"A Pinchbeck Goddess" Novel by Alice MacDonald Fleming 1897
By Mrs. J.M. Fleming (Alice M. Kipling)
"All with one consent praise new-born gawds,
Though they are made and moulded of things past,
And give to dust that is a little gilt
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted." Shakespeare.
New York
D. Appleton and Company
1897
Dedication
To My Brother
"Rudyard, as lesser dames to great ones use,
My lighter comes to kiss they learned muse;
Whose better studies while she emulates,
She learns to know long difference of their states.
Yet is the office not to be despised,
If only love should make the action prized."
-Ben Jonson
Prologue
"Days that are over, Dreams that are done."
“Face fallen and white throat lifted,
With sleepless eye
She sees old loves that drifted,
She knew not why;
Old loves and faded fears
Float down a stream that hears
The flowing of all men's tears beneath the sky."
-A.C. Swinburne.
Madeline Norton had been trying to write letters in the saloon after dinner, but the jangle of a much-travelled piano and the heavy stamp of dancing feet on the deck above her head made consecutive thought impossible. The great steamer was going slowly through the Suez Canal; the pulsation of her screw in the smooth water was like the beating of a very tired giant's heart. Although it was a December night, the air was close and warm, and the smell of dinner lingered unpleasantly in the saloon. Madeline went up on deck with quiet, undecided feet.
The romping polka was over, and the flushed and heated dancers sat dispersed among the shadows, or leaned against the bulwarks laughing and talking; no one spoke to her as she made her way to a quiet nook and watched the broad stream of electric light that gushed from the prow of the steamer.
This strong crude light held apart from the silver flood poured down by the full moon over head, and was painfully theatrical in comparison. When the machine-made rays fell on the sand banks on either hand, they were at once shorn of the glamour and glory the moon had lent them, and became barely, badly hideous, unredeemed by either colour or contour. A momentary effect, for even as Madeline watched they glided back into beauty, the moon resumed her sway, while the next hillock ahead was disenchanted, its irregular outline and a few poor leprous plants cruelly emphasized. She looked back, and behind them the sand-hills lay glorified and splendid, ranges of shapes of pearl beneath the lavish silver moon. A string of camels, roped nose to tail, festooned like a decorative frieze against the pale sky; the tall, soft-footed creatures looped along with the leisurely, reluctant shuffle that has never willingly quickened since the slow descent from Mount Ararat.
Attracted by the music, two dusky shapes were running heavily along the sandy shore, calling for alms with shrill persistence. The bewildering light prevented Madeline from seeing if they were women or children; they were slender muffled forms with sharp, thin voices.
A lean shadow sped inland howling—a high-pitched howl like a scream. Dog, jackal, wolf, or unclean demon of the night?
Madeline shuddered, and turned to look along the familiar deck. She saw the broad-shouldered figure of the captain pacing to and fro, and knew from his hearty laugh that the little lady he was talking to had said something amusing. Rosie Thurlow, the prettiest girl on board, her fair hair unshielded from the night breeze, and her fair face in a most becoming ray of moon light, was talking to one man and looking at another. Madeline was the only woman who sat alone; she felt lonely and neglected in the quiet place she had chosen.
The jangling piano trembled under the strong fingers of the ship's doctor, and the rollicking insistence of "Sir Roger de Coverley" drowned the weary begging voices from the bank. The music that had been intolerable to Madeline while she sat in the saloon was almost alluring in the open air. Her feet beat time to the oft-repeated measure, and she half rose, with the unformulated thought that if she stood near the lamp in the companion she might perhaps get a partner. A quick revulsion of feeling sent her deeper into the shadows.
"At your age!" she said, half aloud. She possessed several scourges for self-chastisement, and one of them was the fact that she would be thirty years old on her next birthday. She took some pains to accustom herself to this stern truth, for it often seemed to her that she had missed her youth, that she had become a woman without having been a girl.
A man came briskly towards her, saying, " Our dance, I think? " Then, as she looked up, " Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Norton; thought you were Mrs. Woods!"
"Who has ever seen Mrs. Woods sitting alone in a corner? " she asked a little bitterly; but he did not wait to answer her.
Madeline Norton was a slender woman with a face of possibilities, but most of the possibilities were thwarted ones, for a spirit of perverseness seemed to preside over her toilet. Her wavy dark hair was brushed flatly from her brow, and packed into a tight knot; she rarely smiled enough for people to know that she had charming teeth, and she dressed in the colours that were least becoming to her clear, pale complexion. But no misplaced ingenuity could disguise the delicate out line of her profile, or the beauty of her gray eyes, with their curling black lashes.
La—la—la. Dee—dum—dee—diddety. Did-dety—dum—dee. Dee—dee—dee, shrilled the jangling piano again and again, faster and faster flew the dancing feet, while Madeline contemplated her past, her present, and her future, wondering which was the most dreary. Meditating in the pale light to the music of a dance she had not been asked to join, she felt that she had little to remember with pleasure, and much to recall with regret—many apprehensions for the future without one joyful anticipation. She knew too well the nature of the welcome that awaited her in the grim house where she had spent cheerless holidays since she was ten years old, and where she had led a repressed and colourless life all the years that had followed her nineteenth birthday.
Her father's sister, who had been her guardian, support and tyrant since the terrible week that left her doubly orphaned, had always enforced the most absolute maternal authority, while rendering it intolerable by the complete absence of maternal tenderness. The child of ten had cheerfully and willingly accounted to Aunt Agatha for every moment of her time, and had conscientiously tried to explain her every action; but to the girl of twenty this was an ever-increasing burden, and, as years went on, the woman of eight-and-twenty, who was not allowed to open her own letters, did not find the hard rule made easier by habit.
Madeline sometimes thought that her aunt might have been more bearable if she had never married, for the memory of Mr. Cotesworth, who had been much younger than his wife, and who had quietly died of consumption soon after their marriage, was a never-failing incentive to tyranny. His views concerning the training of children and girls, as expounded by his widow, would have filled a large volume, and his stringent ideas of discipline would have astonished no one more than the gentle creature himself. Even in her childhood Madeline had found it difficult to reconcile the bland portraits of this uncle, whom she had never seen, with the terrible rules for her conduct which he had formulated, chiefly on his death-bed, according to Aunt Agatha. For a long time she was under the impression that "consumption " was something that Aunt Agatha had done to Uncle Paul. But, apart from the distressing influence of this disciplinarian wraith, Mrs. Cotesworth posed on her pedestal of widowhood as one who had fathomed all human sympathies, and from whom the world hid no unknown bliss or bale. The experience of maternity had certainly been denied to her, but, in her own opinion, her adoption of Madeline had more than atoned for this deficiency.
"She came to me at exactly the right time, when her young intelligence was beginning to blossom, and I have shared her every thought."
Madeline knew this statement passing well; she had heard it made hundreds of times, to any and every acquaintance, in the elaborately soft voice that was belied by Mrs. Cotesworth's hard eyes. One of the most wearisome necessities of her life had been the constant fabrication of thoughts, or, rather, of substitutes for thoughts, such as she could share with her aunt.
Her hands moved nervously as she remembered the thousand miseries of the past, which would assuredly be the thousand miseries of the future also. Such petty, paltry troubles, but none the less very hard to bear—the harder, perhaps, for their very triviality. Gratuitous troubles, too, it would seem—quite unnecessary and quite inevitable. What, on the face of things, could appear kinder or more tender than the care and guardianship Mrs. Cotesworth had given her orphan niece? She remembered the room that had been prepared for her—a veritable bower of prettiness, with its pink rosebud chintz and paper. "So near to me, dear child," Aunt Agatha had said, "that I can hear your every movement." What a restraint and torment that nearness had proved!
It was almost twenty years since this room, to which she was returning, had been furnished; the thought of it gave her a little shudder. Was there something unwholesome in her nature, she wondered, that converted seeming-sweet actions to exceedingly bitter ones? It might appear so, but she alone knew what thorn-set, scentless blossoms were the pink rosebuds with which Aunt Agatha had surrounded her. Looking back that evening to her childish years, she thought with impotent bitterness of their thwarted possibilities, until her heart melted with pity for the child who had needed so little to make her happy, but to whom that little had always been denied.
The child had had a talent for mimicry—an undoubted power of reproducing the voice and manner of her acquaintances; but this she had been sternly forbidden to exercise. Her passion ate fondness for animals found its only expression in secret petting hastily bestowed on the unresponsive kitchen cat, while her eager desire to possess a pony had been pronounced worldly, if not wicked. The love of music, which Mrs. Cotesworth had tried to direct into what she called a " proper channel," had strengthened with years, and, in spite of constant discouragement and faulty instruction, had become what those who heard her singing of a ballad termed " a real gift." Madeline had early suspected, and it became a conviction in later life, that, with good tuition and training, she might have been a musician; but she found herself, her schooldays passed, a timid and, as she thought, an ineffective performer. One enjoyment only had escaped detection and its consequent reproof, for her love of reading had been unobserved by Mrs. Cotes worth, to whom a book was a book, and it was only in the matter of binding that one differed from another. The unknown uncle had left a library behind him, and in this Madeline had browsed for years unnoticed, if not unseen. Her only difficulty had been to refrain from using in daily speech the lines and phrases that filled her retentive memory, for many a time an apt quotation had been received as an original impertinence, and punished accordingly.
Her schooldays had been her delight and her salvation; the child at school was a high-spirited, quick-witted creature, bubbling over with young life and laughter, while the child at home moved slowly and spoke quietly, masking her youth with a semblance of age. The instinct of the actress ran in her veins; the child was for ever "making believe." She consoled herself through many a dreary hour by "playing at being Aunt Agatha." The heavy step that Mrs. Cotesworth strove to correct was a faithful copy of the lady's own stately progress, and the very words with which she received a rebuke were carefully studied from her aunt's speech. Happily, this audacity was never detected, save- by an appreciative parlour-maid.
Madeline's musings were broken by the sound of four bells; she had learnt to recognise it as ten o'clock, and went to her cabin, hoping by hasty undressing and feigned sleep to escape the confidential chatter of the girl who shared its narrow limits with her. She was too late, for Rosie Thurlow followed close behind her, with an infinite deal of nothing to relate at great length. Madeline had been constituted Rosie's confidante before the steamer was two days out from Bombay. Within a week she had heard all that Rosie's busy tongue could tell about "Archie" in Burma, who was coming home to marry her next summer, and had lent a kind though weary ear to long discussions of trousseau frocks. But neither these practical anticipations nor the big sapphire ring on her left hand could keep the girl's light heart from roaming, and sundry feelings and fancies supplied Rosie's days with interest, and her talk of them deprived Madeline's evenings of rest.
That night, long after Rosie was silent, Madeline lay awake restless and weary, fretted by wandering thoughts. Rosie's prattle had recalled an old memory, an old sorrow—had roused a feeling of revolt from very long ago. Rosie was nineteen; Madeline had been one year older when the only romance of her life began and ended. She smiled in the darkness as she realized the simplicity, the utterly commonplace character, of what had once seemed to her beautiful and wonderful.
Aunt Agatha, whose habitual petulance formed a prickly scabbard to the steel blade of her will, had on that occasion laid aside peevishness and indecision, and shattered the potentialities of the future in a very ruthless manner. Madeline wept bitterly over her cruelty at the time, and after the shadowy, fantastic love had faded away, the memory of past suffering estranged her still further from her aunt. She was able now to understand that a kind deed had been very unkindly performed. She summoned back Edmund Welmore's thin face to her mind until it showed clearly among the misty memories of ten years ago. She recalled the high, narrow brow, where the lank hair grew scantily, the thin-lipped, anxious mouth, the long neck that rose so far above the collar of his clerical coat, and no gleam remained of the saintly beauty she had once seen in that face. The features she had almost worshipped revealed, in the light of later knowledge, narrow-mindedness and a querulous, unforgiving temper. Her life as his wife would doubtless have brought her sadder days than those she had spent with her aunt, but she did not reach this conclusion without the painful feeling that she was breathing a chiller, lonelier air, since for years the memory of what she had imagined Edmund to be had been a tender shelter to her spirit. She had exalted him into an ideal so far removed from real life that the news of his marriage had hardly troubled her. Now she remembered that one of the last letters from England mentioned that poor little Edmund Welmore, aged five, had broken his nose against the scullery door, unluckily left open in the dark. She threw back her head impatiently on her pillow; it was the sort of ignominious accident that was likely to befall Edmund's son; she wondered it had not happened to the man himself. The poverty of her experiences was sharply brought home to her by the fact that this man had been her first, her only love.
Her thoughts sped swiftly through a vista of years that had been filled by the exactions of Aunt Agatha and by the dreariest of occupations, those that are self-sought and self-made. Courses of reading undertaken as mental tonics, searches after knowledge that was useless to her, and the manufacture of large pieces of embroidery which, on completion, were locked away by Aunt Agatha lest they should be "spoilt by use "—a prison life during which her constant companion and only support had secluded her, as far as was possible, from all sympathetic friends and outside interests.
