A SAILOR'S BRIDE
THE visitors were late in arriving, and the car did not mount the steep
hill. Tom grew restless and went off down to meet them.
Tomina stayed where she was. Her heart was in a tumult. She dreaded,
yet longed, to see Tom's future wife. She heard voices coming up the
village street, but she sat still by her fire and waited. She was
looking very charming this afternoon. She wore a grey cloth skirt, with
rather an ethereal filmy lace and chiffon blouse to tone with it, and
she had tucked some violets into her belt. Her hair, as usual, curled
round her broad, white brow. If her face looked a trifle white, and her
eyes soft and grave, she had only to speak to bring out all the sparkle
and charm that was her chief characteristic.
In a very few minutes, the door opened and Tom ushered his visitors in.
Mrs. Letterby was first introduced, a smart, plump little woman with
plenty to say for herself, the type of woman that Tomina knew well in
town—good-natured, self-indulgent, and with very moderate brains. It
was the tall stately figure behind her that made Tomina instantly alert
and interested. When she threw up her veil, Tomina saw a very proud,
small head with a wealth of soft dusky hair, deep inscrutable unsmiling
eyes, a pale oval face, delicate nose, rather a prominent chin, and a
sensitively curved mouth, as grave and unsmiling as the eyes. Just a
little glimmer of a smile came to the lips when Tomina stretched out
both her hands, and raised her face to hers with her own fascinating
smile.
"For Tom's sake, you must let me love you!" she said impulsively.
"Or try to," said Doreen Forrester.
There was no doubt about it she was very beautiful, but there was
something strangely aloof and distant in her bearing and tone.
Tom did not seem to perceive it. Worshipful adoration was in his eyes.
As he stood by her, Tomina felt an unreasonable vexation rise within
her that Doreen should make Tom appear a short man. He in reality
topped her by a good inch, but he was broadly made, and she was thin
and willowy. She sat down and handed her long motor veil to Tom, then
she looked into his face and smiled, and Tom's honest face grew crimson.
Tomina watched them both as she talked to Mrs. Letterby. She was rather
relieved than otherwise when Tom took Doreen out into the garden. Then
she felt she could speak freely.
"This is all very sudden, isn't it? Why are they in such a hurry to get
married?"
"My dear Miss Gavin, if you ask me, I should say because your brother
has no patience, and Doreen is tired of being a single woman. She
wasn't very happy out in Queensland, got bored with the perpetual
entertaining. I hope your brother will understand her. I never could.
She is older than he, you know."
"Only a year," said Tomina, quickly.
"A year in age, but quite ten years in experience. She was always very
grave and intense even as a child. I was the pickle, always tumbling
into scrapes, and then out of them. You are not much like your brother.
He told us you were his twin."
"No, I am not much like him," said Tomina, "but tell me more about your
sister. She does not look happy."
"Don't you think so? You really mustn't get out of me all her love
affairs. She has had a good many. Men say she is elusive, and their
curiosity is roused. She is more a man's woman than a woman's. Your
brother is very favoured, for she means to stick to him this time."
"You are rather implying that she has been engaged before."
"I am not going to say. Doreen is old enough to know her own mind now;
and she is not a girl to take the advice of others. What a tiny cottage
you have here! Do you like it?"
"Very much."
"You don't fit it."
Tomina laughed.
"That is rather an unkind speech. I didn't fit it when I first came
down, but I flatter myself that I do now. Is—is Doreen living with you?"
"Till she marries. She doesn't want a crush. It will be quite a simple
affair. I am keeping a spare room for you."
"Oh, thank you, but if I am in town, I must go home. My stepmother
would feel hurt if I did not."
"I forgot you lived in town. I believe I have met Lady Gavin; we don't
stay much in London. We have a house there this winter, but we live in
Hampshire. My husband is a Member, and the House is sitting now, so of
course we must be in town."
