"I AM TO GIVE YOU A WIDE BERTH, ALWAYS."
A formal dinner-party was of course necessary to introduce Major Foster
to the neighbourhood, and it took place a week after his arrival.
"You will wear your best white silk, I suppose, Leo," said Sue,
beforehand.
"No," said Leo, sharply.
"Won't you, dear? But we are all going to dress up a little, and you
look so well in white."
"I--never mind, I am not going to wear it."
"What shall you wear?"
"Something--anything."
"But, Leo----"
"What _does_ it matter? Why should you care? You never used to worry
about my clothes;" perceiving however that Sue looked hurt, Leo
laughed--not quite naturally. "Don't you see, stupid old darling, that
white silk--well, it makes a bride, and _I_ am not the bride."
"But you wore it in London."
"One wears in London what one never wears out of it." There was
finality in the tone, but Sue persevered; she had not the art of letting
well alone.
"Your only other is the grey voile."
"Well, it would do well enough," impatiently. "It's in rags, but it will
do. You ought to be flattered, as it was your present."
"But it really is rather the worse for wear, Leo; and the white
silk----"
Leo ran out of the room, and presently she was seen tearing down the
avenue at breakneck speed, and did not look round, though hailed loudly
from the terrace, as she swept out of sight.
"So tiresome!" exclaimed Maud, joining her eldest sister within; "I had
been hunting everywhere for Leo; she promised to show Harrison the new
way of doing the hair, and Harrison is ready now. It was Leo herself who
said it would suit me."
"She must have forgotten," said Sue; "but I daresay she has only gone
for a little run, and will be back directly. You know she often does run
out in the twilight."
"It was very inconsiderate, I think. She had the whole afternoon to go
out in, and then to take the only time when she could have been of use!"
Sue was silent, feeling both for the offender and the offended. Maud
certainly had a grievance, for Leo's good offices had been volunteered
not besought, and further Leo was aware that Harrison, good soul, was a
despot of the worst type.
All the Boldero servants were despots--all the heads of departments at
least; they had the strength of long-continued, undisputed rule--and
Harrison, who had begun by being a little schoolroom maid, taken on the
recommendation of the late vicar, while yet Sue was young and her
sisters children, now governed them with a rod of iron. It was only in
consideration of Maud's present attitude that the present concession
regarding her hair had been made, and it was felt to be so magnanimous
that she was positively aghast at Leo's delinquency.
"It is only six o'clock now," adventured Sue, soothingly. "Could you
not----?"
"How can I? If you mean send after her? No one knows where she is by
this time. I called and called, but she never looked round. You might
have reminded her, Sue."
"I should, if I had thought of it myself. But though she was here just
now, we were talking of other things."
"What other things? Everything else is settled. The dinner-table really
looks very nice," in mollified accents; "Watts has done the flowers
beautifully, and Grier has condescended to have out all the plate. Well,
I must go and break it to Harrison, I suppose--but if she is in a
temper, she won't wait, even if I suggest it."
"I don't think I should suggest it," said Sue. She had an instinct that
waiting would be of no use, and it proved to be a correct instinct.
The lower rooms were deserted when Leo hurried in; and lamps were being
lit, while a faint pale moon became momentarily more clear in the dusk
without. Servants were drawing down blinds and shutting shutters. Leo
half expected to find the garden-door bolted, but it was not so,--and
she scurried along the corridor, and prepared to mount the staircase,
when her heart gave a sudden jump. There was some one in her path. Paul
was on the next landing, looking from the great staircase window, with
his back turned.
He was contemplating the scene without, which was certainly beautiful
enough to command admiration--but Leo fancied that he was also sunk in
thought. The pose of his motionless form suggested that he had not
merely stopped to look out in passing, but had come to a halt at that
spot and withdrawn into himself.
She put her foot on the next step and hesitated--but he did not look
round. Obviously the slight noise of her entrance had fallen on deaf
ears, or been held of no consequence, as were the other openings and
shutting of doors in the distance,--and that being the case, there was
no absolute need to intrude.
She stole back into the shadows beneath.
Finally by a circuitous route she reached her own room unseen.
* * * * *
"I say, Maud does look splendid, doesn't she?"
It was Val Purcell who voiced the general sentiment, and as he did so he
turned from Leonore to whom he had addressed himself, to gaze down the
table afresh at her resplendent sister.
Despite the contretemps of the hair, Maud was looking her best--suited
by her dress, her ornaments, and the unusual animation which coloured
her cheeks, and sparkled in her eyes. Hitherto her looks, though
universally admitted, had failed to elicit warmth on the part of any
present--since, truth to tell, she was not a favourite. She was too cold
and too grand. She never forgot that she was a Boldero, and took care
that no one else should. Even honest Val, as we know, did not choose to
be booked too surely as her admirer.
But that point being now settled, and the party having been assembled in
the lady's honour, he was free to add his mite.
"Splendid!" he repeated, settling down again with unction. "I always did
say Maud was a ripper when she chose. I hope her johnnie appreciates his
luck. Between you and me, Leo," sinking his voice for her private ear,
"I wonder how he dared? I wonder how he ever got it out? Maud can be so
awfully nasty--Oh, I say! I don't mean that, you know."
