MR. KINGSTON'S QUESTION.
While her aunt and cousin were discussing her downstairs, Miss
Fetherstonhaugh was dressing herself for dinner in her little chamber at
the top of the house. This was a part of the daily ceremonial of her new
life, in which she took a deep and delighted interest. The whole thing,
in fact, was charming to her. To come sweeping down the big staircase in
dainty raiment, all in the spacious light and warmth--to have the doors
held open for her as she passed in and out--to go into the dining-room
on her uncle's arm, and sit at dinner with flowers before her--seeing
and feeling nothing but softness and colour, and polish and order
everywhere--was at this time to realise her highest conception of
earthly enjoyment.
Her bedroom was not magnificent, but it had everything in it that she
most desired--the whitest linen, the freshest chintz and muslin, a fire
to dress by, an easy chair, and above all, a cheval glass, in which she
could survey her pretty figure from head to foot. She stood before this
cheval glass to-night a thoroughly happy little person. Hitherto, with a
mirror twelve inches by nine, that had a crack across it, she had seen
that her face was fair and fresh, and that her hair had a wonderful
red-gold lustre where the light fell upon it; but she was only now
coming to understand what perfection of shape and grace had developed
with her recent growth into womanhood, to make the _tout ensemble_
charming.
She looked at herself with deep content--no doubt with a stronger
interest than she would have looked at any other lovely woman, but in
much the same spirit, enjoying her beauty more for its own sake than for
what it would do for her--more because it harmonised herself to her
tastes and circumstances, than because it was a great arsenal of
ammunition for social warfare and conquest.
She was still in mourning for her father, and had put on a simple black
evening dress. Her natural sense of the becoming dictated simple
costumes, but education demanded that they should be made in the latest
fashion; and she regarded the tightness of her skirt in front, and the
fan of her train behind, with something more than complacency.
As yet the lust for jewels had not awakened in her, which was very
fortunate, for she had none. The tender, milky throat and the round
white arms were bare; and all the ornament that she wore, or wanted, was
a bouquet of white chrysanthemum and scarlet salvia on her bosom, and
another in her hair.
Pretty Rachel Fetherstonhaugh! If Roden Dalrymple could have seen her
that night, only for five minutes, what a deal of trouble she might have
been spared!
The dinner bell rang, and she blew out her candles hurriedly, and
flitted downstairs. On the landing below her she joined her uncle--a
small, thin, sharp-faced person, with wiry grey hair, and "man of
business" written in every line of his face--as he left his own
apartment; and they descended in haste together to the drawing-room,
where four people were solemnly awaiting them.
The first thing that Rachel saw when she entered was her Marshal Neil
rose. She glanced from that to its wearer's face, eagerly turned to meet
her, full of admiring interest; and, as a matter of course, she blushed
to a hue that put her scarlet salvias to shame.
Why she blushed she would have been at a loss to say; certainly not for
any of the reasons that the assembled spectators supposed. It was merely
from the vaguest sense of embarrassment at being in a position which she
had not been trained to understand.
An hour or two before, her aunt had made that rose the text of a
discourse in which many strange things had been suggested, but nothing
explained; and now they all looked at her, evidently with reference to
it, yet with painful ambiguity that perplexed her and made her uneasy;
and she could only feel, in a general way, that she was young and
ignorant and not equal to the situation. Much less than that was amply
sufficient to cover her with a veil of blushes.
At dinner she sat between Mr. Reade and her uncle, and, being on the
best of terms with both of them, she confined her conversation to her
own corner of the table, and scarcely lifted her eyes; but when dinner
was over--dinner and coffee, and the drive to the opera-house--then Mr.
Kingston, deeply interested in his supposed discovery of a new kind of
woman, and piqued by her shy reception of his generally much-appreciated
attentions, set himself to improve his acquaintance with her, and found
the task easy. They were standing on the pavement, in the glare of the
gaslight, with a lounging crowd about them.
