"WHERE IS LADY INGLEBY?"
When Jim Airth left the train on the following Tuesday afternoon, he
looked eagerly up and down the platform, hoping to see Myra. True, they
had particularly arranged not to meet, until after his interview with
Lady Ingleby. But Myra was so charmingly inconsequent and impulsive in
her actions. It would be quite like her to reverse the whole plan they
had made; and, if her desire to see him, in any measure resembled his
huge hunger for a sight of her, he could easily understand such a
reversal.
However, Myra was not there; and with a heavy sense of unreasonable
disappointment, Jim Airth chucked his ticket to a waiting porter, passed
through the little station, and found a smart turn-out, with tandem
ponies, waiting outside.
The groom at the leader's head touched his hat.
"For Shenstone Park, sir?"
"Yes," said Jim Airth, and climbed in.
The groom touched his hat again. "Her ladyship said, sir, that perhaps
you might like to drive the ponies yourself, sir."
"No, thank you," said Jim Airth, shortly. "I never drive other people's
ponies."
The groom's comprehending grin was immediately suppressed. He touched his
hat again; gathered up the reins, mounted the driver's seat, flicked the
leader, and the perfectly matched ponies swung at once into a fast trot.
Jim Airth, a connoisseur in horse-flesh, eyed them with approval. They
flew along the narrow Surrey lanes, between masses of wild roses and
clematis. The villagers were working in the hayfields, shouting gaily to
one another as they tossed the hay. It was a matchless June day, in a
perfect English summer.
Jim Airth's disappointment at Myra's non-appearance, was lifting rapidly
in the enjoyment of the drive. After all it was best to adhere to plans
once made; and every step of these jolly little tapping hoofs was
bringing him nearer to the Lodge. Perhaps she would be at the window. (He
had particularly told her _not_ to be!)
"These ponies have been well handled," he remarked approvingly to the
groom, as they flew round a bend.
"Yes, sir," said the groom, with the inevitable movement towards his hat,
whip and hand going up together. "Her ladyship always drives them
herself, sir. Fine whip, her ladyship, sir."
This item of information surprised Jim Airth. Judging by Lord Ingleby's
age and appearance, he had expected to find Lady Ingleby a sedate and
stately matron of sixty. It was somewhat surprising to hear of her as a
fine whip.
However, he had no time to weigh the matter further. Passing an ivy-clad
church on the village green, they swung through massive iron gates, of
very fine design, and entered the stately avenue of Shenstone Park. To
the left, in a group of trees, stood a pretty little gabled house.
"What house is that?" asked Jim Airth, quickly.
"The Lodge, sir."
"Who lives there?"
"Mrs. O'Mara, sir."
"Has Mrs. O'Mara returned?"
"I don't know, sir. She was up at the house with her ladyship this
morning."
"Then she _has_ returned," said Jim Airth.
The groom looked perplexed, but made no comment.
Jim Airth turned in his seat, and looked back at the Lodge. It was a far
smaller house than he had expected. This fact did not seem to depress
him. He smiled to himself, as at some thought which gave him amusement
and pleasure. While he still looked back, a side door opened; a neatly
dressed woman in black, apparently a superior lady's-maid, appeared on
the doorstep, shook out a white table-cloth, and re-entered the house.
They flew on up the avenue, Jim Airth noting every tree with appreciation
and pleasure. The fine old house came into view, and a moment later they
drew up at the entrance.
"Good driving," remarked Jim Airth approvingly, as he tipped the little
groom. Then he turned, to find the great doors already standing wide, and
a stately butler, with immense black eyebrows, waiting to receive him.
"Will you come to her ladyship's sitting-room, sir?" said the butler, and
led the way.
Jim Airth entered a charmingly appointed room, and looked around.
It was empty.
"Kindly wait here, sir, while I acquaint her ladyship with your arrival,"
said the pompous person with the eyebrows, and went out noiselessly,
closing the door behind him.