Conversation rather languished between them. Mrs. Letterby would not
give Tomina much more information about her sister. She learnt that
their parents had died whilst they were still in the schoolroom, and
they had more or less looked after themselves till Mrs. Letterby
married. Then Doreen had made her home with her until her brother asked
her to go out and keep house for him in Australia.
"I want to see a little of Doreen," said Tomina, presently. "Do you
think they would be vexed if we joined them in the garden?"
Mrs. Letterby rose with alacrity. They found them pacing the little
path by the sweet-briar hedge, she still with that grave brooding
expression of countenance; and Tom with his face aglow, and eyes
sparkling with animation.
Tomina cleverly detached Doreen from him, and took her out of the side
gate under pretence of seeing the old church.
"I want to see something of you," she said. "I suppose we are the two
women that Tom loves most in the world. But it is always a trying
experience when a sister has to take the second place."
"Is it?" questioned Doreen, slowly. "I used to wish my brother married
when I lived with him. But he was a different stamp of man from yours."
"Tom is a dear," said Tomina, warmly. "His only fault is that he is too
unselfish as a man. He always was that. I used to be the selfish one as
children; he generally gave way to me. I do hope you and he will have a
happy time together. I wish he had not to leave you so soon."
"We shall have two weeks together," said Doreen, very quickly. "It is
the life that appeals to me. We shall not be likely to get tired of
each other, and the time he is away will soon pass. As one gets older,
time seems nothing. Everything passes, bad times as well as good."
Tomina looked at her a little inquiringly, but Doreen's face was so
cold and impassive that she dared say no more.
"Tell me about the little old house that has been left you. Tom
mentioned it to me. Do you like it?"
Tomina had kindled the spark at last.
Light and warmth leapt into Doreen's grey eyes.
"Oh, it is exquisite," she said. "It is a dream of a place. It came
so unexpectedly that even now I can hardly believe it is true. I am
longing to go down and take possession. It has a thatched roof with
many gables and irregular corners to it. The windows are genuine leaded
casements. All the rooms are odd and uneven. I mean that you step down
into one and up into another, and you never know where the doors are,
as they and the cupboard doors are often in the wall, and are papered
over so that you do not notice them. The drawing-room runs from east to
west and is upstairs with a balcony outside it, and you look out upon a
deer park with a lake in the distance, and hills beyond."
"Oh, go on!" cried Tomina. "I love the sound of it."
"The downstair hall ends in a conservatory and has a wide old-fashioned
hearth. The dining-room and morning room have quaint glass cupboards
in the wall, and deep window-seats. And then the garden, it's just a
garden out of a book—winding paths and old red brick walls covered with
fruit, and little lawns between lavender hedges and herbaceous borders
of old-fashioned flowers, and a sundial surrounded with roses, and a
terrace walk bordered with roses. My aunt spent all her time in her
garden, and all her money. I never dreamt it would come to me. It is
enough to content a woman without any husband at all!"
"I am glad you say that," said Tomina, inwardly wondering at the
transformation in her, "because it shows that you have no other reason
for becoming engaged to Tom, but because you really love him!"
Doreen's long lashes drooped over her eyes, and the colour faded again
from her cheeks.
"You are quick at deductions," she said.
"Am I? I only see that you could quite well have gone off to this house
and taken possession without burdening yourself with a husband!"
"I don't think I could."
The words left her lips very slowly. Her animation had gone, she was
again the quiet inscrutable girl, and Tomina could not win another
smile from her. Presently Doreen said—
"Why do you live in such a very out-of-the-way place? You do not look
like a country person."
"Ah! You wait till you see me in my oilskins on a wet day driving my
van! You like the country, don't you? Will you come and stay with me
for a little when Tom leaves you?"
"Would you like to have me?"
"Very much. I want to know you. Will it take me a long time?"
Doreen's eyes met Tomina's mischievous ones, but she made no reply.
Then she suddenly laid her hand on her arm.
"Are you sweet all through?" she asked. "If so, I would like to be with
you. But if you question in your heart continually whether I am good
enough for your brother, I would rather have the ocean between us."