Mrs. Hardy had dropped a bracelet, for which she and her son-in-law were
hunting in the bottom of the brougham, and Mrs. Reade was chatting to an
acquaintance, whose hansom had just deposited him beside her--a bearded
young squatter, enjoying his season in town after selling his wool high,
who stared very hard at Rachel through a pair of good glasses, as soon
as he had a favourable opportunity.
Mr. Kingston stood by the girl's side, staring at her without disguise.
The shadow of the street fell soft upon her gauzy raiment and her white
arms and the lustre of her auburn hair, but her face was turned towards
the gaslight--she was looking wistfully up the long passage which had
something very like fairy land at the end of it--and he thought he had
never seen any face so fresh and sweet.
"You like this kind of thing, don't you?" he said, gently, as if
speaking to a child, when in turning to look for her aunt she caught his
eye.
"Oh, yes," she replied, promptly, "I do, indeed! I like the whole thing;
not the singing and the acting only, but the place, and the people, and
the ladies' dresses, and the noise, and the moving about, and the
lights--everything. I should like to come to the opera every
night--except the nights when there are balls."
Mr. Kingston laughed, and said he should never have guessed from what he
had seen of her that she was such a very gay young lady.
"You don't understand," she responded quickly, looking up at him with
earnest, candid eyes; "it is not that I am gay--oh, no, I don't think it
is that! though perhaps I do enjoy a spectacle more than many people.
But it is all so new and strange. I have never had any sightseeing--any
pleasure like what I am having now, that is why I find it so
delightful."
"Come, my dear!" cried Mrs. Hardy sharply (she had found her bracelet
and overheard a part of this little dialogue), "don't stand about in the
wind with nothing over you. What have you done with your shawl?"
"It is here, aunt," replied Rachel meekly, lifting it from her arm.
Her cavalier hastened to take it from her and adjust it carefully over
her shoulders. During this operation Mrs. Hardy swept into the lobby,
taking the arm of her big son-in-law; and Mrs. Reade, having parted from
her friend, glanced round quickly, followed her husband, and put herself
also under his protection. Mr. Kingston, smiling to himself like
Mephistopheles under his waxed moustache, was left with Rachel in the
doorway.
"How _does_ it go?" he said, fumbling with a quantity of woolly fringe.
"All right--there's no hurry. It is not eight o'clock yet. Pray let me
do it for you."
She stood still, while he dawdled as long as he could over the
arrangement of her wrap, but she cast anxious looks after the three
receding figures, and she was the colour of an oleander blossom. He was
a little disconcerted at her embarrassment; it amused him, but it
touched him too.
Poor little timid child! Who would be so mean as to take advantage of
her inexperience? Not he, certainly. He gave her his arm and led her
into the house, with a deferential attentiveness that did not usually
mark his deportment towards young girls. On their way they were accosted
by a boy holding a couple of bouquets in each hand.
"Buy a bouquet for the opera, Sir?" said he, in his sing-song voice.
Mr. Kingston paused and put his glass in his eye. They were bright
little nosegays, and one of them, much superior to the other, had a
fringe of maiden hair fern and a rich red rose in the middle of it. He
took this from the boy's hand, and offered it to Rachel with his
elaborate bow.
"Permit me," he said, "to make a poor acknowledgment of my deep
indebtedness to you for _this_."
And he touched the drooping petals of the Marshal Neil bud, and imagined
he was paying her a delicate sentimental compliment.
If Rachel had been the most finished fine lady she could not have
undeceived him more gracefully.
"Thank you," she said, simply, and she smiled for half a second.
To be sure her red rose was not redder than she was, but she held her
head with a gentle air of maidenly dignity that quite counteracted the
weakness of that blush.
Mr. Kingston began to suspect, with some surprise, that she was not so
easy to get on with as she appeared. However, that did not lessen his
interest in her by any means.
"I am afraid you think I have taken a liberty," he suggested presently.
What had come to him to care what a bread-and-butter miss might think?
But somehow he did care.
"Oh, no," she said, "it is very kind of you. But you must not talk of
being indebted to me. Flowers are not--not presents, like other things."
