"TWENTY-ONE."
On calm reflection, Mallow did not consider that he had behaved very
well to Olive. His passion and impetuosity had carried him beyond
himself. He had been too rough; too masterful. Instead of suing with
soft words, he had sought to dominate by sheer strength of will. A
cave man of the stone period could scarce have wooed in style more
savage; and when Mallow had regained his self-control, he was heartily
ashamed that his fiery temper had got the better of him. But his pride
would not allow him to apologize to Olive. Nor did he even excuse
himself by letter. He preserved an absolute silence, and kept away
from the Manor House. He had not been quite sincere when he declared
his intention of proceeding at once to Athelstane Place, but for very
shame he could not now withdraw from a position taken up so
definitely. Accordingly, on the day preceding Olive's birthday, he
announced to Aldean that he was going to London.
"Oh, hang it! I do call that shabby," cried Jim, with a look of
dismay. "You promised to stay here at least two months."
"I'll come down and complete the term shortly, Aldean."
"Oh, you don't wish to be here when Miss Bellairs marries Carson, I
suppose?"
"Miss Bellairs shall never marry Carson if I can help it."
"Perhaps not, Mallow, but I don't exactly see how you can help it.
This morning I saw Carson, and he tells me the ceremony is to take
place in a fortnight."
"A great deal can be done in a fortnight, Jim."
"Old man?" questioned Jim, with a stare, "have you anything up your
sleeve?"
"Only my mistrust of Carson, as Carson."
"What! that old game? You are becoming a maniac on that subject,
Mallow. It's all bosh, you know. Carson is Carson, right enough. Mrs.
Purcell, Semberry, Mr. Brock,--they've all said as much."
"No doubt," replied Mallow, dryly. "But not one of them has explained
why Carson's clothes should be impregnated with sandal-wood as were
those of the man in Athelstane Place."
"You'll find nothing there to help you," said Aldean, shaking his
head. "What the police couldn't do, you won't."
"Then I shall go to the police themselves."
"You'll look for a needle in a haystack, you mean. However, if you
have made up your mind, I suppose you must go on your wild-goose
chase. When may I expect you back from it?"
"Before Carson marries Miss Bellairs."
"Does that mean at the end of a fortnight?"
"If I make no discoveries associating Carson with the murder, it
does."
"Oh, Lord! do you want to hang the man as well as rob him of his
wife?"
"Jim, I'm not vindictive."
"Goodness only knows what you are, Mallow. Well, least said soonest
mended; go, and good luck go with you."
After this conversation, in which, it will be noticed, Mallow gave no
hint of his interview with Olive, he went to London, and was absent
for the greater part of a fortnight.
Olive, too, kept her own counsel about that stormy wooing. But she
felt a strange joy in recalling to herself its every detail. It was
the joy of a woman who loves to be dominated and to be ruled by the
man she adores. Had Mallow cut the Gordian knot of her difficulties,
and, in the face of all her objection, forced her to marry him,
secretly she would have been pleased and relieved. As it was, he had
left her with an enigmatic utterance which she could not understand.
Yet this time of trial was in some ways beneficial to her. It
strengthened the better qualities of her nature, which otherwise might
have weakened in the sunshine of perpetual good fortune. The ills of
this life, like drugs, are unpleasant but necessary. They brace our
mental organization as do tonics our physical.
Olive's twenty-first birthday was celebrated by a dinner to her
friends and tenantry. The Manor House and its grounds were thrown open
in the old-fashioned, hospitable style, and a plentiful spread was
provided under a temporary tent. Here farmers and labourers toasted
their young mistress in the strongest and most stinging of ales.
Speeches were made and congratulations were offered, and had Mallow
but been present in the character of her future husband, Olive would
have been completely happy. As it was, she had to introduce Carson in
his place. But she accepted the encomiums passed upon his pleasant
face and amiable speeches with such show of pleasure as she could
command from herself. She could not deny that the husband chosen for
her by her father was both attractive and agreeable, that he was even
lovable in some ways--perhaps in his very weakness. Laurence was
pre-eminently a man of strength; a man imperious and self-sustaining;
a man who would love a woman and master a woman, and fulfil the
fundamental law of Nature that the male is the lord of creation from
an oyster to a wife; in short, a man stable as the universe, fixed as
the stars. Angus was pleasant, good-tempered, handsome and weak. He
would have made a charming woman, Olive thought with contempt. The
Indian bangle was not much out of place, after all, upon his wrist.
On this festive occasion even poor Mrs. Drabble took a holiday. She
brought with her Margery, Danton, and Brutus, of whom the first-named
clung to Olive's skirts most of the day. She had brought with her and
presented to Olive a birthday ode, in its way a marvel of rhyme and of
spelling:--
"Oh, may no ethly cares
Anoy Olive Bellairs,
And may she never fear
Her birthday every year,
But give up teres and sighs.