Their final quarrel illustrated the perverseness of Mrs. Cotesworth's disposition. She "enjoyed ill health," and found resource and occupation in her doctor's visits, especially when the old doctor sold his practice to a young man who, though not famous in his profession, had a gift of glib flattery. Madeline thought him at once obsequious, familiar, and vulgar, and was vexed to notice that he paid them longer visits than either the state of her aunt's health or his own duties justified; but this did not prepare her for what happened after six months' acquaintance. He was attending her for a severe cold, and Mrs. Cotesworth having gone out of the room in search of a much-prized gargle, a sentence that began with advice about her throat ended with a request that she would marry him. Surprise did not prevent her answer from being a prompt and decided "No," which her suitor received with cheerful incredulity. Madeline confidently expected Mrs. Cotesworth's approval and support, but her aunt expressed herself as being both surprised and pained that her dearest projects for Madeline's happiness should be thwarted by vanity and ingratitude. Dr. Turner was an ideal match, a man among ten thousand, far too good, indeed, for a penniless girl, to say nothing of a woman whose youth, and such good looks as she had ever possessed, were rapidly departing.
Madeline was too certain that her one attraction for Dr. Turner lay in Mrs. Cotesworth's bank account to be in the least moved by anything that he could say to her, and she received her aunt's upbraidings in silence. This bowing to the storm availed her nothing, for Mrs. Cotes worth's anguish of mind necessitated frequent visits from her medical adviser; and it was noticeable that after each visit her displeasure strengthened, and its manifestations became more disagreeable.
It was at this opportune time, when Mrs. Cotesworth intermingled everything she said with the doctor's suit, that Madeline found a friend, who brought with her a glimpse of freedom, a chance of deliverance. On that day, by great good fortune, Mrs. Cotesworth had a head ache, caused by a morning of invective, and, after a final bitter shaft, had issued orders that her sleep was not to be disturbed on any pretext until five o'clock. Madeline therefore found herself free to entertain a stout, pleasant-faced lady, who kissed her twice and told her several times that she was very like her dear mother, only not quite so pretty.
Mrs. Haymont was the wife of an Indian civilian, and a distant relative of Madeline's mother. She belonged to the unjustly maligned portion of humanity that will do anything for a present friend, and instantly forget an absent one, incurring thereby the contempt of the larger portion that does nothing for friends either near or far. The very fact of Madeline's existence having escaped her memory for many years, she had, as it were, a cumulative stock of affection for her. The sea of her benevolence ran mountains high, until at last one vast wave swept Madeline off her feet; this was nothing less than an earnestly urged suggestion that she should accompany the Haymonts to India the following month. While she stood rapt in the wonder of it, Mrs. Cotesworth entered, and Madeline noted in amazement how her majestic manner softened and became well-nigh genial under this new influence. Opposition was conquered, scruples overcome; and Madeline saw, as in a dream, the thread of her life twisted in a new direction by this wonderful stranger-friend.
Before Mrs. Haymont left, she had exacted a definite promise that Madeline was to visit her for at least a year.
When the stimulus of her presence was withdrawn, Mrs. Cotesworth naturally retracted all that she had said, and waxed pathetic as she talked of desertion and eager thirst for pleasure; but Madeline's fetters had eaten too deeply into her soul to allow her to give up the chance of freedom. Mrs. Haymont was staying in the neighbourhood, and the persistence with which she followed up her first advantage was admirable. Mrs. Cotesworth was opposed by a will as strong as her own, and a temper both more energetic and more amiable. The combination was irresistible, and Mrs. Haymont had her way, from the first great decision down to the last pair of gloves in Madeline's outfit. The girl herself could not believe in her good fortune until she stood upon the steamer's deck outward-bound.
Madeline's eyes moistened with stinging tears of self-pity as she remembered her hopes and visions during that voyage less than a year ago— imaginings almost as foolish as the fairy-tales she had been accustomed to tell herself twenty years before, when the rosebud room was new. She had expected too much. Gratitude led her into enthusiastic admiration for Mrs. Haymont, and disappointment was not long in following. Mrs. Haymont was kind and good, with a sunny nature utterly unclouded by her grim husband, who was silent when he was not surly; but she had a coarseness of fibre, a bluntness of perception, that the sensitive Madeline found intolerable.
Her views were simple and frankly expressed. Madeline—she should call her Lena by-the-by, it was such a mouthful of a name else—was a dear girl, and quite as pretty as most people. Of course she would marry. With a little trouble she might even make a good match, for no one would think she was more than twenty-five. If the right people were asked to the house, and Lena talked brightly and showed how well read she was, it might be a high-up civilian. She would have counselled her own sister or her own daughter with equal candour and directness. She explained her intentions to Madeline out of sheer goodness of heart, but the shy, nervous woman, whose life had been spent in almost claustral seclusion, was pained and disgusted. Her happy dreams were replaced by exaggerated forebodings, and before long she mistrusted and misconstrued Mrs. Haymont's every word and action. Her anxiety to show that she did not lend herself to any matrimonial schemes made her manner unnatural and repellent, and she took pleasure in smoothing out the pretty tendrils of her wavy hair, and wearing dresses wherein she looked her worst. These trivial measures were her only defence against a very terrible imputation. People would certainly say that Mrs. Haymont was trying to get Miss Norton married, but no word or look of hers should show sympathy with the plot.
She stood in her own light with unflagging energy and a persistence that was almost pathetic. She repelled interest that might have ripened into love, and avoided acquaintances who would willingly have become friends. She earned for herself the reputation of being a dull and silent young woman, and the season at Simla, from which Mrs. Haymont had expected so much, was a long six months of humiliation and mortification to Madeline. The fact that the humiliation and mortification were self-sought and self-inflicted did not sweeten them to the girl who had lived too long with Mrs. Cotesworth to be wholly free from the taint of morbidness and bitterness.
Mrs. Haymont was sadly disappointed, and, being unskilled in the finer varieties of feeling, Madeline's behaviour was as inexplicable to her as it was baffling. She began to speak of her as "peculiar," and from thenceforward Madeline was known as "that strange Miss Norton," and her simplest actions were invested with a lurid light.
It was a thoroughly false position arrived at through a misapprehension, and Madeline's behaviour was out of all proportion to the nervous terror that had originated it. A species of poor pride helped her to maintain her defiant attitude, even after she had a glimmering suspicion of its absurdity; and it was a relief to both hostess and guest when news came, at the end of October, of Mr. Haymont's transfer to Madras on a piece of special duty. Here was an excuse for Made line, the failure, to return to England, and she availed herself of it, though at the first word of parting Mrs. Haymont's kind heart warmed to her anew.
"Do change your mind and stay with us a few months longer, Lena dear," she said. "I shall miss you dreadfully. If you will, I'll take you to Ootacamund next hot weather; that will be a thorough change, and another chance for you."
The last words spoilt all. Madeline's lips set to a thin straight line as her coldest voice refused the invitation.
The scarcely-ended time in India already seemed very far away. She could imagine how it would figure among her memories years hence, when she was an ill-tempered old woman like Aunt Agatha. Perhaps years hence some of the sting and ache and anger at her own foolishness would have died away. The hardest thing of all was the knowledge that her folly had armed Aunt Agatha with a new weapon against her; that lady might be trusted to make good use of it.
She was now far enough away from her behaviour of the past year to see it in its proper light, and for the first time she realized the full extent of her ungraciousness. She had elected to play a role of almost malign perverseness, and her dramatic instinct had taken possession of her and led her away further than she had meant or wished to go. She had intended to be merely dignified and distant, but she had become disagreeable, well-nigh repulsive, and she thought with a twitching little smile, that trembled into tears, of the gentleman who blacked himself all over to play Othello. If she had wished to indulge the somewhat morbid fancy of seeming other than her natural self, it would have been easy to her to assume a prettier part, to have given free scope for once to the brightness, the light-heartedness and the attractiveness which she was conscious of possessing. Now the chance was over, the one chance of her life, and she had proved to herself and all the world that she was fit for nothing but the cheerless seclusion, far worse than solitude, of existence shared with Aunt Agatha.
The ship's bells rang out again, again, and yet again, and a fat gray rat, emboldened by night and silence, slid into the cabin and foraged for food. Madeline did not hear him, even when he found a packet of sweets in Rosie's workbasket, and crunched pralines with noisy greediness, and the tears that dripped on her pillow flowed too quietly to disturb him.
******
Port Said looked hot and very dusty in the sunshine next morning, and Madeline did not care to go on shore. She had no desire to ride donkeys, and the well-worn jokes of their names, "Grand Old Man," "Bicycle built for Two," or "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay," no longer made her smile. She sat on deck trying, by dint of closed eyes and deaf ears, to discourage the not easily daunted cigarette-sellers and hawkers of lace, photographs, and olive-wood paper-knives.
A few steps behind her the captain's pleasant face had grown serious over a telegram from England, addressed to him as the "Commander of S.S. Moldavia." "Kindly break to Miss Norton, passenger Moldavia, news of her aunt Mrs. Cotesworth's death. Influenza. December 5."
CHAPTER I.
"NEW-LIGHTED ON A HEAVEN-KISSING HILL."
"In the middle of the woods
Dwelt the Wongy Bongy Boo.
One old jug, without a handle,
Two old chairs, and half a candle—
In the middle of the woods,
These were all his worldly goods."
Edward Lear
"Winnie, this is like a barn; we can't live here."
"Don't display your ignorance, my dear; it is a hill-house; they are all furnished like this, only some are worse."
"But where is the furniture? I suppose this is meant to be the drawing-room, and it has one rickety table and two straight-backed chairs."
"You have overlooked this couch—behold it! It is upholstered in chintz of twenty years ago, which proudly proclaims that it has never once been washed during that period. There is also a hole in it—a large hole to catch the unwary. Janet, save me! Pull me up! I'm sinking fast!"
The room was a particularly nice one, considered as part of a cottage in Simla. It was fairly large, and at one end a bow-window looked out across billowing masses of green and brown mountains, to where the snowy range rose clear and pure against the evening sky. After the fashion of Indian rooms, it suffered from a plethora of doors. Two, made chiefly of glass, led into a veranda, two more into a passage, while a fifth opened upon a small square den, capable of becoming a study or a boudoir according to the fancy of the occupant, and most impartially unfit for either purpose.
The ceiling was made of whitewashed canvas, and bulged exceedingly. The walls had a dull gray paper patterned in brown and blue; the fire place was a yawning gulf, and the mantelpiece a simple ledge of whitewashed clay. A dirty cotton drugget made pretence of covering the floor; and the furniture was one table, two chairs, and the perilous sofa, nothing else. The little square room had a still dirtier drugget, and a very small table tottering on three uneven legs.
The two women looked at each other, one amused, the other dismayed.
"We harmonize fatally well with our surroundings," said the one who was amused— "deep in dust, and with a faded, dilapidated appearance. Let's get rid of cloaks and solah topees. Aren't the stairs wonderful? It's just like ascending the Great Pyramid, if you could only imagine that laid down with cocoanut matting."
The steep steps were few in number, and the rooms they led to rather more meagrely appointed than those below. A middle-aged woman, in whose face a desire to complain struggled with a resolve to show no surprise, was unpacking a great many boxes.
"There is only one hanging wardrobe, 'm, and it looks so dirty I really don't like to put your dresses in it," was her greeting.
"Never mind about it now, Nugent; the dresses can stay in their boxes for to-night."
"Winnie," called Janet, across the narrow passage, "this basin is so cracked that it would not hold together for five minutes in England; the climate must have strange powers here."
"Well, my jug is in two, four, six pieces, cunningly connected with copper wire—a miracle of noble workmanship! I wonder the riveter could find it in his heart to part with it."
"Winnie, there isn't an inch of curtain or blind in my room; how am I to go to bed to night?"
"Oh, Cockney! How often must I tell you that we are not in London; there is no one to overlook you here except crows and monkeys, and they are not easily shocked, but you shall have blinds to-morrow."
The woman who spoke was rather tall and very slender; her face had a studied perfection of tint, accompanied by an unmistakable artificiality of surface. Her eyebrows and long lashes were black, contrasting sharply with bright hair that was too warmly tinted to be golden, too russet to be ruddy, too brilliant to be brown. It decked her pretty head in well-arranged ripples and curls; and a certain quality of dainty finish hard to define, but impossible to ignore, characterized her whole appearance.
"Come down and have some tea, Janet," she said presently, "Mouz Bux has evolved it out of chaos and the luncheon-basket. Doesn't it strike you as a great convenience that, though you are upstairs and I am down, I can talk to you almost without raising my voice, my ceiling and your floor are so thin?"
"You ought to write to the landlord for more furniture; this is like a practical joke," said Janet, seating herself cautiously on one of the straightbacked chairs.
"I don't mind doing so, but I know before hand that he will express great surprise at my unreasonable demands. 'Deodar Cottage has been let every season for the last fifteen years, but this is the first time any tenant has been dissatisfied with the furniture; indeed, it is generally considered to be one of the best-appointed houses in Simla.' If I persist, he may perhaps, because of my continual complaining, stop my mouth with a converted packing-case, yearning to return to its former convictions, which he will call a sideboard. Do you think it would be worth the trouble?"
"But surely he would send you some chairs?"
"Let me not malign a man who is doubtless both worthy and generous; I see, as in a looking-glass, the chairs he would send us. Wicker chairs, Janet—the ones that squeak, smeared with bazaar paint that smells to heaven, and sparsely cushioned in chintz, own cousin to that on our couch, red cabbages on a black ground. Dost thou like the picture?"
"What are we to do, then? This room is impossible."
"Of course it is. Now you see the reason for my bale of Liberty chintz and muslin, though I am sure I have not brought half enough, for the dining-room needs reforming, too. Listen, my dear: to-morrow we will go out in rickshaws; until you are used to them, you will wonder if you are a baby in a perambulator or an invalid in a bath-chair, but that feeling wears off."
"Yes, and then?"