By this time they had reached the top of the stairs, and Mrs. Reade was
sweeping out of the cloak-room, where she had been "settling" her hair,
and putting a little powder on her face.
"Mamma is gone in," she said, taking the girl's hand kindly; "there are
plenty of people here to-night, Rachel. You must look for a lady sitting
on the right of the Governor's box, in a high velvet dress. She is one
of our Melbourne beauties."
So they went in and took their seats; and Rachel found herself sitting
in the front tier, not very much to the left of the viceregal armchairs,
and her cousin Beatrice was on one side of her and Mr. Kingston on the
other.
She was perfectly contented now. She smiled at her flowers; she furled
and unfurled her fan; she looked round and round the house through her
glasses, whispering questions and comments to Mrs. Reade, who knew
everybody and everybody's history; and it made Mrs. Hardy quite uneasy
to see how thoroughly and evidently she enjoyed herself. Mr. Kingston
recovered his spirits which she had damped a little while ago.
He watched her face from time to time--generally when she was absorbed
in watching the stage; and the more he looked, the more charming he
found it. So fresh, so frank, so modest, so sweet, with those delicate
womanly blushes always coming and going, and that child-like fun and
brightness in her eyes. He had never been so "fetched," as he expressed
it, by a pretty face before; that is to say, he did not remember that he
ever had been.
It was, indeed, very seldom that he regarded a pretty face with such a
serious kind of admiration. He found himself wondering how it would
fare, how long it would keep its transparent innocence and candour in
the atmosphere of this new world--this second-rate Hardy set, which was
full of meretricious, manoeuvring, gossip-loving women--with a touch of
anxiety that was quite unselfish. He was sure now that she was not a
coquette; he was experienced enough to know, also, that, however humble
her origin and antecedents, she was a girl of thoroughly "good style;"
and it would be a thousand pities, he thought, if the influence of her
surroundings should spoil her.
When the curtain fell and the gas was turned up, he noticed that people
all round the house were turning their glasses upon her. Certainly she
made a charming study from an artistic point of view. What taste she had
shown in the grouping of her white chrysanthemums, and the way she had
mixed in those few velvety horns of red salvia. They were colours proper
to a brunette, but they seemed to accentuate the delicacy of her milky
complexion and the fine shade of her red-gold hair.
What a chin and throat she had! and what soft, yet strong, round
arms!--white, but warm, like blush rose petals that had unfolded in the
dews of dawn at summer time, against the black background of her dress.
And her shape and her colour were nothing compared with the expression
of utter content and happiness that shone out of her face, irradiating
her youth and beauty with a tender light and sweetness that, like
sunshine on a sleeping crater, gave no hint of the tragic trouble hidden
away for future years. No wonder people looked at her. Of course they
looked.
The glasses that she had been using belonged to Mrs. Reade, and now that
lady was busy with them, hunting for her numerous acquaintances. Mr.
Kingston held out his own, curious to see if she would discover what
attention she was receiving, and what the effect of such a discovery
would be.
"Thank you," said Rachel gratefully; and she settled herself back in her
seat, and proceeded to take a thorough survey of all the rank and
fashion that surrounded her. For a long time she gazed attentively,
shifting her glasses slowly round from left to right; and Mr. Kingston
watched her, leaning an elbow on the red ridge between them, and
twiddling one horn of his moustaches.
He expected to see the familiar blush stealing up over the whiteness of
her face and neck. But she remained, though deeply interested, quite
cool and calm. Presently she dropped her hands in her lap and drew a
long breath.
"There is a lady over there," she said in a whisper, "who has something
round her arm so bright that I think it must be diamonds. Do you see who
I mean? When she holds up her glasses again, tell me if they are real
diamonds in her bracelet."
Much amused, Mr. Kingston did as he was bidden.
"Oh, yes," he said, "they are real diamonds. That lady is particularly
addicted to precious stones. She walks about the street in broad day
with a Sunday school in each ear, as that fellow in _Piccadilly_ says.