It was Tomina's turn to look serious now.
"I shan't be critical, Doreen. I honestly would like you to come.
Somehow or other I feel that we shall be friends."
"Then I will. I do love the country. I am tired of people, I am tired
of talk. When I take possession of my house, the sense of silence and
peace there will be the greatest attraction to me."
Their little talk was over, for the others now overtook them, and they
returned to the cottage for tea. Tomina had no chance for a talk with
her brother. Only as she insisted upon helping him into his overcoat in
her little hall, did he turn to her and say—
"Isn't she adorable?"
And Tomina answered promptly—
"She is charming."
Then he went off with them, and Tomina had to possess her soul in
patience till he returned to her the next day. She felt very mystified
and uneasy over Doreen, and longed to talk to Tom about her.
He came back in the best of spirits and quite ready to talk only of the
one who was at present absorbing his life.
Then Tomina asked him this question—"Is she happy, Tom?"
"Happy! Well, I should think so! Why should you doubt it?"
"She has such a sad face."
"Until she smiles. And I keep her smiling when I am with her," said
Tom, stoutly.
"She must be fond of you," said Tomina, slowly and thoughtfully, more
to convince herself than him of that fact, "for she is not obliged to
marry. A girl who is a possessor of a beautiful old home could have a
very nice life in it without a husband. She is quite independent, isn't
she?"
"Trust a sister to take the shine out of a fellow's self-esteem!"
laughed Tom. "Why should you doubt her affection for me? And as to her
house, in honesty, I must say that apart from me, it would be a white
elephant, for her aunt never left her a penny of money."
"How dreadful for her! Has she no money of her own?"
"Nothing to speak of. A paltry twenty-five pounds a year, or something
of that sort. But I've always said that a man is in a queer corner when
he lives on his wife's money! I wouldn't do it!"
Tomina felt a sudden sinking of heart. Was this possibly a reason for
her accepting Tom? She had a strange feeling that Doreen did not care
for him as he cared for her.
"You got on all right with her, didn't you?" pursued Tom. "I knew you
would—once you saw each other. She isn't very keen after people as a
rule, not after her own sex. I think she likes men better. She's so
different from the ordinary run of girls, not all that chitter-chatter
and rot. She likes sensible talk, she's awfully clever, you know, reads
no end. Says she's never lonely if she has books. But she told me she
was coming to stay with you, and then later on you'll fix it up with
her, and when I come home, I shall find the two of you waiting for me!"
"Oh, Tom, not so fast!"
Tomina laughed as she spoke.
"I really cannot promise to live with Doreen, I don't suppose that she
would care about it, neither should I. But I mean to be her friend if
she will let me. You mustn't ask more than that."
"Doreen will like what I like," said Tom, cheerfully. "If she knows
that I want you to live with her while I am away, she'll have you."
"But please leave us free, dear Tom, to settle that between ourselves."
Then Tom burst into a rhapsody of all Doreen's perfections.
And Tomina listened, and wondered if all men were so simple in their
trust and adoration as this sailor brother of hers. The time flew
whilst he was with her, and then rather reluctantly, she accompanied
him to town.
She was received by her stepmother and friends as if she had been away
in a foreign country. They all congratulated her on her improved looks,
and took it for granted that her rest cure was complete, and that she
had left the country for good. Tomina did not at first undeceive them.
Indeed, she hardly had time, for Tom's wedding was upon them, and
Tomina passed through it as if in a dream. There was a great rush, in
spite of Mrs. Letterby's announcement that it would be very quiet, and
Doreen seemed absorbed and overwhelmed by her own friends and relatives.
But Tomina got one moment with her when she was dressed in her bridal
garments. She had shut every one out of her room saying she wanted to
be alone, and then she had drawn Tomina inside for a second.
"I have hardly seen you; tell me—you know your brother as no one else
does—will he be satisfied—is he satisfied with me?"