Left alone, Jim Airth commenced taking rapid note of the room, hoping to
gain therefrom some ideas as to the tastes and character of its
possessor. But almost immediately his attention was arrested by a
life-size portrait of Lord Ingleby, hanging above the mantelpiece.
Jim Airth walked over to the hearthrug, and stood long, looking with
silent intentness at the picture.
"Excellent," he said to himself, at last. "Extraordinarily clever. That
chap shall paint Myra, if I can lay hands on him. What a jolly little
dog! And what devotion! Mutual and absorbing. I suppose that is Peter.
Queer to think that I should have been the last to hear him calling
Peter. I wonder whether Lady Ingleby liked Peter. If not, I doubt if she
would have had much of a look-in. If anyone went to the wall it certainly
wasn't Peter."
He was still absorbed in the picture, when the butler returned with a
long message, solemnly delivered.
"Her ladyship is out in the grounds, sir. As it is so warm in the house,
sir, her ladyship requests that you come to her in the grounds. If you
will allow me, sir, I will show you the way."
Jim Airth restrained an inclination to say: "Buck up!" and followed the
butler along a corridor, down a wide staircase to a lower hall. They
stepped out on to a terrace running the full length of the house. Below
it, an old-fashioned garden, with box borders, bright flower beds, a
fountain in the centre. Beyond this a smooth lawn, sloping down to a
beautiful lake, which sparkled and gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. On
this lawn, well to the right, half-way between the house and the water,
stood a group of beeches. Beneath their spreading boughs, in the cool
inviting shadow, were some garden chairs. Jim Airth could just discern,
in one of these, the white gown of a woman, holding a scarlet parasol.
The butler indicated this clump of trees.
"Her ladyship said, sir, that she would await you under the beeches."
He returned to the house, and Jim Airth was left to make his way alone to
Lady Ingleby, guided by the gleam among the trees of her brilliant
parasol. Even at that moment it gave him pleasure to find Lady Ingleby's
taste in sunshades, resembling Myra's.
He stood for a minute on the terrace, taking in the matchless beauty of
the place. Then his face grew sad and stern. "What a home to leave," he
said; "and to leave it, never to return!"
He still wore a look of sadness as he descended the steps leading to the
flower garden, made his way along the narrow gravel paths; then stepped
on to the soft turf of the lawn, and walked towards the clump of
beeches.
Jim Airth--tall and soldierly, broad-shouldered and erect--might have
made an excellent impression upon Lady Ingleby, had she watched his
coming. But she kept her parasol between herself and her approaching
guest.
In fact he drew quite near; near enough to distinguish the ripples of
soft lace about, her feet, the long graceful sweep of her gown; and still
she seemed unconscious of his close proximity.
He passed beneath the beeches and stood before her. And, even then, the
parasol concealed her face.
But Jim Airth was never at a loss, when sure of his ground. "Lady
Ingleby," he said, with grave formality; "I was told to----"
Then the parasol was flung aside, and he found himself looking down into
the lovely laughing eyes of Myra.
To see Jim Airth's face change from its look of formal gravity to one of
rapturous delight, was to Myra well worth the long effort of sitting
immovable. He flung himself down before her with boyish abandon, and
clasped both herself and her chair in his long arms.
"Oh, you darling!" he said, bending his face over hers, while his blue
eyes danced with delight. "Oh, Myra, what centuries since yesterday! How
I have longed for you. I almost hoped you would after all have come to
the station. How I have grudged wasting all this time in coming to call
on old Lady Ingleby. Myra, has it seemed long to you? Do you realise, my
dear girl, that it _can't_ go on any longer; that we cannot possibly live
through another twenty-four hours of separation? But oh, you Tease! There
was I, ramping with impatience at every wasted moment; and here were you,
sitting under this tree, hiding your face and pretending to be Lady
Ingleby! The astonished and astonishing old party in the eyebrows,
certainly pointed you out as Lady Ingleby when he started me off on my
pilgrimage. I say, how lovely you look! What billowy softness! It
wouldn't do for cliff-climbing; but its A.I. for sitting on lawns.... I
can't help it! I must!"