"Then you shouldn't say it," said Leo, shortly. Maud's star was high in
the heavens, while her own--where was it? nowhere. She had no star; her
little glowworm light was out, and all was darkness--yet she was loyal,
even with Val. "Every one is not such a craven as you, Val; and
apparently Major Foster----" she paused.
"He appears to have tackled her right enough. I only wonder how he
screwed himself up to the point? Bet you he had a good pint of champagne
first."
"I daresay," said Leo, absently.
"Now don't you round on me for that, Leo. I know you when you speak like
that. You mean to nab me the next minute."
"I shan't nab you this time. I know nothing about Major Foster's
proclivities, and can't be answerable for them."
"He never drinks anything but water when he's out shooting, but he
wasn't likely to face Maud upon water, was he?"
"I tell you I don't know. Ask him yourself."
"Ask him myself? That's a good one. Ask him myself? Ha--ha--ha. Well,
whatever he took, it did the trick, and she looks as proud as a cat with
a tin tail,--but between you and me, Leo----"
"Oh, don't have any more 'between you and me's,' Val----" But the next
moment Leo demanded inconsequently: "What is it you want to say? Say
it."
"He's an uncommonly nice fellow, and all that,--but----"
"But--well, but----?" impatiently.
"I should have thought he was more your sort than Maud's, that's all."
"My sort!" She was white to the lips, and there was a sudden heaving of
her bosom. "My--my sort?"
"I'll tell you what I mean. We had a long day together yesterday--no, it
was the day before. There wasn't much doing, the birds were shy and
scattered, and I took Foster into our church, as he seemed to want to
see it. I told him I generally went to yours for the sake of the walk,
but--anyhow he seemed to hanker after going inside, and it is an awfully
nice, rum, little old place, you know; lots of people come to see it.
Oh, they come from long distances. Foster was delighted; I couldn't tear
him away. He poked and poked about, and at last he said to me: 'This is
the sort of thing I've dreamed about. An English village church, with
its old worn pillars and arches----' and he raved on a bit. I said I
liked it too; of course I did; I had known it all my life, and he said
'Ah?' and was quite interested. And then--I don't know how it was--it
just seemed as if we were in the thick of it all of a sudden--he was
talking about his ideas of marriage and that. You never heard anything
so queer! But it was very nice, you know. I didn't mind it a bit, only I
thought to myself, 'Do you jolly well imagine you are going to catch old
Maud going in with those highflown ideas? Because if _you_ do, _I_
don't.'"
"What ideas?" said Leo, in a strangled voice. She had a choking
sensation in her throat.
"Eh? Well----" he considered; "they weren't exactly what you would have
expected from a fellow who's knocked about as Foster has. Sort of
romantic, you know."
As she made no reply, he continued: "I expect he had to let them out to
some one, and perhaps Maud--what do you think? Do you see Maud playing
the pious and charitable?--but I daresay she will, you know. Woa there!
I have it, I knew there was something," his tone quickened, "he called
her, that's to say he didn't call _her_, but of course he meant her, he
said he hoped his wife would be an 'Angel in the House,' or something of
that kind. He said a lot more, but I can't remember it."
"You are remembering very well. Go on."
"So then I thought of you."
"Of me? Oh, no."
"But I did, Leo. I can't help it. Anyhow I did." After a minute he
continued briskly. "Whatever made him think of Maud? She must have been
jolly different to him from what she is to us. You know what I mean,
Leo. If he thinks he is going to marry a saint----"
"Oh, Val, don't. You mustn't. You haven't said anything about this to
other people?" said Leo, in great agitation, "you haven't, have you?"
"Rather not. Give you my word. I have been bursting with it ever
since--and if my gran had known she'd have got it out of me sure as
fate--but she doesn't care twopence about Foster, and is only glad it
isn't you."
"Do leave me out of the question. I--I--why should you think of me at
all?"
"Gran keeps me up to it. She goes on praising you. You see I never told
her about _that_, Leo, and she still thinks--you know what," and he
nodded significantly. "This marriage has set her going again."
After a pause it was: "You aren't making much of a dinner, Leo. You say
'no' to everything. What's put you off your feed?"
"Too much afternoon-tea probably. No, it's not that," said Leo,
correcting the fib. "I'm not hungry, that's all."
"This venison is awfully good. Where did it come from? You generally do
have venison about this time, I know. I have eaten it here before in
October."
"Have you?"
"Where does it come from?"--reiterated he.
"From an old cousin, Anthony Boldero. We have no one else who sends us
venison."
"Respects to him. His venison is A1. Leo?"
"Well?" said Leo, in a hard, dry tone. She recognised what was coming.
"It isn't me, it isn't anything I've been saying that bothers you?"
But at the same moment Leo's neighbour on her other hand spoke to her.
She was partly glad and partly sorry for this--glad because it relieved
her from embarrassment, but sorry because it might be difficult, and
indeed it proved impossible, to lead the erratic Val back to the same
point thereafter.
