THE PHOTOGRAPH AND THE ORIGINAL.
Families in which the daughters marry early and in due succession, can
have but little idea of the huge, volcanic shock an engagement means in
a house like Boldero Abbey.
True, it had once before gone through a like experience, but the present
happy occasion was intensified by a variety of causes.
It was satisfactory, altogether satisfactory. Like good wine it needed
not the bush which General Boldero had strewed so plentifully over
Godfrey Stubbs's antecedents and surroundings. His future son-in-law was
well-born and well-bred, and his having lately succeeded to a
considerable fortune was also well known. Accordingly--we are obliged to
add "accordingly"--it was in good taste to say nothing about it.
But he could show, and he did show, enough to raise a smile wherever he
went. However demure his air when receiving congratulations, he could
insert here and there a phrase, adroitly conceived beforehand, the
point of which could not be missed--and he was rampant at home.
There he might freely puff and blow, and turn his little world upside
down. Nothing, not the veriest trifles of every-day life escaped his
touch; and had it not been that the sympathies of all were with him,
that there was not an antagonistic member of the family or household, he
would have been found unbearable.
But the change, the stir, the commotion, the heavy posts, and constant
ringing of the door-bell were delightful to everybody. There was
occupation for everybody. They ran against each other with busy,
pre-occupied faces. They hurried, when formerly time was of no account.
The writing-tables were bargained for, and Maud, all-important, retained
one solely for her own use,--while the two who had fancied they would
have so much to tell of their London escapade, found it so completely
superseded by the new excitement, that they dismissed it from their own
minds.
In short the whole atmosphere quivered with the sensation: "Who would
have thought it?--who would have believed it?--" to which there was but
one response: "We cannot make enough of it".
The man himself, however, had yet to be seen.
"Yes, it is very unfortunate," observed Miss Boldero, in answer to
neighbourly inquiries; "Major Foster has been obliged to put off coming
again. He has had another touch of fever--his long residence in hot
climates has left him subject to these, and though it is nothing to be
anxious about, he has to be careful. We expect him next week."
A photograph was presented in lieu of the original, and no one had
anything to say against the photograph. It represented an unmistakable
soldier, even if he had not been in uniform. The face was clear-cut and
clean-shaven, and some might have thought it had rather a melancholy
expression--but such expressions in photographs are common, and not
always truthful. Leo, for one, openly admired her sister's lover.
"I do detest a smirk," she cried, gaily; "I am so glad Paul's man did
not make him smirk. Were you with him when this was taken, Maud?"
No, it had been taken in London on Paul's way through; he had promised
copies to his regiment, and Maud had assisted him to send these out.
Was he sorry to leave the service? She thought he was, a little.
"So you had to--to cheer him up?" rejoined Leo, inwardly laughing over
the remembrance of poor Val and his perfunctory proposal. "I daresay it
does cheer up people to marry them. Your knight of the lugubrious
countenance----ahem!"
"I don't know what you mean," said Maud, coldly.
"Heigho! I came near a cropper that time," muttered Leo, to herself.
When she was alone she took up the photograph again and looked at it.
She could have wished for Maud's sake that she was to be united to a
more lively-looking individual. The eyes, she could almost swear, were
sad eyes. The mouth had a droop about it.
"It would not matter if it were Sybil or me," reflected she, within
herself; "but no one can ever get a word out of Maud unless she pleases,
and how is she going to bucket along a solemn spouse?... She seems
content with him, and awfully proud of the whole affair--but I always
fancied she would end with a jolly, jovial sort of creature, who would
not care two straws whether she sulked or not. Now, something in this
face,"--she scanned it thoughtfully--"leads me to think that Paul
_would_ care. He has a tired look--as if there were a weight upon him.
Good heavens!" quickly, "Maud isn't the person to remove a weight; she's
a regular old featherbed herself, when there's nothing to stir her up.
She was all right at the Fosters, no doubt, with this going on, and
everybody tootling round her; but if they only knew--if _he_ only knew
what she can be like at home!...