"We'll buy a carpet, several carpets, to cover this thing on the floor, which seems to have turned gray with horror at the ugliness of the wall-paper, and we'll get tins of Aspinall, and then you'll see."
"What, are we to Aspinall this table?"
"No, even my ambition has its limit; but if we wait—it may be for days, or it may be for weeks—men will come hung round with cane and wicker furniture. We shall buy some of these things, and order others of lengths and breadths to fit the holes and corners; they will bring them anon, with no unseemly haste, and then our work will begin."
"I can make beautiful frilled curtains on my sewing-machine," said Janet, brightening; "this room will take six pairs."
''My dear, you shan't, this is holiday time; besides, you forget that we are in the Land of Luxury, where people habitually die from overwork, so take care. I mean to kneel before Nugent to-morrow, and sing imploringly, ' Oh, can ye sew cushions?' and, what is much more to the purpose, 'Will ye sew cushions?' I had better get a ticca dhirzie, too. That's not bad language, Janet; it only means a man who comes to sew by the day."
Janet still looked serious; she was a blue-eyed, sturdily-built young woman, who seemed older than her friend. Her brown hair was satin-smooth, and she had a look of radiant cleanliness, which had survived even the dusty ordeal of a fifty-mile drive on a hill road.
"India is not at all a ready-made country," continued Winnie, who was seeking rest on the couch, and finding none; "you are tripped up by raw products at every turn. For instance, the cotton we are going to stuff our cushions with will arrive in a big bundle, fresh drawn frae the tree, with twigs and pebbles and dirt in it; and we shall hire a man, dressed in the shadowed livery of the burnished sun, and not much else, to sit in the veranda and pick it over."
"I call that cumbrous."
"Looked at from the proper point of view, it is fascinating, and savours of the Middle Ages. Another cup of tea please, dear."
Roused by the rattle of teacups, a depressed fox terrier came out of a corner and eyed his mistress reproachfully. His white coat was travel-stained, and his whole appearance expressed his heartfelt dislike for a new place and an unsettled household.
"Poorest Cripps!" said Winnie; "he was a pale martyr, he was, and if he had only known all he was going to suffer he would never have left own England. First it was a ship, a dreadful ship; and then it was a train that was much nastier, 'cause there was no rats there; and then it was a tonga that shook a dear dog, as if he had been a rat ownselfs."
Her sympathetic voice moved Cripps almost to tears; his ears drooped lower and lower, and he refused biscuits after one languid sniff. A saucer of sugared milk pleased him better; he emptied it with much splashing and slopping, sighed heavily, and fell asleep in a shivering coil.
"What are you going to do with this den?" asked Janet, walking into the little square room.
Winnie followed, and, slipping a hand through her friend's firm arm, spoke with deliberation.
"Janet, take a boiled shrimp and a ripe apricot."
“What do you mean?"
"I'm not reciting from a cookery-book: a shrimp and an apricot, in one pink ruin blent, make a lovely colour, and muslin can be dyed in the bazaar to exactly that tint. I shall flute the walls of this fearful little place eight or nine feet up with miles of that muslin; the effect will be like a bonbonnière, and it will suit my complexion for-bye."
"Oh, Winnie, your complexion!"
"Don't be arrogant; we can't all be washable pink and white like you and a nursery wall-paper. I wish I had brought some out with me, by-the-by; these walls are terrible, and the ceiling is like a white petticoat that's coming down. Come and look at the house from the outside."
It was the end of April, and the warm day had turned to a chilly evening; the sunset was over, and a soft wind had risen to say good-night to the pines. The sough of their branches was like the tender sound of a far-off sea.
"Oh, listen! " said Winnie; " isn't it distinct? I can hear the very shish of the pebbles as the waves drag them back."
"What do you mean, dear? "
"The wind in the pines; " and she drew her cloak closer as she murmured:
" ' And still the pines of Simla hills
Are moaning like a sea:
The moaning of the sea of change
Between myself—and me!'"
"What did you say, Winnie?"
"Nothing; only there are eight deadly sins, quotation being the last and worst, especially when one alters the poet's holy writ to suit one's own base ends. Look at Deodar Cottage; isn't it just like a doll's-house on a shelf?"
There was space enough in front of the house for a rickshaw to turn with great caution and precision; then came a steep bank thickly set with slender pine-tree stems, and brown and slippery with last year's pine-needles. A tangle of white wild-rose gleamed below, but the earth was parched and very thirsty and dusty, waiting for rain.
"Everything seems burnt up this year," said Winnie; " it is like the plains set on end. When the rains come, all these hillsides will be a tangle of beautiful green things." It was hard to tell where the so-called garden ended and the hillside began; there was no gate, no paling—everything was just as it happened, and the two or three oval plots edged with stones, and holding straggling rose-bushes, looked like unseemly freckles on the face of the great mountain. The hills round them loomed vaguely in the dusk; a fluffy owl cried shrilly from a tree near by, and a large clear star seemed to balance itself on the summit of a tall pine.
"I wish there was a moon to-night," said Winnie, turning back in the veranda for a last look at the beautiful shadowed world—" the hills are so glorious by moonlight; but, never mind, we shall be here for six months at least, and there are many moons in six months. Let us go and have cold things to eat; we can't call it dinner, but we will settle down properly to-morrow."
"This room won't have settled down to-morrow," said Janet, as they came back to the bleak space dimly lighted by one travelling lantern.
"Never mind; in a fortnight it will be lovely, and then—then calling will begin. Such calling! You will think it a dreadful waste of time; it's a dreadful risk of sunstroke, too, but one has to do it."
"On whom are you going to call? "
"Everybody, from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop on the wall, which means from her Excellency the Vicereine to the subaltern's wife who lives in a hotel. Several of our fellow-passengers are up here already. You will be glad to meet that nice little Mrs. Myles again, won't you? I do not think I shall need the letters of introduction which Madeline was kind enough to give me."
"Winnie, Winnie! " said Miss Rosslyn, laughing with grave eyes.
"It's a fact, my dear, and it is fortunate it is so, for I dare say everyone she knew has been transferred or has gone home. I'm not in the least ungrateful to poor dear Madeline; I'm very fond of her, and I have reason to know that she had a fearfully dull time in her youth; but she was not a very amusing person, was she? To the dull all things are dull. Oh, I wish it was the end of May, the Birthday ball over, and the season well launched. I want to begin."
"I do hope that all will go well with us," said Janet, sighing.
"Yes, dear death's-head, I'm sure it will; I will make a point of seeing that it does. Don't be a kind of puritan, sweet soul; we are going to have such fun."
CHAPTER II.
"Who's that a-calling so sweet?"
"All things were there for us,
Life was complete—
Fairer than fair for us,
Sweeter than sweet,
With a sky that was reared for our covering,
an earth that was framed for our feet."
J. W. M.
It was a glowing morning in mid-May, and the cuckoo shouting among the pine-trees had so English a note that it was hard to reconcile his voice with the mountains. The snowy range was veiled in mist, and a dusty simmer of heat brooded over the direction of the distant plains. Cripps, the terrier, lay stretched on the warm ground beyond the veranda, enjoying the forbidden pleasure of basking in the sunshine, till a voice from the house made him start guiltily.
"Cripps, Cripps ! Janet, have you seen Cripps? Where is that wicked dog? "
Cripps dashed through the flowerpots in the veranda, and presented himself with the air of a faithful servitor who has run fast and far; but his burning nose, and a blotch of yellow dust on his white side, betrayed him.
"Cripps, you have been lying in the sun, and if you do that you will get fever, Cripps, and then you will die."
Cripps grovelled at Winnie's feet in a little brief humility, and wagged his short tail almost under his left ear.
"No, Cripps. Go to own bed, Cripps, and stay there. If you do it again, you'll get—you'll get—you'll get washed. Take care! "
Cripps crawled elaborately to a corner, with a great affectation of having no bone unbroken, and lay down in a temporary manner, with a furtive eye on the warm world outside.
Winnie went back to the piano and sang two lines of a song. "It's no good," she said; "I'm lazy, and scales on a morning like this would be an insult to the sunshine. Haven't we made this room pretty? It's a pleasure to me every time I look at it."
"It is difficult to believe what it was when we came," said Janet, looking up from her work. "I thought then that it would be impossible to do anything with it."
"Englishmen in India spend their lives in accomplishing the impossible. We all catch the trick of it out here," said Winnie sententiously.
The room was a little fantastic, and more than a little incongruous, with its yellow chintz and muslin, silken embroideries, pale velvet cushions, wicker chairs, and tables of carved wood and Cashmere papier-maché; but it had no terrible knick-knacks of plush and satin, no painted stools, sabots, or tambourines. There were singularly few photographs. Most Anglo-Indian rooms are like shrines to absent friends, but this room had only several panel portraits of Winnie herself, surrounded by those emblems of martyrdom—palms, lilies, and the skins of wild beasts —that are so strangely dear to the "artistic photographer." The pictures were all autotypes except one small painting of a charming child in an old-fashioned frock. Her gray eyes were unmistakably like Winnie's, but the wavy hair was dark. The little picture was in a very modern frame of beaten copper, embossed with marguerites, and a jar of tall flowers stood on a table below it.
"My little Daisy," said Winnie suddenly, as she arranged a fern frond against the frame. "Do you think she is really happy at school? But the place is not like a school; it's like a home, and it is so good for her to have companions of her own age."
"Oh, Winnie!"
"You see, I could not bring her out here, dearly as I should have loved to do it," went on Winnie, with a very serious face; " the risk was too great—my one little girl. But I had always longed to see India, and if I had waited until Daisy was older I could not have borne the separation even for a few months. She is only six years old now, but such a tall girl! I tell her she will soon be able to look down on the top of her poor little mother's head. Do you think that sounds very silly, Janet? "
"I have often told you what I think," said Janet, breaking her thread.
"Yes, dear; but do you realize how much I needed a change after my husband's death, though that is nearly two years ago now? Poor Tom! he had the strangest horror of mourning; he always used to say, 'Why on earth should you feel obliged to make a fright of yourself because a perfectly natural thing has happened?' He was always so resigned to the idea that I should outlive him. Of course, he was a great deal my senior, poor dear fellow! All the same, I should feel so heartless if I wore anything but black and white, and gray and heliotrope, and luckily they are really very pretty. Some women talk like that, Janet; I have heard them do it."
"All the more reason for you to avoid it, I should think."
"Perhaps so. Now, listen. I am going to call on Mrs. Tykes to-day; she is that woman with the forehead we met at the Myles's dinner, and she is one of the few people left up here whom Madeline used to know eighteen months ago."
"There must be numbers of people that you----"
“My dear, barring a few potentates who do not count, I doubt if there are five people here now who knew Madeline, and they have forgotten her. This is the Land of Chance and Change. The cards are always being shuffled—visiting cards especially."
"I am sure there will be someone who----"
"Consider first that there was nothing about Madeline to catch the eye, and most people looked at her without seeing her. Mrs. Bertie Vernon, for instance. Madeline knew her by sight, and will never forget her, while she will never remember Madeline. The flowers see the stars, but the stars do not see the flowers. Do you retain a lively recollection of the appearance and voice of every plain young woman you knew little and cared for less nearly two years ago?
"Janet opened her lips to speak, and closed them again on a sigh.
"It's nearly twelve," went on Winnie. "I must go and be dressed. 'The War Lord Sahib's Lady ' is at home to-day—that is what the natives call the Commander-in-Chief's wife—and I must journey from Dan to Bathsheba—Beersheba, I mean—from Chota Simla to Boileau Gunge. Shall you 'receive' this morning?"
"Please not. I feel so awkward if people call when you are out."
"Only learn to say 'Darwaza bund' to the bearer, and you will live in peace. It means, 'The door is shut.' Try and remember it; it is more truthful than 'Not at home,' and should therefore commend itself to you."
When Winnie came back she was wearing a white gown, lightly touched with black, and a triumphant bonnet.
"Look at me in the light, dear," she said, " and tell me truly if you think I have too much on—in the way of tinting, I mean. I fancy Nugent is a trifle heavy-handed, and I don't want to look raddled."
"I should like you better without any tinting."
"No, you wouldn't; quite a mistake. Oh, do call Cripps; I can't take him. He always gets exactly in front of the wheels; I shall run over him one day, and then I shall never get over it. Catch him!"
But Cripps was half-way up the steep path to the Mall, telling the mountains with full-throated ease that he was taking his rickshaw and the lady that belonged to him out for an airing. Janet's call from the veranda had no effect upon him, beyond strengthening his belief in his own popularity.
A fresh breeze blew from the snows, but the Mall was hot and dusty. The white wild-roses were casting their petals in fluttering showers like short-lived butterflies, and their perfume was honey-sweet in the warm air. The roads were noisy with rickshaws, and the men who drew them were in the first freshness of their fantastic liveries—liveries that would soon be worn and shabby. The trees near the narrow paths that led up or down the slopes to the houses among the pines were dotted with little tin boxes bearing names and the statement "Not at Home"—a benevolent arrangement which modifies the tyranny of paying morning calls up the airy mountains. Winnie dealt out cards liberally. It was an excellent day for calling; everyone seemed to be out, and when she reached Snowdon, she saw the reason why.
The "War-Lord's Lady" was receiving a long procession of visitors, each in her best gown, and with a little air of consciousness assumed at the same time.
The aide-de-camp in undress uniform who handed Winnie out of her rickshaw was an acquaintance of ten days' standing.
"How are you, Mrs. Edwards? Going strong? You'll find all and sundry in there. I'll write your name in Lady Percival's book. Got the address on your card? That's all right. Come along and be announced by yourself before the next batch arrives. Mrs. Edwards."