Till she most hapy dyes."
"Thank you, Margery," said Olive, kissing the little poetess, who was
anxiously watching the effect of her ode.
"I hope your good wishes will come true;" and she sighed.
"I have brought Charlotte Corday," remarked Margery, holding up a
battered doll with a red cap on its head. "Poor dear! she has had no
pleasure since we cut her head off."
"Who cut her head off?" asked Aldean, who was close at hand.
"Brutus, because he said she must 'dree her weird.' It should have
been Danton of course, but Danton was at school. I have glued her head
on again, but she will never have a strong neck. But I love her all
the same."
"Shall I give you another doll?" said Carson, smiling amiably.
"No, thank you," replied Margery, shaking her curls, "I must keep
Charlotte Corday after she has suffered so much for the cause."
"Ah! that is my Margery," roared Drabble; "she's a true chip of the
old block."
"True chip of the gallows!" growled Semberry, who hated the doctor.
"When our day comes, there will be no gallows," retorted Dr. Drabble.
"Guillotines only, I suppose," said Aldean, with a twinkle.
"There will be love and fraternity, and equality."
"Be my brother or I will kill you," quoted Tui. "I've heard that
sentiment before, Dr. Drabble."
"Miss Ostergaard, I thought you were a disciple of mine."
"I stop short of murder, doctor."
Major Semberry appeared disturbed. "Nasty word 'murder,' in a young
lady's mouth;" he jerked; "let's talk of something agreeable."
"Of Olive, for instance," smiled Angus. "Olives are always agreeable."
"After dinner only," said Miss Bellairs, spoiling the pun, "I don't
feel complimented, Angus, by your comparison."
"My dear, you are a flower--a rose!"
"And you are a smiling cabbage," muttered Tui, turning away. "Lord
Aldean, take me to the tent."
"The Major is not engaged," hinted Aldean, slyly.
"Neither am I," retorted Miss Ostergaard, "so there is still a chance
for your lordship;" and she led him away wondering if he could not
construe a confession of love from her last remark.
While this desultory conversation was going on, Miss Slarge had the
Rector well in hand, and was bombarding him with hard Babylonic facts.
"Our Good Friday hot cross-bun is an emblem of idolatry," she was
saying; "we should tread it underfoot rather than eat it."
"Oh, my dear lady," remonstrated the shocked Mr. Brock, "it is stamped
with the sacred symbol of our religion!"
"I don't care what it is stamped with; it is none other than the
sacred bread of Babylon, which was offered to the pagan queen of
Heaven fifteen hundred and more years before the Christian era. Even
the name is the same. The sacred cake was called 'boun;' our Good
Friday cake is termed 'bun.'"
"A bun!" interposed the rector.
"With or without the article, it is the same thing. 'Boun;'
'bun'--what can be plainer? The first is pure Chaldee, the last
Scottish."
"I don't understand Chaldee, Miss Slarge," said Mr. Brock, in hope of
changing the conversation. "What a pleasant scene this is."
"The scene is all right," snapped Miss Slarge; "but it would be better
if Mr. Carson were not here. Ugh! I can't bear the sight of him."
"Why not? He seems to be a pleasant young man."
"No backbone, Mr. Brock. If you dropped him into the mud he would stay
there. Mrs. Purcell said that he had a strong will and a stubborn
nature; but I can see neither myself."
"It is, of course, possible your sister may have been mistaken."
"Perhaps so; but in every other respect her description of him
has been particularly accurate, even to the bracelet he wears.
Bangle--bracelet--" said Miss Slarge, with contempt; "the idea of a
man decking himself out like a woman!"
"Still, he is agreeable enough, Miss Slarge; and you must remember
that to me he is always the son of my dear old friend. In memory of
his father, he intends to present my church with a new altar-cloth."
"Marked 'I.H.S.,' I suppose, Mr. Brock?"
"Well, yes; it is customary to mark them with the sacred letters."
"What do they stand for?"
"'Iesu hominum salvator.'"
"Nothing of the sort," cried Miss Slarge, delighted that the rector
had fallen into her trap. "They are the initials of the Egyptian
trinity: Isis, Horus, and Seb."
"Miss Slarge, how can you treat sacred things so lightly?"
"I don't treat sacred things lightly," retorted Miss Slarge. "I.H.S.
is a heathen symbol; and I am not an idolater, I hope."
"Really, I do not know what to say."
"You should study more," said Miss Slarge, satisfied with her triumph,
as she walked away, leaving the rector quite angry.
"I wonder where she can find all this rubbish," murmured the outraged
Mr. Brock. "It is really not respectable the way she talks. Eh, what
is that shouting?" he asked a bystander.
"The tenants are toasting Mr. Carson."
"As Miss Bellairs' future husband, I suppose?" said the rector,
cheerily. "Ah, what a pity that Mark and Alfred did not live to see
this happy day!"