"Jim," said Myra, laughing and pushing him away; "what has come to you,
you dearest old boy? You will really have to behave! We are not in the
honeysuckle arbour. 'The astonishing old party in the eyebrows' is most
likely observing us from a window, and will have good cause to look
astonished, if he sees you 'carrying on' in such a manner. Jim, how nice
you look in your town clothes. I always like a grey frock-coat. Stand up,
and let me see.... Oh, look at the green of the turf on those immaculate
knees! What a pity. Did you don all this finery for me?"
"Of course not, silly!" said Jim Airth, rubbing his knees vigorously.
"When I haul you up cliffs, I wear old Norfolk coats; and when I duck you
in the sea, I wear flannels. I considered this the correct attire in
which to pay a formal call on Lady Ingleby; and now, before she has had a
chance of being duly impressed by it, I have spoilt my knees hopelessly,
worshipping at your shrine! Where is Lady Ingleby? Why doesn't she keep
her appointments?"
"Jim," said Myra, looking up at him with eyes full of unspeakable love,
yet dancing with excitement and delight; "Jim, do you admire this
place?"
"This place?" cried Jim, stepping back a pace, so as to command a good
view of the lake and woods beyond. "It is absolutely perfect. We have
nothing like this in Scotland. You can't beat for all round beauty a real
old mellow lived-in English country seat; especially when you get a
twenty acre lake, with islands and swans, all complete. And I suppose the
woods beyond, as far as one can see, belong to the Inglebys--or rather,
to Lady Ingleby. What a pity there is no son."
"Jim," said Myra, "I have so looked forward to showing you my home."
He stepped close to her at once. "Then show it to me, dear," he said. "I
would rather be alone with you in your own little home--I saw it, as we
drove up--than waiting about, in this vast expanse of beauty, for Lady
Ingleby."
"Jim," said Myra, "do you remember a little tune I often hummed down in
Cornwall; and, when you asked me what it was, I said you should hear the
words some day?"
Jim looked puzzled. "Really dear--you hummed so many little tunes----"
"Oh, I know," said Myra; "and I have not much ear. But this was very
special. I want to sing it to you now. Listen!"
And looking up at him, her soft eyes full of love, Myra sang, with slight
alterations of her own, the last verse of the old Scotch ballad,
"Huntingtower."
"Blair in Athol's mine, Jamie,
Fair Dunkeld is mine, laddie;
Saint Johnstown's bower,
And Huntingtower,
And all that's mine, is thine, laddie."
"Very pretty," said Jim, "but you've mixed it, my dear. Jamie bestowed
all his possessions on the lassie. You sang it the wrong way round."
"No, no," cried Myra, eagerly. "There _is_ no wrong way round. Providing
they both love, it does not really matter which gives. The one who
happens to possess, bestows. If you were a cowboy, Jim, and you loved a
woman with lands and houses, in taking her, you would take all that was
hers."
"I guess I'd take her out to my ranch and teach her to milk cows,"
laughed Jim Airth. Then turning about under the tree and looking in all
directions: "But seriously, Myra, where is Lady Ingleby? She should keep
her appointments. We cannot waste our whole afternoon waiting here. I
want my girl; and I want her in her own little home, alone. Cannot we
find Lady Ingleby?"
Then Myra rose, radiant, and came and stood before him. The sunbeams
shone through the beech leaves and danced in her grey eyes. She had never
looked more perfect in her sweet loveliness. The man took it all in, and
the glory of possession lighted his handsome face.
She came and stood before him, laying her hands upon his breast. He
wrapped his arms lightly about her. He saw she had something to say; and
he waited.
"Jim," said Myra, "Jim, dearest. There is just one name I want to bear,
more than any other. There is just one thing I long to be. Then I
shall be content. I want to have the right to be called 'Mrs. Jim
Airth.' I want more than all else beside, to be your wife. But--until
I am that; and may it be very soon! until you make me 'Mrs. Jim
Airth'--dearest--_I_--am Lady Ingleby."