"You are a newcomer, I think," said Lady Percival, smiling and shaking hands for the hundred and forty-second time in three-quarters of an hour.
"Yes, I am a globe-trotter," said Winnie. "Mrs. Myles," announced the aide-de-camp, " Mrs. Scott, Mrs. Silver, Mrs. Bryce."
"I am coming to sit by you," said the first of the little group to Winnie, a dark-haired woman with pretty eyes, and a suggestion of picturesque-ness held in check by severely conventional garments. "How are you, and what have you been doing?"
"Upholstery, chiefly. When are you coming to see the miracle we have wrought with the very dry bones of our house?"
"Some day, next week, I hope. Where is Janet?"
"Left at home by her own special request. I like your gown, my dear; it's a beautiful fit."
"One can't go very far wrong in a gray tailor-made," said Mrs. Myles, glancing down at the skirts of her coat; "but it's not at all exciting. Now, you are like a dream—an artist's dream."
"That artist must have read a great many fashion papers before he slept," said Winnie.
"Do you like Simla as much as you expected to?" said Mrs. Myles, after an instant's silence.
"Yes, and much more."
"I wonder why? And do you know all these people?" looking round the crowded room.
"Not yet, but I want to, and I mean to."
"But they are not in the least interesting."
"Oh yes, they are, if you talk to them in the right tone of voice; or, at any rate, they are amusing. Do look at those three over there. They were here when we arrived; they have been sitting on the point of departure ever since, and it makes them wriggle dreadfully. Let's give them a friendly lead. Good-bye, Lady Percival."
"Give my love to Janet," said Mrs. Myles, as they waited in the veranda, "and ask her to come to tea with me some afternoon."
"And mayn't I come too, please?"
"You! You will never have an afternoon to spare; you will be riding round Jakko with----"
"The beautiful boys of fiction, I suppose," interrupted Winnie; "I have never met any. Send them to call on me when they arrive."
"They will find their own way. Good bye."
"Sixteen calls paid, Cripps; we are getting on splendidly!" said Winnie; "now for Mrs. Tykes's box. Oh dear, she seems to be in; how unlucky we are! Niche jao jampanis! Down went the rickshaw, jolting and bumping over the steep, sharply-turning path, down, down, still down. "When people live in the plains," said Winnie, "I do wish they would not pretend they are in Simla. We shall reach Kalka soon. Cripps, where is this place?"
The path was like that in Looking-glass Land; even as she thought they were nearing the house, it took a brisk turn, shook itself, as it were, and led into what appeared to be the opposite direction. Many devious windings brought them at long last to a broad veranda, where they were received by a chicken, that hurried out of the house taking very high steps. Cripps trembled in every limb from excitement, but was too well-mannered to attack it. Then came a long wait in the sunshine before that open sesame, the word "Salaam," admitted Winnie to Mrs. Tykes's presence. She was a tall woman of austere regard, with hair brushed severely from her brow and flattened tightly upon her head.
"I did not mean to be at home to-day," was her greeting; " I thought I had sent the box up."
"I am sure I looked for it," said Winnie plaintively," and it was not there; you should scold your bearer."
"Oh well, it can't be helped, and I am very glad to see you now that you are here. I was out in the fowl-house when you came; do you know anything about poultry?"
"No, nothing at all."
"You should learn; it's a great economy. What does your man charge you for murghies from the bazaar? "
"I really don't know; Miss Rosslyn very kindly looks after the house for me."
"I thought so. Well, if you inquire you will find that by buying and fattening your own you will save at least six annas on each bird; that counts for something."
"Yes, indeed," murmured Winnie, with a polite attempt at enthusiasm. "And you will be surprised to find what a difference a few weeks' feeding makes in the quality of their flesh; mine get the soup-meat every day and all the table leavings. What becomes of your soup-meat?"
"I think the soup is generally made from shin or something," faltered Winnie. "Wasteful and tasteless," said Mrs. Tykes; "tell your cook to give you meat soup. I will send you one of my murghies to show you how good they are; only it ought to be roasted in a kerosene stove, not over charcoal. Have you got a stove? "
"No, we haven't."
"You ought to get one. Indeed, in the rains—and they are not far away now—I don't know what you will do without a stove to dry things, unless of course you prefer that horrid arrangement of charcoal and wicker-work." Winnie was not aware that she had this low partiality, but a meek murmur seemed the easiest answer.
"You really must get a stove, Mrs. Edwards, and make that maid of yours—useless things they are out here generally—use it. She could roast fowls and small joints in it, and if I were you I should insist on her making all your pastry and things of that kind. I never allow a loaf of baker's-bread into the house; they are dirty wretches; I make my own yeast out of kismis, and it's much better than baking-powder; I'll give you the recipe for your maid to try."
"Do you think it would be good for her hands when I wanted her to lace my dresses? "
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Tykes; "I make all my own bread, and do a great deal more than that maid of yours will ever do, I'll be bound, and look here "—she held out capable hands that showed traces of hard work—"I was writing to my chicks the other day," she continued, in her strong voice, " and I told them that I wanted them to grow up useful—none of your spoilt, dressy monkeys."
"Your chicks grow up monkeys? " said Winnie interrogatively; her thoughts were still in the poultry-yard.
"Yes, my children. You have some children, haven't you? You are a widow, they tell me."
“I have one little girl in England."
"Left her at home? How old is she? "
"Only six."
"Oh, well, I suppose you don't mean to stay out here long. It's quite the fashion for idle people to come here now. «They can have very little to do, I say."
"But there is so much to see in India."
"Yes, in the plains in the cold weather; but I should not care to stay in Simla if I was not obliged to. When did you come out?"
"Last March."
"That's a queer time of year to choose. I suppose you will go home next cold weather?"
"Yes, I think so."
"And what made you want to come to Simla? "
"I heard a great deal about it from a cousin of mine—not a first cousin—a distant connection —a Miss Norton."
"I remember her perfectly well. Madeline Norton was her name; she was staying with Mrs. Haymont. So you are related to her? But you are not in the least her style."
"I am very fond of Madeline," said Winnie, smiling. "She was a nice girl—woman I should say, for she could hardly call herself a girl any longer," said Mrs. Tykes, with a little snort, which was a trick of hers when she wished to be emphatic. "I never saw very much of her, but she seemed quiet and ladylike—sensible, too. She did not wear a fringe and pretend to be pretty."
"I always tell her that she would look better with a fringe," said Winnie, laughing. "Do you think I am at all like her? Many people see a resemblance when we are together."
"Not the very least in the world," said Mrs. Tykes, scanning the perfection of Winnie's appearance with a malevolent eye; " I never saw two women less alike. She always looked simple and natural; that's what I liked about her. Why didn't she marry out here? "
"I suppose she met no one she cared for."
“Or no one who wanted to marry her; that is more like it, I should say," said Mrs. Tykes, with her snort. "Mrs. Haymont must have been very foolish. If she had only played her cards properly there would have been no----"
"I had no idea it was so late. I really must go. Good-bye." And Winnie was gone almost before Mrs. Tykes could rise.
"That is a real example of the odious woman when she is married," she remarked to Cripps, who had reduced his tongue to something that resembled its normal length, but who insisted on riding up the hill in her rickshaw. "However, it is pleasant to know that she had kindly feelings towards that poor girl—woman, I should say— Madeline. Nobody would ever have suspected them."
CHAPTER III.
“A LITTLE TALKING OF OUTWARD THINGS."
“A lady richly left . . . her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
. . . And many Jasons come in quest of her."
Shakespeare.
Janet sat in the upper veranda writing a letter. Cripps lay near her feet, growling softly at frequent intervals. His instincts were not hospitable, and the knowledge that his mistress was receiving visitors downstairs without his protection was very terrible to him.
“Never mind, Cripps,” said Janet, smoothing his anxious ears; "it will soon be two o'clock."
She was writing to her lover in Australia, and she wrote slowly, not because it was three years since they had met, but because she was in the habit of telling him everything, and a great deal had now to be left out of her letters.
“My very dear Will," was her opening phrase; she objected to the superlative “dearest," which implied to her mind two other Wills, and the word “darling " was only used in her most secret thoughts; it was too tender for speech or writing.
“Simla is really very beautiful," she wrote, “and I am growing accustomed to walking up hill; at first I found it very trying. I cannot tell you how much stronger I feel since I left England, and it is certainly the most delightful change from my life as a governess. Yesterday---- “
She looked up with a sudden feeling that someone was watching her. There was a plaintive little cry; a small hand parted the branches, and an anxious face peered at her from half-way up a pine-tree.
“Nugent," she called, “come quickly; the monkeys are here." Janet had no fondness for monkeys; she considered them uncanny and unclean, but she knew that to Nugent they represented the poetry of the Orient. They had come in their usual troop —a dozen or fifteen—headed by a red-faced demon chief, with muscular arms and legs and a terrible temper. Half-grown monkeys skirmished round him at a safe distance, and careful mothers, carrying on their backs tiny imps whose eyes expressed the sorrow of all the ages, and whose hair was neatly parted down the middle, fled if he even glanced in their direction.
Nugent enticed away the unsuspecting Cripps with a biscuit, and shut the door behind him.
“He agitates them so, 'm," she explained, returning. “Listen to that little one mewing. Isn't it pretty?"
A baby monkey had been left to keep house by itself on a swaying bough, and bewailed its fate in a voice like a forlorn kitten's, while its mother, lost to all sense of dignity, was joining in a well-ordered game of “Swing-till-you-are-pulled-off " on the lower branches.
“It's a strange country, 'm," said Nugent thoughtfully, “where one sees monkeys in the trees instead of birds."
“But there are a great many birds, too. Look at those big black crows."
“There's something very animal-like about them, 'm, with their hoarse voices. Now, these monkeys are so civilized, even without the little red jackets that they'd be wearing at home. Oh, look, 'm—do look! That big one has just given a little one such a smack. They're quite human.”
A sudden panic seized the monkey tribe. The frivolous mother whisked up the tree, and flung her babe over her shoulder. It slid down her back, and crouched there, firmly clutching her tail. The demon chief bounded heavily down the slope; the smaller monkeys were nimbly gone in different directions, and in an instant neither sight nor sound told of their passing.
“Mrs. Edwards is having a great many visitors this morning, 'm," said Nugent, returning sadly to ordinary life; “I'm thankful she put on a white dress. She inclined to black herself, and that's a pity for a popular lady.”
Janet murmured something inaudible; she was divided between fear that Nugent might grow too familiar if encouraged to talk, and honest pleasure that the woman should take a friendly interest in her surroundings.
"Perhaps some of the gentlemen will be staying to lunch; wouldn't you like me to do up your hair, 'm? “said Nugent persuasively. " I know a most becoming style, quite different from Mrs. Edwards'—smooth coils that----"
“No, thank you, Nugent," said Janet firmly; “I should not feel like myself with my hair differently arranged."
Janet wore her abundant brown hair in a flat mass of many little plaits fastened closely to her head. It was a fashion of years ago, belonging to the days when she had first met Will Norris, and tenderly persisted in by her as a memory of the happiest time of her life. Nugent regarded the unfashionable outline as a reflection upon herself; being justly proud of her talent for hairdressing, it pained her to live in the house with a lady who was so obstinately out of date.
“There was a sweet style in last week's Lady's Pictorial, 'm," she began tentatively.
"Janet, tiffin!" called Winnie from below. “Good girl to come so quickly; I am starving. ' Bring me meat and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither.' Nineteen callers this morning; we are getting on, though Mrs. Bertie Vernon told me yesterday that she had twenty-seven last Sunday. I asked very innocently, ' What, all at once? ' and when she said, ' No, from twelve to two,' I looked as if I did not think much of it, and that made her love me."
"What did you talk to them all about? I should never know what to say."
“It's only like playing the game of ' Twenty Questions,' mixed up with ' How, when, and where do you like it?' it being either Simla or India. They don't stay long, and, if you have a frugal mind, the same questions and answers will do for the whole nineteen, so it isn't very difficult.”
Winnie had a little pack of cards in her hand, which she dealt out as she talked. “Look, Janet, these are all for you; you are not to write to Will next Sunday; I want you with me. You would have seen five aides-de camp to-day, think of that! Three of the Viceroy's crème de la crème, my dear, and one of them, Captain Luttrell, is rather good-looking; and the second, Lord Trerowan, has a title, which is much more important; and the third, Captain Yeatt, has such bad manners, and drops his g’s so carefully that it gives him a style of his own. Then there was Captain Curtis, one of the Chief's aides, and Captain Sheppard from Barnes Court, and a lot of men from the Club; I had no idea the holiday-makers came up so soon. And, oh Janet, here is the best card of all!“
“Colonel Strath-Ingram, the 21st, the King's Royal Loyal Dragoons,” read Janet.
“It's pronounced Struthgrum, dear; I'll tell you all about him. He is a bachelor; a handsome stripling, too, in his own estimation, and once upon a time he took Madeline in to dinner.”
Winnie paused, and broke through the white shell of a meringue with much deliberation.
“Well, that wasn't very terrible."
“Wait a little; it is a memory that requires cream and sugar, and the cook makes these things charmingly. Listen: she did not want to be taken in to dinner by him; it was an honour that she could not bear, and she was looking very plain that evening, and feeling as dull as you please. But granting all this, the dictates of Christian charity should have impelled him to talk to her just a little, and he didn't."
“Perhaps the poor man was feeling ill."