"I don't mean to be nasty;" repentance presently made itself felt; "and
it may only be that Maud and I don't hit it off; that when I'm in a
merry mood, she isn't, and _vice versa_--still," she shook her head
sagaciously, "I'm not sure--not quite sure. It is more noticeable than
it used to be. Even father gets snubbed and has to put up with it. Both
Sue and Syb utterly succumb.... To think that Maud should be the
one--though of course it is her looks--and besides, she herself let slip
that the Fosters had got her there on purpose. Paul had come home at a
loose end, desperately in need of a wife, and a home, and all the rest
of it. The whole thing is clear--the only mystery,--pooh! there's no
mystery....
"But it was luck for Maud," she mused on, "and I must say she
appreciates her luck, and means to get the uttermost farthing out of it.
How she revels in the idea of a grand wedding! And of course she will be
a lovely bride--but I wonder--I hope----" once more her hand strayed
towards the photograph, and she gazed at it long and searchingly, "I do
hope she will make this poor man happy."
Leo, however, had the wit to keep such speculations to herself. She was
only too conscious that she had not managed her own affairs so well as
to give her any claim to pry into those of others, and told herself she
was a little fool to keep on looking into Paul Foster's face and
thinking of him as a poor man.
Directly she saw the real face, it would certainly tell a different
tale. Maud breathed satisfaction over her lover's letters; obviously she
had no doubts of her empire over him, and even while graciously
accepting the encomiums passed by her belongings on her choice, let it
be seen that she by no means considered all the good fortune to be on
her side.
"Paul is deeply religious;" she announced once.
"God bless my soul!" ejaculated the general;--indeed there was a
universal start, for even Sue, the good, kind Sue, could hardly be
regarded as deeply religious. Every eye was bent on Maud.
"Indeed he is," proceeded she, calmly. "He made quite a mark in his
regiment, and received no end of testimonials, the Fosters told me.
They did not speak of it before him, but Caroline warned me--I mean told
me--privately."
"Took an interest in the schools and that sort of thing, eh? Quite
right, very proper;" General Boldero made an effort to recover himself.
"In my day it was quite the thing for the commanding officer to back up
the chaplain; but--hum, ha----_that's_ what you mean, I suppose? You are
not going to foist a parsonical gentleman upon us, young lady?" Despite
the jocular tone, there was a gleam of anxiety.
"I am merely stating a fact," said Maud, stolidly.
"And I am sure we ought to be very glad," murmured Sue in her humble,
peacemaking accents--but even she looked disconcerted.
"We can have Custance to meet Paul at dinner, if that will satisfy him,"
was the general's next; he had had a few minutes for reflection, and
after rapidly weighing the pros and cons of the new development, decided
to swallow it with a good grace. "Will that satisfy him, or will he want
the curates too?"
"You may laugh if you choose, but it is as well you should know;" Maud
drew up her neck, and retorted stiffly. "Paul has been about the world,
and doesn't expect to find people all cut to the same pattern,--only I
imagine _I_ shall have to conform to his ideas after we are married,
and he has set his heart on getting a house with a private chapel
attached."
This was better; the general breathed again. A house with a private
chapel? That meant a big house, a stately house, a house he would be
proud to go to and refer to. "Oh well, a man must have his fads," quoth
he, cheerfully; "and though we have got along well enough at Boldero
Abbey without a private chapel, still if one had been here before my
day, I don't know, 'pon my word, I don't know that I should have done
away with it."
But the above conversation sent Leonore to look again at the photograph.
She was nervous, curiously nervous on behalf of this unknown Paul, of
whom every day produced fresh impressions.
As time passed, he assumed a form she had not been prepared for,--and
the first joyous flurry having worn off, she felt or fancied that he had
in reality been no more fathomed by her sister than she by him.
It will be seen by this that Leonore had herself rapidly altered of
late. She had taken to looking below the surface of things. She pondered
and prophesied within herself. She perceived the drift of casual
observations, and following in thought the byways of life, divined to
what they might lead. In fine, her own blunders and mishaps had
implanted seeds for reflection, and while less unhappy, she was
infinitely more serious than before.
And for Paul Foster's appearance on the scene she grew every day more
impatient.
Perhaps she was altogether mistaken about him, and the being of her
imagination would prove so unlike the reality that doubts and misgivings
would fly to the winds, made ridiculous by a very ordinary individual,
devoid of all the mystery, all the glamour cast over him in day-dreams?