Are you like the majority of your sex--a worshipper of diamonds? I
thought you did not care for jewellery."
"I do," she replied, smiling. "I don't worship jewels, but I should like
to have some. I should like to have some real diamonds _very_ much."
"I daresay you will have plenty some day, and very becoming they'll be
to you. Not more so, though, than the flowers you are wearing to-night,"
he added, looking at them admiringly.
Rachel touched up her ornaments with a thoughtful face.
"There is such a light about diamonds," she said musingly; "no coloured
stones seem so liquid and twinkling. I don't care in the least about
coloured stones. If I were very rich I would have one ring full of
diamonds, to wear every day, and one necklace to wear at night--a
necklace of diamond stars strung together--and perhaps a diamond
bracelet. And I wouldn't care for anything else."
"Should you like to be very rich?" asked her companion, smiling to
himself over these naive confessions. He was gazing, not only into her
eyes, but at her lovely throat and arms, and imagining how they would
look with diamonds on them.
"Yes," said Rachel. "But the great thing I wish is not to be poor. I
hope--oh, I do hope--I shall never be poor any more!"
"I don't think you stand in the least danger of that," said Mr.
Kingston.
"I know all about it," continued the girl gravely; "and I don't think
you do, or you could not laugh or make a joke of it. You _cannot_ know
how much it means. _You_ never have debts, of course."
"Debts? Oh, dear, yes, I do--plenty."
"Yes, but I mean debts that you can't pay--that you have to apologise
for--that hang and drag about you always. I won't talk about it," she
added hurriedly, with a little shiver; "it will spoil my pleasure
to-night."
"_Don't_," said Mr. Kingston. He did not find it a congenial topic
either. "Tell me what you would do if you were rich."
"What I would do?" she murmured gently, smiling again. "Oh, all kinds of
things--I would pay ready money for everything, in the first place. Then
I would have a lovely house, with quantities of pictures. That is one
great fault in our house at Toorak--we have no nice pictures. And I
would wear black velvet dresses. And I would have a beautiful sealskin
jacket. And a thorough-bred horse to ride----"
"Oh, do you ride?" interposed Mr. Kingston, eagerly.
"I used to ride. I like it very much. My father gave me a beautiful mare
once; but afterwards he rode a steeplechase with her, and she fell and
broke her back. I can ride very well," she added, smiling and blushing.
"I can jump fences without being afraid. But Uncle Hardy keeps only
carriage horses, and none of the family ride."
"But you must have a horse, of course. I must speak to your uncle about
it," said Mr. Kingston. "Indeed, I think I have one that would suit you
admirably, and I'll lend him to you to try, with pleasure, if you'll
allow me."
"Oh, _will_ you? Oh, _how_ delightful! When will you let me try him? But
I forgot--I have no habit!"
"That is a difficulty soon got over. I'll speak to your aunt," said this
influential autocrat.
And here a bell rang, and the curtain rose upon a fresh scene. Mrs.
Reade and her mother had had an absorbing _tete-a-tete_, and now turned
to see what their charge was doing. Mr. Reade, redolent of something
that was not eau de cologne, came back to his seat; and Rachel began to
watch the proceedings of the prima donna, who was solemnly marching
across the stage. Mr. Kingston was aware, however, that the girl's
thoughts were not with the spectacle before her. She was evidently
preoccupied about those promised rides.
"I shall have no one to go with me," she whispered presently, in the
pauses of a song.
"I shall be proud to be your escort," he whispered back. "And there will
always be the groom, you know," he added, seeing the colour of the
oleander blossom suddenly appear. "Do not be anxious. I will manage it
all for you."
"You are _very_ kind," she said, looking up into his face with that shy
blush, and a charming friendliness in her eyes, "and I am very grateful
to you; but please do not try to persuade Aunt Elizabeth against her
wish." And she did not say much more to him. From this point she became
silent and thoughtful.
When they reached Toorak, however, Mr. Kingston redeemed his promise
faithfully in his own way, and at considerable trouble to himself. Mr.
and Mrs. Hardy both liked to do things, as they called it, "handsomely,"
but at the same time without any unnecessary expense; and neither of
them could see his proposal in the light of a paying enterprise.