“Prithee, peace. He ate very largely, and when she hazarded remarks, he answered as nearly in grunts and grumphs as is possible for an officer and a gentleman. Madeline was very unhappy; it's ridiculous the way that little thing affected her, and after dinner he was talking to a lady of the Mrs. Bertie Vernon school of painting, and he said, ' I did think that in this house I was safe not to be paired off with a dowdy frump of that sort.' Madeline was sitting behind him under a palm-tree like Enoch Arden, and of course she heard. When she was alone that night, she cried and cried; it was so dreadful to be 'a dowdy frump of that sort.' Give me another meringue, khitmatgar, to sweeten my recollection."
“Poor Winnie! " said Janet.
“Poor Madeline! " said Winnie; “though, if you come to think of it, it was what she had worked for, and she ought to have been delighted, but inconsistency's name was frequently Madeline. Well, Colonel Strath-Ingram will be here for three months. He has seen me riding, and vows that 'Two and Two is the prettiest lady's hack in Simla; give you my word, Mrs. Edwards, and in every sense of the words, too—ho, ho! ' His animals are on their way up still, but when they arrive he hopes, he trusts—in fact, he'll be delighted to show me all the pretty rides about here. Isn't it kind of him? "
“I think he's very forward."
“’We call it lemonade in Ballyhooley '—I mean affability in Struthgrum. And I forgot: we are to go to the lunch the Viceroy's staff give at Sipi Fair next week. Our cards will come to-morrow, and I have faithfully promised three separate promises that we will go."
“Do let me stay at home."
“You must come, dear. If you never go out with me, people will say that I beat you and bully you, and lock you up in the go-down, and make you wear my old clothes."
“I only wish I could get into them," laughed plump Janet.
“But, seriously, consider your duty to dumb animals; think of Cripps. Poor Cripps! I mean to ride out, and he would refuse to run all the way, and he has not learnt the art of riding behind me, even supposing that Two and Two would permit it. What is he to do without own rickshaw and own Aunt Janet? Dear, it will be a charming sight, and I have set my heart on your coming."
“Very well, then, I'll go."
“And I settled something else this morning," went on Winnie cheerfully; “Major Morice, who is nothing if not musical, hopes to get up an operetta almost at once. I am to be the prima donna, and I have promised that you will play at one of the Monday pops."
“I will play accompaniments gladly."
“Yes, dear, and solos—you must."
“But, Winnie, about your singing; surely I remember that you told me you----"
“Call people by their proper names," said Winnie.
“Well," said Janet, laughing a little nervously, “I thought that Madeline used to sing in Simla."
“She did—oh yes, she did! She sang ' Gates of the West ' and the ' Lost Chord ' like this:
" ' Seated one day at the organ,
I was weary and ill at ease.'
She generally was, poor thing! Now, Mrs. Edwards sings:
""Wot cher? “all the neighbours cried ;
"Oo're yer goin' to meet, Bill ?
'Ave yer bought the street, Bill ?
“Laugh ? I thought I should ha' died,
When we knocked 'em i' the Old Kent Road !
“Chorus, Janet! Quiet, Cripps; no one asked you to join in! "
CHAPTER IV.
“A SUNSHINY WORLD FULL OF LAUGHTER AND LEISURE."
" Oh, those mountains, their infinite movement!
Still moving with you;
For ever some new head and breast of them
Thrusts into view
To observe the. intruder; you see it If quickly you turn."
Browning.
“What a perfect day!” said Winnie; “every prospect is pleasing, and even man is not so vile as I have often thought him!"
“You mustn't be a misanthrope; leave that to the ugly women, poor things!" said Strath- Ingram.
They were riding out to Sipi among hills refreshed by recent rain, and beautiful with spring blossom and early summer foliage. The winding road, now cresting the summit of a hill from whence could be seen valleys so deep that the tall pines growing there looked like scrubby brush wood, now circling the foot of an ascent so high that the mountain cattle grazing on its side seemed no larger than goats, grew more lovely with every mile. Delicate ferns sprang from the mossy rock, and the deep dark velvet of the moss clothing the tree branches was in exquisite contrast to the fresh young green of the new leaves. The white flowers of the wood-strawberry starred the banks its spreading fans tapestried, and long trailing sprays of wild-clematis festooned the lower growth of verdure.
The birds were silent, or sang unheard, their sweet piping lost in the babble of the crowd that was going to the fair. Simla seemed to have emptied its native population into the pleasant path, all in holiday clothes and holiday spirits. The men wore clean white raiment with bright turbans, scarlet, orange, or green; and the women were a very revel of brilliant hues. A few of these women carried popinjay babies, comical brown dolls dressed in the gayest shreds and patches, but the majority were without encumbrance. Their little bare feet stepped briskly over the ground, and the gay tinkle of their silver ornaments mingled musically with their laughing chatter.
“Look at that yellow-and-purple woman, with the red muslin over her head," said Strath-Ingram; “there are all the colours of the rainbow for you, Mrs. Edwards."
“The rainbow is a dim mysterious harmony compared with this triumphant blaze of colour. What free, untrammelled tastes these people have!"
“They've got rational dress, and no mistake; wouldn't you like to take a suit of it home to show the reformer people?”
“Do you think it could be adapted to the needs of the bicycle? These women seem happy enough in it, but that is because they have never seen themselves in a long glass," said Winnie. The baggy print trousers might have been fashioned with cunning intent to hide every grace in a woman's form; they would have made Diana herself look bow-legged, and Venus unlovely. They were so narrow at the ankle that it was a work of difficulty to insert the slender foot, while round the hips some eight yards of solid cloth was drawn lumpily and humpily upon a string. A short jacket—velvet for the prosperous, and printed cotton for the poorer ones—and a veil of the brightest muslin, made what picturesque atonement they could for the hideous paijamahs.
The merry crowd quickened its pace with each mile left behind till it slipped like a mountain stream from the brow of the hill to the valley of Sipi below, a very steep descent. The road for horses and rickshaws crossed and recrossed this living torrent as it wound down the mountain side, steadily pouring its numbers into the sunny valley, but neither horse nor rickshaw stayed the descending cataract. The valley held the sunshine as a cup holds wine, and there rose from it the inarticulate hum of many voices, and the loud throb of the tum-tum, which seemed to come from the earth or air rather than from any instrument made by human hands, so continuous was its beat. Proud man was dressed in a little brief authority over the everlasting hills, and he had conquered the health-giving fragrance of the pines by the heavy incense of burning ghee, inseparable from the preparation of food for the multitude.
“It's an intolerable noise," said Winnie, as she dismounted, “but there is something jubilant and exciting about it, nevertheless."
“It's a great thing to be easily pleased," said Strath-Ingram. “Now, do you want to see the temple? I think it's part of your duty as a globe trotter. We shall just have time to look at it before lunch."
The temple was a wooden one, much decorated with rough carving, and evidently Thibetan in design. The god had been brought outside, for the convenience of his worshippers, and placed upon a brown blanket, which formed at once a carpet upon the ground and a dado against the wall of the building. Not an imposing deity! He was about fifteen inches high, roughly made in brass, decorated with bead necklaces, and surmounted by a little umbrella-shaped canopy covered with tinsel.
Before him lay a few silver coins, and further off a pile of copper. Three small heaps of different kinds of grain were disposed upon the edge of the blanket, and two priests squatted close by with an air of proprietorship.
“You may be quite sure that those rupees have been put there by the priests themselves as decoy-ducks," said Strath-Ingram; "you see all these good people only bring copper."
Winnie did not answer. She was watching the humble shrine, and marvelling at its power to impress the simple worshippers. They came by twos and threes, sometimes by whole families, to offer their pence, make their reverence, and receive at the hands of a priest a few grains from one of the three heaps. These the men put carefully into the folds of their turbans, and the wo men tied in a corner of their muslin veils, to be sowed hereafter in their fields in hope of a fruitful harvest, or to be eaten in a sacramental spirit. She could only guess which, and she was sure Strath-Ingram was as ignorant as herself, and much less interested. She watched them silently, feeling unspeakably far away from them, and not absolutely confident that this distance lay in the direction of heaven. What devout souls they seemed! The men and women made their salaams with deep reverence, the elder boys and girls shyly following their example, and one little fellow of about three years old nearly tumbled head over heels in a zealous attempt to touch the ground with his baby forehead.
An elderly woman, whose face was exceedingly wrinkled and weary, made an offering of six copper coins, and with folded hands and devotional air prayed aloud fervently. There was no mistaking the earnestness of her petition, and while Winnie wondered for what she was pleading, she turned back the sleeves of her dress, showing that she was afflicted with a cruel skin disease. She received her pinch of grain with great humility, and went on her way still muttering prayers. Winnie's eyes grew tender.
“Oh, poor soul!" she said. “It is the prayer of faith." She laid a rupee on the brown blanket. “Tell the priests it's for her; they are to pray for her if that is what she wants."
Strath-Ingram laughed, and said nothing. “Hullo!” said Yeatt, coming behind them. “What are you worshippin' idols for, Mrs. Edwards? I've been lookin' for you everywhere. Aren't you comin' to lunch?"
He was a thin, loud-voiced young man; his moustache and eyebrows were fair to invisibility, and his neckties were like no others in India. It was rumoured that he received them weekly from Bond Street in half-dozens of the latest fashion. “Lunch is in a shamidna over this way," he went on. “You don't know what a shamidna is, of course; sounds like some kind of a stag, doesn't it? It's that sort of open tent standin’ in the shade."
All the world, the little Simla world, was seated at the narrow tables, and Luttrell beck oned anxiously from a corner. He was keeping places for them in Beatrice's heaven, “where the bachelors sit."
Luttrell was endowed with the fatal gift of beauty, and noted for his eyelashes. His very red lips had a habitual expression which, in a woman, might have been termed “sweet," and he was frequently described as a “darling boy."
Curtis, one of the Chief's aides-de-camp, sat opposite, square-shouldered and strong-chinned, with a suggestion of seafaring about his sun-browned face and clear eyes.
“Do have some rhubarb tart, Mrs. Edwards," said Luttrell presently. “Mashobra-grown rhubarb, you know; it's like the exile's dream of home." “Mrs. Edwards hasn't been out here long enough to cultivate a taste for such simple pleasures, dear boy," said Strath-Ingram. “All my pleasures are simple," said Winnie, “and rhubarb tart stands high in the list. How would one ask for it in Hindustani?” “Estalk pie, I should think."
“Bravo; go up one. I shall never learn the language, but I'm better than Miss Rosslyn. She asked if her bath was on the table the other day. Why are they forming in line over there?”
“It's for the photo. We always have a big group photo every year. Come along, Mrs. Edwards; we must put you well in front."
“Why? As a terrible example of a solah topee?”
“As the fairest flower of all," said Strath-In gram.
The inevitable photographer fixed the party with the glassy eye of his camera, and one more memento of the ever-changing, never-dying con course of atoms known as Simla Society was added to the number already existing or forgotten.
“You haven't been introduced to the Sipi elephant yet. Do you care to come and see him?” said Strath-Ingram to Winnie.
“An elephant here! Aren't they afraid of his tumbling overboard—down the Mud, I mean?”
“He seems to flourish. It's generally supposed that the Rajah of Sipi has a revenue of about a thousand a year—pounds, you know— and spends nine hundred of it in the upkeep of a state elephant—rather a swagger thing to do."
“I quite sympathize," said Winnie, watching the restless bulk of the great creature shuffling and swaying under his gaudy trappings. “If I were a begum, I should squander all my substance on elephants; they are much more regal and satisfying than diamonds."
“There happens not to be a Rajah of Sipi," put in Yeatt. ”The Rana of Koti is the hill chief the place belongs to."
“Never mind; the principle and the elephant remain," said Winnie.
It was past three o'clock, and the fun of the fair at its height bore many points of resemblance to the fairs of the Western world. There were countless merry-go-rounds, rough wooden cages slowly revolving, each with its load of men and boys trying how much they could endure in the way of unnatural motion, and flimsy booths covered with thin cotton-cloth displayed a vast amount of glittering trumpery. These were European goods of the meanest, for the most part toys, buttons, beads, tin-framed mirrors, brass gods, and sham jewellery.
“This is heart-breaking," said Winnie impartially to her escort of three; “I expected to find treasures—real native things—and they offer me nothing but Brummagem horrors. Fancy, a penny china dall in the heart of the Himalayas!“
But the German toys, the cheap cutlery, and the glaring Manchester cottons did not lack purchasers; the trumpery trifles were carried far away into the interior, where they represented, to unsophisticated eyes, the wonders of a distant land. The little brown child, who had treasured a single coin in a warm clasp since early dawn, could now exchange it for a far greater treasure, and gaze with large-eyed delight on the tin fish or china chicken which was to it the most desirable of all the tempting things displayed.
“Here's the best part of the fair," said Strath-Ingram, with a fat chuckle; he was a spare man, but he laughed like a stout one; "now we are coming to the marriage market. You will see them all neatly arranged waiting to be chosen."
“He's humbuggin' you, Mrs. Edwards," said Yeatt; “they're just left here while their husbands go off and have a jolly good time without 'em. All the ugly old ones look after the pretty ones; rippin' good notion, I call it."
On a piece of rising ground, which was the southern limit of the fair, some hundreds of women sat in patient rows. They had accompanied their husbands to the festival, and had been bidden to sit still, in the safety of numbers, as there were too many men abroad for modest women to encounter the gaze of. Their placid patience was admirable, as through the long day they sat watching the revelry round them. Some of the younger faces were sweet and touching, in spite of the disfigurement of nose-ring or nosestud, but the old women were, almost without exception, nightmares of ugliness.