If so, of course she would be glad; it would be the best possible thing
to happen; and yet? "I shall have to get rid of this Paul from my
thoughts somehow," she decided. "He worries me. If he would only come
and be done with it!"
It was evident that Maud attached a certain _eclat_ to her lover's
piety; she recurred to the subject more than once.
"It is all very well for father to make light of it, but I do hope he
understands that it is no joke with Paul. Paul is very sensible, and
never thrusts his opinions on other people, but no one ever thinks of
laughing at them to him."
"It is only father's way," began Sue, distressed; but her sister
continued, unheeding. When Maud had a thing to say she was not to be
defrauded of saying it, and she had now got the ear of the house in the
shape of two other attentive listeners.
"What I mean is that father always seems to think that it is only
clergymen who really care about religion. He looks upon it as their
trade,--oh, he does, Sue--and he would be the first to be down on them
if they neglected their trade,--but as for other people, particularly
other men's caring--and Paul _does_ care, that's the unfortunate part of
it."
"Why unfortunate, dear Maud?" said Sue, gently.
"Oh, I only mean lest he and father should clash," explained Maud with
perfect coolness. "I am not speaking of my own feelings. _I_ don't
mind." After a pause she subjoined: "You might give father a hint, Sue."
"And what about asking Mr. Custance to dinner?" struck in Sybil, who had
hearkened to the above uneasily, yet with a different sort of uneasiness
from that which made poor Sue breathe an unconscious sigh. "It might
create a good impression. Well?"
"It wouldn't take Paul in for a moment," said Maud. "Still," she
hesitated and looked over her shoulder as she was leaving the room, "a
third person might be of use on the first evening after dinner. Just as
you like about that," and she passed out with the air of a queen. She
felt every inch a queen in those days.
"So it wouldn't take Paul in for a moment?" The words raised a new
question in Leonore's mind. If Paul where his deeper feelings were
concerned were thus acute and clear-sighted, how came it that he was so
blind otherwise? Ah, there she was at it again! Back to her old
dilemma--to the bogie which had just been torn in tatters during a merry
feminine conclave, in which wedding preparations and wedding clothes had
formed the chief objects of discussion.
It was so obvious that no one else had any _arriere pensee_ as regarded
the bridegroom elect, that she had suppressed her own successfully for
the time being, and entered eagerly into all the details which even Maud
condescended to be sociable over.
Maud had been quite sociable and pleasant over everything that morning.
She had read bits of Paul's letter aloud; she had permitted herself to
be bantered, even rather mischievously bantered, by Leo; and altogether
was so approachable and communicative, that the reference to her lover's
religious views and her desire that these should be respected, fell out
naturally. Why then should Leo be perplexed anew?
By the time Paul actually arrived, she told herself she was sick to
death of him, and everything about him....
* * * * *
And before the first interview was over she was jeering at herself for
her fussiness. The man was well enough, but he fell from his pedestal
the moment he approached. No, he was not like his presentment. Maud had
declared it did not do him justice--Leo thought differently. She ran him
up and down with her eye, and though she conceded his stature and
general outline to be correctly rendered, there was a disappointing lack
of effect; he had not the air of a hero; he had not the lofty,
melancholy bearing and inscrutable countenance which was to set him
apart from his fellows, a mark for furtive looks and whispers. His brow
was not worn and furrowed. His smile was not forced and fleeting.
Obviously he was a bashful man, unused to finding himself the centre of
attraction, and almost painfully desirous of acquitting himself well
when needs must. When spoken to by a fresh voice, he jerked himself in
the speaker's direction with an almost perceptible start, and flushed
beneath his tan like a boy.
The position, it must be owned, was trying; Leonore had protested
against it beforehand. But her father and Maud were against her, ruling
that all should be assembled and the arrival made an affair of state--in
fact neither would have missed it for the world.
"But Paul?" Leo had ventured doubtfully.
"You may leave Paul to me," said Maud.