It was such a strange question for her to ask that for one moment
Tomina was dumb. Then she took both her hands in hers, and she noted
how cold and trembling they were.
"My dear Doreen, Tom's one idea is that you are perfection. You have
got the whole of his affectionate, honest heart. I pray you may never
fail or disappoint him."
Other words were trembling on her tongue, but she did not say them.
She longed to cry.
"Oh, don't marry him even now if you do not love him!" But she dare not
be the cause of agitating her at this last moment.
Doreen leant forward and kissed her.
"I am glad to have you as a sister," she said.
And then Tomina was obliged to leave her.
She was rather a sad spectator in the fashionable church. A weight
seemed to fall upon her spirits. As bride and bridegroom came down
the aisle, she brightened up. Tom, in his uniform, was handsome and
radiant; and Doreen, though very pale, was smiling and looking her
happiest.
Their eyes met Tomina's and both nodded to her in such a bright,
reassuring way that she took herself to task for her silly fears and
fancies.
And the rest of the ceremony passed off without a hitch.
When Doreen wished Tomina good-bye, she said—
"May I come down to you in a fortnight's time?"
"Oh yes—yes! I shall be waiting for you!"
But Tomina's eyes were misty as she spoke.
Doreen was looking very beautiful. She held herself proudly and her
eyes were bright, and there was a pink colour in her lips. She and
her bridegroom were whirled away in their motor amidst a shower of
confetti, and a little of the old-fashioned rice. And though many of
their friends were saying what a successful wedding it had been, Tomina
knew in her heart that somewhere there was a rift within the lute.
She did not stay in town very long, though pressed to do so.
Lady Gavin was a little uneasy, and had a serious talk with her the day
before she left her.
"You know, my dear girl, that I have never interfered with your
pleasures or plans, but I hardly think you can continue to live alone
in this country cottage of yours. It is so—so peculiar. People will
talk. It was very well as long as you were in delicate health, but you
are stronger now, are you not? You musn't slip out of everything and
get unsociable and cranky. You are too young for that kind of thing. I
hope to see you happily married. Then I shall consider I have done my
duty toward you, and begin to think of settling down to a peaceful old
age."
Tomina's gay laughter rang out. Lady Gavin was the last person on earth
to own to increasing years, nor would she ever be likely to settle down
to a quiet old age.
"You must give me my year. I haven't had it yet. And town life does not
agree with me. You know it never did."
"You look very well. I found out quite by accident that you are near
Colonel Norman's place. Did you see anything of him?"
"A little," said Tomina, carelessly.
"It is dreadfully sad about his mother. I suppose you know they are at
Cannes now. A friend of mine is in the same hotel with them. She says
it is pitiful to see the son tied to his mother's couch; she won't let
him out of her sight. He is just like a nurse attendant. I can't fancy
him in that 'rôle.' He used to be such a smart, keen soldier, and was
always so autocratic and masterful. That was the cause of your quarrel
with him, was it not?"
Tomina winced as if a nerve had been touched.
"You musn't mind my going back," she said. "I am developing a new part
of me in the country—the part that has been lying dormant. And I am
not sufficiently strong in that part to come back to the rush of town
gaiety yet."
Lady Gavin looked at her with a perplexed face, but after a little
further effort to dissuade Tomina from returning, she gave it up,
and they parted the best of friends. She added to her stepdaughter's
uneasiness by saying to her in parting—
"I hope this marriage of Tom's will turn out a success. If you are
going to have his wife to stay with you, you may make something of her.
But she's marrying him for some convenience, and her heart isn't in it.
I dare say it will turn out all right, as Tom will be away so much.
Unless another man appears, and then I wouldn't trust her."
Tomina looked horrified, but her stepmother only laughed.
"I don't want to shock you, but you're old enough to be able to read a
woman's face. Something in her past has spoiled her life; that is very
plain if you watch her."
And as Tomina was in the train whirling through the town into the great
country beyond, her thoughts were centred on Doreen.