One harridan had painted her eyelids in small black and white squares, and called attention to her horrible decoration with nods and becks and wreathed smiles, pointing proudly to her eyes.
“She hasn't always been so willing to sit quiet among the women," chuckled Strath-Ingram as the decorated creature caught his eye and broke into peals of eldritch laughter.
“Oh, you terrible old lady, you don't know how wicked you look," said Winnie; “but I wish I could buy your necklace: the turquoise in the silver is beautifully barbaric."
Each and every woman wore necklaces; four was the most usual number, but many had seven or eight—commonplace adornments for the most part, mere chains with pendent rows of rupees and eight anna bits, but some were old and delightful, quaintly-patterned bosses and plaques of silver, with unexpected incidents of coral and turquoise.
“You couldn't wear a great lumpin' thing like that." “I shouldn't try. I should give it a thorough bath with carbolic soap, like Mrs. Tykes' jampanies; she told me yesterday that they have one every week, and I am to be sure and see that mine do the same. Then I should put it on the silver table in my drawing-room, and it would make me happy every time I looked at it."
“Most women would find a mirror did that for them if they had Mrs. Edwards' face," remarked Strath-Ingram with a vocal nourish.
“Oh, how charming! what do you say in return for a pretty speech like that, Captain Yeatt? I can only blush."
“Do you think he gets so many compliments, then?” asked Curtis, who was feeling neglected.
“Yes, I thought they went with the post of A.D.C. like Windsor uniform."
“Oh, you're makin' fun of me." Winnie looked pathetic. “I'm sure you are all making fun of me, and I hate being teased. Has anyone seen Miss Rosslyn lately? I've lost her."
“She's all right; she's gone off with Mrs. Myles. Do you like chaperonin' girls?”
“Miss Rosslyn generally chaperons me and Cripps; she is very good to us on the whole. It's a nuisance to take girls to dances, though; they always want to come home before I do."
“Ho, ho, I can quite believe that, Mrs. Edwards!”
Colonel Strath-Ingram had that false air of youth which is imparted by a thin figure, and his orange-tawny hair had clung to him with a constancy worthy of a better colour; but his red face was deeply wrinkled, and when his frequent laugh closed his small eyes, the lines round them were many and evil.
“I say, they're goin' it here," said Yeatt.
Two men were performing a very funny dance, to the delight of all beholders, on a piece of rough sloping ground. One of the dancers was an old man wearing a dirty blanket as a cloak; he did fantastic steps; he flung round in dizzying circles; he wound his arms, snapping his fingers; and when the last thump of the drum brought the music to an end, he flung himself into his partner's arms with a fine burlesque of a stage embrace. He was led to a seat on a boulder, evidently exhausted and very dizzy, coughing with his exertion, but chuckling with satisfaction at its success.
“He's been a famous dancer in his youth," said Strath-Ingram.
“Even in his ashes dwell their wonted fires," said Winnie.
“Hullo, I'm wanted; his Ex. is movin'. 'Bye, Mrs. Edwards; see you later;” and Yeatt re turned to his Viceroy.
“You are coming to Lady Percival's tea, aren't you?” said Curtis; “the Nook isn't far off, and it's such a pretty place."
“Have I been invited?”
“Now, that's too bad; I wrote your card myself." “So you did; I wanted to see if you remembered. Ah, there is my chaperon;—Janet, we are going on to Lady Percival's garden-party; it's only a mile or so quite straight up that hill. Am I as untidy as I feel?”
“Venus robed and crowned," said Strath-Ingram.
“In a covert coat and a solah topee. Poor Venus! Do you think you could find Two and Two for me? The saddle-cloth is black, with a big white monogram; the groom is also black, and sometimes answers to the name of Dunni."
“Well, are you being amused?” said Lilian Myles.
“To the top of my bent. Is your husband here? I have not seen him."
“No, he was far too busy to come; he always spends a holiday in doing arrears of work. I'll bring Janet up to the Nook; don't wait for us."
“That's very good of you. Oh, thanks, Captain Curtis; the Colonel is looking for my pony."
Curtis moved away on aimless feet, hesitated for a perceptible moment, and then went quickly towards a slender girl in a riding habit. “How do you do, Miss Ivey?” he said hastily. “I haven't seen you all day. Have you just come?”
“We came to lunch, like everybody else," said Nancy. And he could have told her that she had reached Sipi at ten minutes to two, with a cluster of pink wild-roses in a buttonhole of her gray habit. They were gone now, and he wondered if she had given them to someone, or only thrown them away.
“May I find your pony for you?”
“No, thank you; one of mother's jampanies has gone for it." Nancy's blue eyes had an almost disconcerting directness of gaze, and her colouring was so delicately and absolutely fair that it recalled and justified the pretty old-time simile of roses and lilies. The heavy coil of her hair was a very pale brown, of the tint that shows flaxen lights, not golden.
“It has been a delightful day," she said, “only a little too hot."
“May I ride up the hill with you? Surely you are coming to Lady Percival's?” he said, on the principle of “treating resolution," for he had carefully avoided her during long hours.
“No; we are going straight home. Mother has a headache. Yes, dear, I am quite ready. Good-night, Captain Curtis."
He was dismissed, and he found a poor pleasure, or, rather, a slight satisfaction, in betaking himself and his bay pony to interrupt Strath-Ingram's conversation with Mrs. Edwards.
As the road widened, they were passed by a girl in a gray habit, riding a brown Arab; and the girl had time to notice the brilliance of Winnie's glistening hair, and the dusty texture a side-light betrayed on her pink cheek.
“She must be a horrid woman, and he has been with her all day long," thought Nancy.
“'Pon my word," said Strath-Ingram musingly, “there's something about the sunset—I don't know what it is—that always affects me."
“Makes one feel one's getting old," said Curtis viciously; “that's what I think about it."
He was watching the sweeping curves of the Simla road, where a gray habit was still visible.
“It makes me long for my tea," said Winnie. “Take care, Colonel Strath-Ingram; keep a little further off. Two and Two kicks."
CHAPTER V.
"LAMPS ABOVE AND LAUGHS BELOW."
“Spread forth thy golden hair
In larger locks than thou wast wont before,
And emperor-like decore
With diadem of pearl thy temples fair."
Drummond of Hawthornden.
It was a proclaimed fact before the end of the Simla Week, which is the last week in May, that Mrs. Edwards was one of the pretty women, and one of the successes of the season, if, indeed, she was not the prettiest woman and the most marked success. She was soon fitted with a nick name, and half was given her by a woman and half by a man; hence the contradiction of terms, the “Pinchbeck Goddess." The title was conferred upon her at the Birthday ball after this fashion: Colonel Strath-Ingram, gorgeous in full-dress uniform, had trodden a measure—a duty lancers—with Mrs. Alchin, the wife of an eminent civilian, and at its close conducted her to the nearest seat without pretending to desire a more secluded position. Winnie passed them, radiantly pretty in white brocade, with a band of diamonds like a crown above her brow, and a huge fan of ostrich feathers laid lightly against her beautiful throat as she looked up at her tall partner.
Strath-Ingram murmured audibly:
“She moves a goddess and she looks a queen."
Mrs. Alchin, who resembled Benedick in that she could sometimes show sparks that were like wit, flashed quickly:
“A goddess, and painted—a Pinchbeck God dess!"
“That's just it—hit off to the life," chuckled Strath-Ingram, looking down at the little lady's sleek, dark head and sharp, white face, and wondering whether she knew that those who did not call her the “Pickled Walnut " styled her the “Acid Drop." “Splendid, Mrs. Alchin!" he continued; “let's have some more. I've often wanted to know who it was gave people their clever nick names, but I never hoped to hear them at first hand like this."
Mrs. Alchin smiled complacently. There was an unexplained distinction about amusing Strath- Ingram; people had a tradition of thinking more highly of him than he deserved, and this was the first time that ever she had roused him to animation.
“Well, there is the 'Lily Maid,' " she said, indicating with a glance the charming head of Nancy Ivey shining out against a background of yellow curtain.
“'Lily Maid?' Why, the girl's got one of the best complexions I've seen for a long time: she's as pink as a rose."
“Yes, I know; but it's her neck, and the way she holds herself. Besides, don't you remember ' Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, Elaine the Lily Maid of Astolat'? she makes me think of that."
He assented, but was evidently not amused, and Mrs. Alchin hastened to metal more attractive.
“Here comes the ' Unnecessary Evil,' " she whispered, as Mrs. Bertie Vernon swept by, stout in pink satin, with an agonizing waist, a jangle of sequin trimming, and a heavy waft of White Rose perfume.
Strath-Ingram's responsive chuckle was so economically long drawn out that it lasted until the first bar of the next dance.
The fine rooms at Viceregal Lodge, which, unlike most Indian ballrooms, need no temporary decorations of draperies, flags, or flowers, were filled by a distinctly good-looking crowd. Nobody was very old, and many were quite young. The gowns made a pretty show, and there was a dazzle of full-dress uniforms. The scarlet coats far outnumbered the black ones, and several officers from a Highland regiment, walking with the important little swagger that a kilt gives its wearer, added the picturesqueness of their plaids, and the brown glow of cairngorms in dirk and sgean-dubh to the throng of bright figures.
“It's prettier than I expected," said Winnie to Yeatt, who appeared to think that his whole duty as aide-de-camp was to dance with the best-looking women present. “It's a very good place for a ball, and the way the light comes through that ceiling is charming."
“They're gettin' used to electric light now. You should have seen the place in '88. It was my first year in India. I came up on leave just after the Viceroy (Dufferin he was then) moved in here. You see, they'd only had kerosene before, and for the first few dances here you never saw such a shabby-lookin' lot. A dress that ‘ll look awfully well by lamplight just goes to rags when you get the electric light on to it."
“Many thanks for the warning; I'll keep my rags for wearing by lamplight."
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Edwards—your rags; why, you haven't got any."
"Yes, I have—lots. I suppose we are all wearing new gowns to-night; there is a best bib and tucker air everywhere. Oh, look! Miss Rosslyn is sitting out, and so are several other girls, though about thirty men are decorating the wall within a stone's-throw. You can't have been doing your duty in the way of introducing. I think I had better set you free to mend your ways."
“Introducing I should think not. It's quite gone out; we never think of doin' it."
“Rather hard on the new arrivals, who know no one."
“Oh, that's their look-out."
“What is the good of an aide-de-camp, then?" Yeatt looked stern for a moment; then smiled kindly, as at a forward child.
"Chaffin' again; you do roast me most aw fully. Miss Rosslyn's not bad-lookin'—nice eyes and lots o' hair. Have you known her long?"
“Yes, for ages."
“Pity she doesn't get married! Hard lines on her."
“She is engaged to one of the nicest men I know," said Winnie a little sharply, resenting his tone.
“Really? Where is he?"
“In Australia, somewhere near a place that sounds like the chorus of a comic song—Bunkiboodle something."
“Long way off. Has he been there long?"
“Yes, some years. He is very hard up, of course."
“Mostly are. Look here, Mrs. Edwards: you tell people that Miss Rosslyn is engaged, and she'll have a much better time, you see."
“She wears a Mizpah ring, with letters about an inch high. Isn't that information enough?"
“Oh, I don't suppose many people look at her hands. They know she's not married, and see she isn't a chicken, you know, and so they fight shy of her—see?"
“Yes, I quite see. Shall I advise her to wear her ring in her hair?"
“Well, I knew a woman once who did that— Lady Guenny Rodster, Lord Clankelton's second daughter, the one that married Barry Rodsterr. She had some blazin' rings—great big marquise things—and she used to twist little curls through 'em, and pin 'em on the top of her head."
“She did not believe in hiding her light under a bushel, evidently. Tell me who is that pretty creature who has just gone by with Captain Curtis?"
“That's Miss Ivey, Nancy Ivey; her father is a judge somewhere or other."
“And is she as sweet as she looks?"
“You'd better ask Curtis that, Mrs. Edwards. I never go in for girls myself, 'tisn't my style."
“Indeed? I am not sure that I admire your taste."
“I tell you what," went on Yeatt complacently: "I don't believe in the whole of last season I danced once with a girl, except his Ex.'s daughters now and again, and that's different."
“You must have broken the record for bad manners that season."
Yeatt laughed in all simplicity.
“You are awful fun, Mrs. Edwards; one never knows what you are goin' to say next. Let me fan you. That's a jolly sort o' fan; I like one that you can't see through."
He had drawn his chair very near hers, and leant towards her in a rather exaggerated way. She saw through an open door the melancholy face of a sallow girl in a bright blue gown, who sat alone enviously watching the brilliant couple. “You think I am a horrible woman, flirting merrily, and listening to all sorts of interesting and exciting things. If you only knew, dear!" thought Winnie.
“Won't you really let me have No. 13? " said Curtis to Nancy.
“No, I can't; we are going away directly after supper."
“You always go away so early."
“Do we? I hate feeling quite tired out the day after a dance."
“Are you coming to the matinee on Saturday?" he asked.
"Yes; and you are acting in it, aren't you? so you can tell me all about it. I have never seen ' Cupid's Client'; is it pretty?“
“It's rather silly, like most of these operettas; but the music's not bad, and Mrs. Edwards' part suits her splendidly. She is the only lady in it, you know, and her dance at the end is A1."