Rachel was driven out in the carriage daily; she appeared at all places
of fashionable resort; she took abundant exercise. A riding-horse would
be expensive, and so would a saddle and habit, not to speak of the
addition to the stable necessities; and what would there be to show for
it? But while the uncle, and still more the aunt, were delicately
fencing with the proposition, Mrs. Reade struck in and swept all
objections away.
"Of course the child ought to ride if she has been used to riding," said
this imperious small person. "You send your horse here, Mr. Kingston,
and Ned shall come round and see what she can do with it." This was in
the hall, where he was supposed to be saying good-night; and Rachel had
gone upstairs to bed.
"Thank you, Mrs. Reade--if I may," he said, with an eager gratitude that
amused himself. "I am sure it would be a great pleasure to her--and it
would be so good for her health. Why don't _you_ ride too? It is such
splendid exercise."
"I would in a minute, if I had a figure like hers," laughed Mrs. Reade.
"Mamma, we must get her a good habit to set off that figure. I'll come
round in the morning, and go with you to have her measured. Are you
going, Mr. Kingston, without a cup of hot coffee? Good-night, then; mind
you send your horse."
The servant shut the door behind him; and he went out into the solemnity
of the autumn night. The wind was rustling and whispering through the
shrubberies round the house; it had the scent in it of untimely violets,
mingled with a faint fragrance of the distant sea.
Above, the stars were shining brilliantly; below, the teeming city lay
silent in the lap of darkness, with a thousand lamplights sprinkled
over it. In the foreground he could dimly see the lines of gravelled
paths and grassy terraces, and the gleam of great bunches of pale
chrysanthemums swaying to and fro in the cool air.
"It is a splendid site," he said to himself; "but I think, if anything,
mine is better."
He stood for some time, looking away over the illuminated valley to the
milky streak on the horizon where in three or four hours the waters of
Port Philip Bay would shine; and then he sauntered down to the lodge,
and found his hansom waiting for him.
"Go up to my land there, will you?" said he, pointing his thumb over his
shoulder as he got in. "I'm going to set the men on soon, and I want to
have a look at it."
The driver, wondering whether he had had more champagne than usual,
said, "All right, Sir," and drove him the few dozen yards that
intervened between Mr. Hardy's gates and the place where his own were
designed to be.
In the darkness he clambered over the fence, made his way to the highest
ground in the enclosure, and stood once more to look at the
lamp-spangled city and the dim and distant bay.
"Yes," he said, "I am higher here. I shall get a better view." And he
began to build his house in fancy--to see it towering over all his
neighbours', with great white walls and colonnades, and myriad windows
full of lights, and lovely gardens full of flowers and fountains. "I
must begin at once," he said. "I must see the contractors to-morrow. I
must not put it off any longer, or I shall be an old man before I can
begin to enjoy it."
And after long musing over the details of his project, he stumbled back,
through saplings, and tussocks, and broken bottles, to the fence; tore
his dress-coat on a nail getting over it; and subsiding into his cab,
lit a cheroot, and stared intently into vacancy all the way to his club.
When he reached this bachelor's home he did not know what to do with
himself. He thought he would write to a celebrated firm of contractors
to make an appointment for the morning; but it was past twelve o'clock,
and the letters had been collected.
Some men called him to come and play loo, but he was not in the mood for
cards. He tried billiards, and found his hand unsteady; he went into the
smoking-room, but it was hot and noisy. He had always liked his club,
and maintained against all comers that it was a glorious institution;
but now he began to see that after all a middle-aged gentleman of ample
fortune might find himself pleasanter lodgings. He went out of doors,
where the air was so sweet and cool, rustling up and down an ivied wall,
and over a strip of lawn that lay deep in shadow below it; and looking
at the clear dark sky and the clear pale stars, he put to himself a
momentous question, for which he had a half-shaped answer ready:
"Who shall I ask to be the mistress of my house?"