It appeared that Paul had brought a dog, and to Leo it was
excruciatingly funny to see General Boldero with this dog. He would have
Lion brought in--he from whose path all the animals belonging to the
lower stratum of household society fled by instinct--and his efforts to
coax the big, gentle creature from beneath his master's chair were
continuous. Whenever conversation flagged, Lion was admired and petted.
Finally he made a joke. Leo and Lion? Ha, ha, ha! Upon which Paul raised
his eyes which were mainly bent upon the ground, and Leo saw them fully
for the first time. They were dark grey and very soft. They had an
infinite amount of expression, and although she certainly could not call
them sad at the moment, she felt that they might once have been so and
might be so again.
But she was not anxious to speak to Paul, and every one else was. By
Maud, as was natural, he was chiefly appropriated, but he listened to
every remark that was made, and without opening his lips took as it were
a leading part in the conversation.
General Boldero was eager to describe his shooting; he had planned how
to put its best side forward, and, while deprecating its merits as
superlative, to leave no doubt as to its being superior to that of his
neighbours.
He hoped Paul would not expect too much; on the other hand, such as it
was, and it was not--hum, ha--to be exactly despised, it had been
carefully saved up for him.
"You are very good, sir," said Paul, gratefully.
"I was coming home from church last Sunday morning," continued the
general--and stopped, apparently to pick up his stick which slipped, but
in reality to let the words sink in--"we walk across the fields from
church, it cuts off a mile--and I marked a covey of sixteen. That's not
a bad covey, is it?"
"It is so long since I shot in England, sir, that I am afraid I hardly
know a large covey from a small one."
"You have been tracking bigger game. I envy you that. But we poor
stay-at-homes must be content with what we can get. Valentine
Purcell--that's a young neighbour of ours--walked home from church with
me on Sunday, and he was astonished at the size of our coveys. We are to
shoot his, later on in the week."
Having thus twice brought in that he had been at church, though the
tenor of his speech was partridge-shooting, the general felt that he had
acquitted himself to admiration, and cast a glance of triumph at Maud.
Maud had been apprehensive of his manners forsooth? He hoped he knew
better than to tread on any one's toes; and a man who could afford to
give his daughter a handsome establishment and was on the look-out for a
house with a private chapel attached, had every right to his
consideration.
He had decreed that no official mention should be made of the family
party having been augmented at dinner.
"It's the custom in French houses for the abbe to appear without
invitation when he pleases. A very good custom; I wish it prevailed in
England," he alleged unblushingly. "As it doesn't, it is not our fault
if Custance only comes when he's asked; and I should certainly--Paul
would certainly, eh, Maud?--You needn't look stupid, my dear," with a
sudden touch of irritation. "You know very well what I mean."
And as she did and the rest did likewise, it was left to himself to say
easily as the party broke up: "We have only our good rector to meet you
to-night; he is quite _l'ami intime_ here, as I am sure you will agree
with me the clergyman of the parish ought to be. Squire and parson hand
in hand, eh?"
"And now I think I have settled that," quoth General Boldero to himself.
He had shot both his bolts; and though for a moment dismayed by the
reflection that he had no more in reserve, there was consolation in the
hope that no more would be required of him. Paul was evidently a
gentlemanly fellow who would avoid unpleasant subjects.
The general opinion of Paul, though it took a different form, was
equally favourable.
No sooner had the lovers disappeared in orthodox fashion, than encomiums
broke out all round. They compared him with people they knew; he was
like one man but taller--he reminded them of another but he was
handsomer. Perhaps he was not strictly handsome, but certainly he was
distinguished looking. If his nose were not a little on one side, it
would be a good nose. Sue had not noticed that it was on one side; she
thought it a very good nose as it was. Sue was even more enthusiastic
than Sybil. Sybil lamented the absence of a moustache. Let a mouth be
ever so good, a moustache was an improvement,--whereat her father
stroked his own and agreed with her.
In the midst of it all, Leonore slipped aside, and passed into the next
room where the photograph was. She was going to convince herself of its
being unlike, absolutely unlike, the original. She was going to
discover, point by point, wherein lay the contrast, and abandon for ever
the old Paul, thus replaced by the new.
The old Paul looked at her, and she started.
For the new Paul had looked, just once, for a single passing minute, the
same.