"Really!" said Nancy. Nancy had danced every dance, but the roses in her cheeks had hardly deepened, and her fair hair was perfectly neat. Her white silk gown was daintily plain and simple, and she carried a posy of white wild “lilies of the mountains" that, like herself, had retained their sweet freshness in spite of the heated rooms.
"You seem quite to have given up Jakko; where do you go now for your rides? “asked Curtis, after a little pause.
“Oh, different ways; there are a good many roads."
“We are trying to get up some tilting at Annandale on Tuesday afternoons," he said; “won't you come and practise sometimes? Lady Percival will have tea going, and there will be lots of people that you know. Mrs. Edwards is very keen on tilting; she says she means to come every time."
“I don't know Mrs. Edwards," said Nancy, straightening her white throat.
“She's awfully nice; hasn't she called on your mother?"
“Yes, she put a card into mother's box, and mother put a card into her box; one never meets after two box-calls, I've noticed."
“I'm sure you'd like her," persisted Curtis tactlessly.
“I hear the next dance beginning," said Nancy.
“You seem to be doing a good deal of sit ting out this evening, Miss Rosslyn," said Mrs. Tykes. She wore a long-shouldered, tight-sleeved black satin garment of the early eighties, and a sudden red feather gambolled and waved above her smooth hair.
“I am not fond of dancing, and I know very few people," said Janet.
“Your friend Mrs. Edwards seems to know a good many; she has been surrounded all the evening."
“Yes, Winnie gets on so well with everybody; " and Janet smiled at the graceful figure that whirled past them.
"She might spare you a few of her partners, I should think."
“She knows I should not like that, I am so stupid about talking to new people."
“That's a very handsome gown you are wear ing," said Mrs. Tykes, suddenly pinching between an inquiring finger and thumb a fold of the pale blue brocade that suited Janet's fresh face so well.
“Yes, Mrs. Edwards gave it to me for a birth day present; I never had such a dress before," said Janet.
“A good black one would have been far more useful to you, though, and would never have gone out of fashion. Look at this one of mine; I have had it nearly ten years."
Janet expressed the necessary surprise.
“Well, I don't know how you feel," said Mrs. Tykes, “but I should like a cup of coffee; where is my husband, I wonder?"
But Colonel Tykes, a military man who had waxed fat in civil employ, was hiding miserably behind a pillar. He had compressed the figure of sedentary life into the uniform of active days, and his sword-belt had played him false by breaking. He had confided his trouble to an unsympathetic friend, who suggested a temporary piecing with official red tape, and now waited his chance to slip away unnoticed.
“My sincerest congratulation," said Strath-Ingram, as he led Winnie in to supper.
“But why?" she asked. “On my present position, here at your right hand?"
“That is a subject for the heartiest self-congratulation on my part, but I was complimenting Mrs. Edwards on this evening's success."
“Where does it lurk?" said Winnie, looking up with laughing eyes from her cup of bouillon. “I have been twice lamed for life dancing with Lord Trerowan, someone has printed a large dirty foot-mark on the edge of my dress, and I heard a woman say that I looked like an actress."
"There's the success in a nutshell; all the men are in love with you, and, naturally, all the women hate you."
“How delightful are sweeping generalizations! But please don't give me half a turkey; a quarter is quite enough."
“Your dress is simply lovely!" came in a friendly little whisper to her ear, as Mrs. Myles went out smiling over her shoulder.
Gilbert Myles, C.S., was waiting near the door of the supper-room, with the weary expression he had worn all the evening; he did not dance, and balls were a duty to him, and a very irksome one. He had a good face of the plain, straightforward type; and the brown hair was beginning to recede from his square forehead.
“Ready at last, Lilian?" he said; “it's nearly one o'clock."
“Oh, do let us stay for one more dance," she said eagerly.
She was looking her best in a gown of prim rose satin; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining.
“I thought we had settled that we were to leave at half-past twelve, and it is now nearly one," he repeated.
“Only one more dance, Gilbert."
"Just as you like, then; my wishes count as nothing.” He spoke bitterly, and the light was gone from her face in an instant.
"Oh no," she said quickly; “you look so tired; do let's go; I don't really want to dance any more."
“You shall have your dance; I am not going to drag you away; if you will be kind enough to come back here when you are quite certain that you are willing to go home, you will find me waiting."
“But, Gilbert, I am very tired, and I never meant to be thoughtless; please take me home."
“Your intentions are always excellent. Go and have your dance; I am not interfering with your pleasure."
His mouth closed like a trap, and his wife turned away sighing.
“This is No. 13," said Curtis joyfully to Nancy, "and you have not gone yet; just one turn.”
"We must be quick, then; I'm sure mother will be looking for me," she said.
They both danced well, and were in perfect accord. The floor was no longer crowded, and from the first bar to the last the dark head and the fair head, the boy in his red uniform and the girl in her white gown, circled and glided through a world of music and happiness. One little tendril of her hair had loosened itself, and the wind of their going blew it against his cheek now and again. Neither spoke; it was enough to move to music together, with a vague, undefined feeling that a misunderstanding had been dispelled. The ending of the waltz came as a surprise to them both.
"Oh, how short that was!" he said; "but that one dance has been worth the whole evening to me.”
"Yes; it's much nicer when the floor is not crowded," said Nancy, through quickened breaths.
“You are looking pale, though; are you very tired? We ought not to have danced like that without stopping, but I thought of nothing at the time. Do let me fan you; no, I shan't break it."
“Nancy dear, it's getting late ; are you ready to come?"
Mrs. Ivey spoke, and Curtis was not glad to see her, sweet-faced lady though she was.
“Let me go and look after your rickshaws," he said; “I'm afraid you'll have a long time to wait for them." Then, as the band struck up, “Oh, I'm awfully sorry! I forgot; I'm dancing this."
“Good-night, then," said Mrs. Ivey; “Nancy, have you had some soup? You are as white as your dress, and your eyes look huge. Plain child, come home at once."
And Nancy, who was old-fashioned enough to consider her mother her dearest friend, and her wisest and most tender counsellor on all matters, from the conduct of life to the choice of a dress, laughed and went home; but not before she had seen that Curtis's partner for the fourteenth dance was Mrs. Edwards.
CHAPTER VI.
“MORE WHITE AND RED THAN DOVES OR ROSES ARE."
“Imp of Dreams, when she's asleep
To her snow-hung chamber creep,
And straight whisper in her ear
What awake she will not hear—
Imp of Dreams, when she's asleep."
T. B. Aldrich.
Dreams have often a distracting knack of reflecting the sleeper's most secret thoughts; and though the mirror held up by Imp of Dreams is a distorting one, there is generally likeness enough to sting, as a clever caricature does. Nancy Ivey had a vivid dream on the night of the Birthday ball, which left her flushed and self-reproachful after waking. She had attended a vaguely splendid entertainment held in a beautiful garden, to the music of the spheres. At first she was a little vexed to find that she was wearing her blue cashmere dressing-gown, and had her hair streaming over her shoulders, but nobody seemed to notice this, and after she had heard an announcement that Julius Caesar had just come, and Henry Irving was expected, she entirely forgot her own appearance. She was trying to gather a rose, the stalk of which lengthened out like elastic as she pulled at it, when she saw Captain Curtis looking very handsome in full-dress uniform. He gave her a bouquet of wild-lilies, and said: "You have come at last, Nancy; I have been trying to find you everywhere." And he kissed her—a long kiss—and she remembered the smooth feeling of the fine red cloth against her cheek as her head lay on his shoulder. A voice said: “This is our dance." And there was Mrs. Edwards, with a diamond crown and sceptre. They began to dance at once, and Nancy was in the act of hurling a stone at the diamond crown, when she woke to find her little white room filled with the morning sun shine.
The dream seemed very real, in spite of its absurdity, and the coarse phrasing of her least acknowledged thoughts almost frightened her. She was displeased with her blue dressing-gown, and looked askance at it, as though its simple folds held a Walpurgis Night memory. When she went into the next room to have chota haziri with her mother, she put on a white one instead.
“This is an early waking for you after your ball, dearest," said Mrs. Ivey; "didn't you sleep well? That white gown is a little chilly for wearing in the morning; where is the blue one?"
“This is quite thick cotton, mother," said Nancy, kissing her. “Oh yes, as thick as muslin! I wonder why girls are so fond of trying to catch cold."
Nancy's foolish dream haunted her through all her little morning duties. While she arranged the wild-flowers the jampanies had gathered on the hillsides; while she fed the fowls, and took care that the small ones, known to the heartless khansamah as “curry-wallahs," had their fair share of grain; even while she gave her pony, Brownie, his daily dole of carrots, and made sure that he was not thinking of beginning a sore back, she could not forget the vivid impression that Imp of Dreams had brought her. She felt as though her untouched young lips were less absolutely pure than before; as for her mind, if it were capable of such objectionable imaginings, it needed discipline. She wrote three duty letters that had long hampered her conscience, and after she had practised resolutely for two hours upon a piano that was not quite in tune, Imp of Dreams fled dismayed.
“I am going for a ride this afternoon, mother," she said at lunch-time; “shall I meet you at the library?"
“Very well, dear, only it looks a little stormy; do you think it is wise to ride?"
“I always like to after a dance, and Brownie will be jumping out of his shoes if he gets no work to-day."
“Please go round Jakko, then, Nancy, and I shall know you have a good road all the way; it frightens me to think of your riding alone through rain and thunder on a narrow unfenced path."
“It's just as well," thought Nancy, while she was dressing; "if I never go round Jakko, it would look as though I was afraid of meeting him, and probably he's never there now. I dare say he goes down to Annandale with Mrs. Edwards, and it doesn't matter to me in the least degree what he does. I shall put on my old blue habit, it's quite good enough, and the round felt hat that doesn't suit me; I really ought to wear it out."
Brownie pricked delicate ears, and snorted and flourished his tail with a great pretence of speed, when they started, but he was rather lazy in reality, and disliked solitary rides more than his mistress did. The sun was hidden, and the sky looked threatening as Nancy crossed the Ridge and trotted through the Lakkar Bazaar. Several monkeys sitting on a roof looked down as she passed; one of them pulled a fiend's face at her, and she shook her whip laughingly.
“Get on, Brownie," she said; “I shall call you ' Lazy Legs,' if you are so slow." Brownie cantered briskly past Snowdon, and past the cottage where two of the Chief's aides-de-camp lived. Nancy looked straight before her, not allowing her eyes to stray to the name that was painted in white letters on a black board —”Captain Noel Curtis, A.D.C." Noel was a foolish name for an Englishman.
She met very few people whom she knew, and as Brownie's pace grew slower she began to remember some of the many times she had traversed the Jakko road the year before. It was a beautiful road, even though the mountain ranges were dull masses of gray shadow, and the hill oaks and rhododendrons showed vividly and unnaturally green under the clouded sky; but Nancy had no thought for its beauty. There had been a delightful picnic at Mashobra last September; she had ridden there and back with Captain Curtis: that was the day when he had told her about his home and his people. He had said: "I'm sure you'd get on awfully well with my father." She remembered his expression when he said it, and the very tone of his voice.
Riding here another day, a sudden thunder-shower burst over the hills, and just as they reached this big gray rock, he insisted on wrap ping her in his waterproof. What a bundle it made of her! He must have spent a good deal of his time in going round Jakko then, for if she came, she had been certain to meet him sooner or later. Last season had been a very happy one —because it was her first in Simla, she supposed. Now she was growing tired; everything was just the same, but with a difference. Why should a few months’ work such change, and bring avoidance instead of eager seeking, and shadowed speech instead of happy laughter and frank confidence? She was unchanged.
Nancy suddenly realized that she was dwelling on a subject she had forbidden herself, and her little hunting - crop came down sharply on Brownie's innocent back.
“Oh, that was horrible of me!" she said, swiftly repentant, as she stroked his soft neck. “I didn't mean it, Brownie, and you are as good as gold, and you shall have two pieces of bread to-night. Now go, dear—go hard."
They had turned the corner by San Jowli; the wind-swept stretch of level road called the Ladies' Mile lay clear before them, and Brownie broke into an eager canter. Half-way along a stone came rolling and bounding down the steep green slope above. A monkey had loosened it; it gathered force as it came, and its last leap landed it close in front of Brownie. He was untouched, but it startled and vexed him, and after two or three indignant bounds he set himself to gallop in a way that he knew was only allowed on a racecourse. Nancy sat back in her saddle as the wind sang in her ears, and was not frightened; but both her hands were needed for the reins, and her round felt hat broke its elastic, and blew off her head without her being able to save it. Brownie's attempts at running away never lasted long, and under the tall, many-coloured cliffs, known as the Infernal Rocks, he allowed himself to be quieted.
“You are the most affected creature," said Nancy. “Have you never seen a stone before? Now I've lost my hat; there isn't a sign of it on the road, and I suppose I shall have to go down the Mall looking like a lunatic; and it is all your fault. Couldn't you see that one stone was not an avalanche?"
No one was in sight at the moment, and she looked about anxiously for her hat, while loosened ends of hair blew into her eyes and whipped her face. The hat had evidently gone down the khud—justified its name by bowling down the mountainside, a sheer stony descent of many hundred feet. She could not dismount and leave excited Brownie, who was still stepping as though the ground were red-hot; her syce was waiting for her at the library two miles away, and she did not know to within a quarter of a mile the spot where she had lost her hat.
