
second with contempt, the last with shame. Val Purcell was now happily
restored to his former position of friend and playmate; George
Butts?--she had come across Mr. Butts in London and found him in hot
pursuit of another lady; and though the thought of poor Tommy Andrews
with his weak, imploring mouth and burning eyes could still evoke a
twinge, it was but a passing twinge.
Tommy had certainly been found out, and Tommy's master was not a person
to find out in vain. Dr. Craig had effected what no one else dared
attempt, namely, her own escape from thraldom--and she did not see her
co-delinquent let off, albeit after another fashion.
No, she had nothing more to fear from that quarter; and in the rush and
novelty of the past few weeks, bygone follies, big and little, active
and passive, dwindled to the vanishing point. If only Sue, dear, good,
unconscious Sue, would not recall them!