He had delivered himself of all he had to say on the matter, and he had
a talkative damsel on the other side who having been already somewhat
affronted by his neglect, was resolved to endure it no longer. The two
were soon in full tide of conversation; and though Leo had her turn once
and again when Miss Merivale was attacked by her other neighbour, she
could not all in a brief moment resume a dialogue of such import as the
above. She thought Val was approaching it once, however.
"That's a fine dog of his--of Foster's."
"Lion? Yes, a delightful dog."
"It's awfully funny to see your father with him. When he can't make
anything of Foster--he makes no end of a fuss with Foster--but it
doesn't always exactly come off--then he panders to the dog. And, you
know, they take it exactly in the same way! Lion gives him a bored look,
and shakes himself. I think--he--he! his master would like to do the
same."
Leo could not but smile; she had noticed the bored look, and once or
twice it was even a disgusted one--on Paul's face. She would willingly
have caught at the opening, but a moment's hesitation proved fatal. Miss
Merivale struck in again and the opportunity was lost.
On the assembling of the ladies after dinner, Lady Butts fell to Leo's
share. There was a greater lady present, Lady St. Emeraud, once before
mentioned in these pages,--but this august personage, who had, as we
know, kissed Leo on her marriage day, took no notice of Mrs. Stubbs on
the present occasion. It was only at long intervals that she favoured
Boldero Abbey with the light of her countenance, and being a connection
of the Fosters, she had now come to see Maud and do the civil in view of
the forthcoming alliance.
Accordingly her ladyship spread herself upon the principal sofa, with
Sue on one side and Maud on the other,--while the lesser ladyship
subsided upon Leo, and Sybil, in the distance, gathered round her the
rest of the party, and chattered about wedding arrangements and
bridesmaids' dresses.
Leo rather liked Lady Butts, who was uniformly amiable and safely
unintelligent. She could be trusted not to say anything awkward. She
never went below the surface of things; and she had not had Val
Purcell's opportunities of seeing Paul Foster at close quarters. Her
"Your sister's _fiance_ is charming. And how radiant she looks! How
pleased you must all be about it!"--with a few other appropriate
platitudes, dismissed the subject.
Then it was: "You saw my nephew in Town, he told me. Sir Thomas and I
only went up for a few weeks, and had left before you and your sister
arrived. You had a pleasant time, I hope?"
Leo thanked her, and had had a very pleasant time. She had seen Mr.
Butts about, but only to speak to on one occasion.
He had not called?
No, he had not called.
"So rushed he hardly knows what he is doing;" the fond aunt concealed
her disappointment, for her hopes had been renewed by the London visit,
and she knew nothing of a certain affair which was being conducted
independently of her leadership, (and we may add was brought to a
successful issue in consequence). "George is simply done to death in the
season. We saw next to nothing of him ourselves."
"You will soon _hear_ something of him or I'm mistaken, however,"
mentally commented Leo--and the whole conversation which ensued left but
one impression on her mind: How could she ever have chosen the long path
whereby to conduct Mr. George Butts across the park?
As for poor Tommy Andrews, her feelings about Tommy had undergone a
strange revulsion of late. Self-disgust had given way to such a sense of
pity and sorrow as made her long to do something, anything, to heal his
wound; and instead of wincing when she saw his figure in the distance,
she cried out in her heart, "Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry,"--and could
have wept for very tenderness of--fellow-feeling.
In the course of the evening Leo found Paul at her elbow; he had
returned from seeing some departing guests to their carriage, and paused
near the door where she was standing.
"It is a fine fresh night," he remarked, cheerfully.
"Has the moon come out?" said she. "It was raining a little while ago."
"The rain has stopped, and the moonlight is glorious. I saw you flitting
about in the dusk this afternoon," continued Paul, smiling. "I was
coming your way, but I turned off. I didn't feel sure that my company
would be welcome. One likes to be alone sometimes."
"Yes. I--I do. I do like it;" emphatically.
"That's flat." This time he laughed outright, seeming so much amused by
her brusquerie, that she perceived how it must have struck him.
No matter, it was as well he should be thus struck. He would know for
the future.
"Your grounds are so extensive that you have a pretty wide range for
your rambles," resumed Paul, in the same easy, friendly accents; "you
can walk all the way to Claymount without touching the road, young
Purcell tells me; and as for the paths, they seem to be legion; I should
get lost if I attempted to wander about by myself."
"Don't wander then; I advise you not. You really might get lost."
"And then if I fell in with you I should be obliged to throw myself on
your mercy, which would be a terrible catastrophe."
"Oh, I should soon get rid of you," she made an effort to retort in the
same light tone; "I should say--" she paused, "I should say, 'Maud is
there,' and you would fly."
"Is Maud then a woodland nymph also?"
Was it her own fancy or was there an almost imperceptible pause before
he spoke? And did the gay tone of the minute before undergo ever so
slight a modification? Leo made answer with rather forced jocularity.
"It would be my ruse for throwing you off, don't you see? I should not
be positive absolutely that Maud was there, or anywhere--but you could
look. You _might_ find her--or you might not. But anyhow you would not
find me if you came back."
"I am to give you a wide berth then, always?"
"Always."