The thought of returning bareheaded through Simla was terrible to her; but there seemed nothing else to be done, and whether she went on down the Convent Hill or back the way she had come, there was still a stretch of Mall to be braved, where she was sure to meet a number of people. They would think she was such a bad rider; it was one of the signs of a bad rider to lose one's hat, and nothing could look more ridiculous. Poor Nancy had a wild notion of waiting until it was quite dark, but the evenings were long, she would have to wait until after dinner-time, and her mother would be very anxious. Besides, somebody was bound to pass in a few minutes—somebody who would pity her and laugh at her.
She heard the noise of rickshaw wheels, and looked back quickly, to recognise Mrs. Edwards' magpie liveries.
“The very person I dreaded," she thought. “But I don't care; she can make fun of me if she likes. I won't seem to run away; I'll ride slowly past her."
She drew herself up, and tried to look dignified; but the wind would blow her hair into her eyes.
“I hope you haven't had an accident, Miss Ivey," said Winnie, stopping her rickshaw.
"Thank you; I have only lost my hat," said Nancy stiffly.
“But one of the jampanies shall pick it up for you." “I don't know where it is; it may be anywhere down the khud. My pony tried to bolt, and in stopping him I lost it."
“They shall look, and they will be sure to find it."
Three of her people, with an obedient start, went through the railings, and scattered themselves amongst the stones on the hillside, but the hat was not found. A roar of distant thunder reverberated heavily round the circle of the hills. “It really doesn't matter. Tell them not to trouble any more; I'll go home quickly," said Nancy.
But her face was sadder than she knew.
"You mustn't indeed; there's a storm coming, and you would catch a fearful cold," said Winnie. “Besides, you'll meet lots of people on their way back from tennis at Peterhof."
“I don't know what to do."
“I know; have this." And Winnie took off the black sailor hat she wore. “It won't look strange; it's perfectly plain. I've seen you riding in a white one like it."
“Oh yes; but what will you do if I take your hat?"
“I'll have the rickshaw hood up, and go straight home; or, better still, this will do for a bonnet—anything does for a bonnet." She unpinned a bow from her throat—a trifle of kilted black chiffon, edged with white lace—and considered it laughingly. “Two pins there. Jampani, give these long pins to the miss sahib. You will want them for fastening the hat with. Now, if I only had a flower to put at the back! Why, I forgot; here are two white roses in my belt— the very thing! There! does that look very funny with a veil round it?"
She frankly produced a hand-glass from her rickshaw pocket, and arranged the little make shift on her gleaming hair; then she gave the glass to Nancy, saying:
“Put your hat on quick, dear, and no one will know."
“It is so kind of you; I don't know how to thank you," said the girl fervently.
“It's nothing; I'm glad I happened to be wearing a sailor. Look, the storm's coming; good-bye."
“She's a dear," thought Nancy, “a real dear! and I never thought she was a woman who would do that sort of thing. How pretty she looked with the little black bow on her head; and, oh! I hope she won't tell anyone."
There was a quick clatter of hoofs, the sound of someone riding swiftly up the steep hill that Brownie was picking his way down, and a gap in the trees showed her who the rider was.
“I suppose he is trying to overtake her," she thought. “How do you do, Miss Ivey?"
And the bay pony was pulled up so suddenly that the pebbles spurted round his feet. “You are going the wrong way; won't you turn and come back by the Ladies' Mile?"
“This is my nearest way, and there is going to be a bad storm," said Nancy sedately; but she could not prevent her eyes from shining, or her cheeks' pink from deepening.
“Let me come with you, then, for I know Brownie doesn't like thunder."
“I have had one accident to-day, so I am not likely to have another," said Nancy, suddenly determined to tell her own little story. If she was to be made ridiculous in the eyes of Noel Curtis, she preferred to do it herself.
“An accident? Good God! you haven't been hurt?"
Nancy explained, giving much praise to Mrs. Edwards; and yet it pleased her to find that Curtis attached no importance to her kindness and a great deal to Brownie's behaviour. “What does that beast mean by trying to bolt?" he said, frowning at Brownie, who was peacefully waiting his opportunity of giving Bay Rum a friendly bite; “I always tell you you don't work him enough. Do send him over to me tomorrow morning, and I'll give him a good spin on the racecourse; that will take the wickedness out of him."
“Poor old Brownie! he doesn't know what wickedness is. The stone hurt his little feelings. Here comes the rain at last."
They stopped at a sheltered turn of the road, where a tangle of ilex and rhododendron shielded them from the heavy drops. The thunder crashed in the valley, and echoed from ridge to ridge like signal-guns answering each other. The day had been sultry, but now a cool little breeze brought them the fresh smell of the drinking earth. The rain was soon over, and the sun's last rays patterned the road before them with leafy shadows.
“It's quite early, and it means to be a fine evening," he said; “shall we go round Elysium? Oh, do come; there is lots of time."
The mountains were lovely in the sunset light, the mosses and wild-flowers spangled with little water-drops, and the pines freshly green and beautiful. Man and maid went round Elysium together, and the world was very good.
CHAPTER VII.
“AWAY, AWAY TO THY SAD AND SILENT HOME."
“And such as you were, I took you for mine:
Did not you find me yours,
To watch the olive and wait the vine,
And wonder when rivers of oil and wine
Would flow as the Book assures?
Well, and if none of these good things came,
What did the failure prove?
The man was my whole world, all the same,
With his flowers to praise, or his weeds to blame,
And either or both to love."
Browning.
“Be the welcome one!" said Winnie to Mrs. Myles, at a quarter to two on a June day. “I am all alone, with no one else but me. Janet has gone to feed chickens or something with Mrs. Tykes; that woman is mad about feathered fowl: she smells of the perch."
“I only looked in for a minute to ask you--“
“No, you didn't; you are going to stay to lunch, and out you don't go, as we say to Cripps, till four o'clock at the earliest. I have hardly seen you to speak to since we left the ship."
“You always have so many engagements."
“Not now; I am a person of infinite leisure, because 'Cupid's Client ' is over. And what have you been doing?"
“Nothing; sitting behind a shut door and shirking all my calls."
“But why?"
“Nothing seems worth doing, somehow."
“What is the matter with her?" said Winnie gently. “Is she feverish or neuralgic or wor ried? Come and have lunch."
“Take your hat off and lie down on that sofa," she said when lunch was over. “My dear, what have you been doing to your eyes? The lids are all white and puffy."
“I was awake the greater part of last night," said Lilian, stretching herself wearily. “I sup pose that is it."
Winnie looked at her in silence; the air seemed heavy with a coming confidence which it might be wisest and kindest to avert.
“Could you sleep if I kept quiet?" she said. “Won't you try to? The world looks so different after a little sleep."
“No, I'm not tired in that way. I want you to talk to me. Did you love your husband?"
She spoke in a strangely impersonal voice. Her eyes looked beyond Winnie. She waited an answer as calmly as though she had asked an every-day question.
“He was a very good man," said Winnie slowly.
“Yes; but were you very fond of him? Was he kind to you?
“Very kind. But what imports the nomination of this gentleman?“
Lilian did not notice the attempt at flippancy.
"Was he never vexed with you? Did he ever tell you that he hated you, that his life was bitter to him because of you?“
Her voice broke, and as the tears came she covered her face. Winnie was still and silent, but Cripps, whose warm heart knew no fear of being intrusive, considered a hidden face a plea for his pity, and came instantly with anxious scratching paws and eager tongue.
“Dear beast!" said Lilian, smiling through wet eyes. “I don't generally behave in this way, Mrs. Edwards; I never talked like this to anyone before. I wonder if it helps. I shall be horribly ashamed of myself to-morrow, I know. It's very convenient, from a man's point of view, that it should be considered vulgar, or worse than vulgar, for his wife to speak of her domestic unhappiness."
“I suppose it is," said Winnie slowly, wondering how best to steer past the looming rocks of tragedy.
“You have never needed to think of it," said the woman with the swollen eyelids, looking enviously at Winnie's pink-and-white face; "but who is there for an unhappy woman to confide in if she breaks down, and has not strength enough to keep her troubles to herself?“
The pause she made was merely rhetorical, for the pent-up thoughts of many days were eagerly seeking the relief of words. Winnie was silent because she understood.
“It wouldn't be fair to tell my own people, for they really love me, and it would make them unhappy; besides, they would be prejudiced against Gilbert, and that would hurt me, and my husband's family would say it was all my own fault."
“I do wish that I could believe whole-heartedly that anything in this world was all the fault of one person; it must be a very complete and satisfying belief," said Winnie. “If one were even to hint at that sort of trouble to a man," went on Lilian, “it would simply be equivalent to asking for kisses."
“Yes, they are a man's one form of sympathy and consolation for a pretty woman—or a plain one either, I dare say," said Winnie, throwing back her head; “men's tastes are not exacting."
“I would not mind if our quarrels were about serious matters," said Lilian, following her own train of thought; “but they are about such silly things, and mere trifles lead to terrible consequences. We don't speak the same language, he and I. Do you think it is bad for a woman to lose her illusions?"
“They are the flesh that hides the skeleton, and a fleshless skeleton is a very hideous thing," said Winnie.
“I think I could manage without them in the present and future if he would only spare me the ones in the past. You don't know how I envy a woman who has had an unfortunate love affair," said Lilian vehemently.
“I know what you mean; but it is not always a garden charmed from changing." And Winnie thought of a thin-faced young clergyman.
“It would have been to me. If I had not married Gilbert, I should have worshipped his memory for the rest of my life."
“You mean if you had never married?" “No; I dare say I should have married someone else, and when he was unkind to me—I sup pose I am a woman no one could live happily with; I have been told so often enough—I should have thought, ' Gilbert would never have been like this.' Unluckily, I never even fancied that I cared for anyone except him."
Cripps lay nestled within her arm, moaning a little as she pulled his ears, but suffering the liberty for the sake of his position on the forbidden sofa. Her voice was quick and commonplace, as though she wished it to veil her words.
“I have no memories to fall back upon. I pretend sometimes that Gilbert died, and I married someone else—he is very like someone else often—but it does not do me much good."
“Don't you think you are making yourself needlessly unhappy?" hazarded Winnie. “You told me on board ship how glad you were to be going back to your husband, and how long you had been engaged, and----"
“Oh yes, Gilbert was once my ideal of tender, resolute constancy, but he has taken pains to tell me since that his constancy was only because he was obstinate. He has a will like a piece of iron. What a fool I am to talk like this! But I can't help it. He hasn't spoken to me for eight days--this is the ninth morning--and I never meant to make him angry."
“But, my dear girl, what have you done? what does he think you have done?"
“I don't know, unless it was that at the Birthday ball I asked him to stay for one more dance after he had said he was ready to go; when I ask him what is the matter, he only frowns. I spend my days thinking of half a dozen trifles, and wondering which of them can be the thing that has made him angry."
“I suppose late hours don't suit him," said Winnie, trying to find some excuse for the absent one.
”Late hours! Why, I hardly ever ask him to go to a dance," cried Lilian, her voice changing suddenly from a resigned tone, not without dignity, to the sharp notes of intense irritation. “Gilbert always talks of his work as though he were the only civilian in the world. Other men work just as hard, and yet they go out in the evening. It's not fair to me; he ought to have married an old woman."
“He wouldn't have liked that," said Winnie.
“He wants me to behave like one, at any rate, and I had such a quiet time when I was a girl. My mother is almost an invalid, you know, and I have never had any real fun, and now, when there is any amount of it going on all around me, I must make a point of keeping out of it all, or miserable things like this happen. Isn't it unkind?"
The querulous voice dispelled some of the pity Winnie felt for the sad face, though she was vexed with herself for being so easily swayed. “I could bear anything better than silence," she said, after a pause. “That's what I feel," said Lilian, in her quieter voice; “but one bears what one has to. I wish it wasn't making me hard; I seem to spend my time feeding on bitter thoughts; it poisons everything."
“Has there ever been any jealousy between you?"
“Not a shadow of it on either side; that's what is so absurd. If there was any tragic reason for my unhappiness, perhaps I should be able to endure it, but to have one's life spoilt and made wretched by trifles and fancied slights—oh, it is hard!"
She kissed the black spot over Cripps' right eye, and, putting him down, paced the room to and fro.
“There's your Daisy's picture looking at us with her great gray eyes. Dear child! I hope she'll never marry. You are a happy woman to have a child."
Winnie said nothing.
“Very likely in my case it would be another lost illusion," went on Lilian; "but, of course, I always fancy that it wouldn't be. I know I am an utter failure as a wife, but I think I could make a child love me."
“You poor dear!" said Winnie softly.
“You can't guess what an ache it gives me to see other women's children; it's real physical pain, like a hand clutching one's heart. I never trust myself to kiss a child now; I am afraid of breaking down and behaving like a fool."
“Try to see the advantages of it; think how you are spared terrible anxiety, and the dreadful Indian separation just when children need their mothers most."
“Oh yes, yes; of course I know all these phrases of consolation. I have so much time to myself—for heart-ache; I have 'freedom from anxiety,' which means I can sit and wish I had never been born."
She was lashing herself with her own words, making no effort either to restrain or conceal the tears that streamed down her face, and Winnie looked away with a feeling of shame, as though she had peered at the nakedness of sorrow.
”I went to see Mrs. Malet yesterday," said Lilian more quietly, after a little silence; "we are the same age; she has been married a few months longer than I have. Her baby is just a month old—her second baby, a plump, pink darling, with eyes much larger than its mouth. Of course I pretended that I hardly cared to look at it, and would not touch it for the world, and began to talk frocks with Gertie. She said that she was dreadfully tired of tea-gowns and clothes that didn't fit, and then she looked at me, and said, 'Oh, what a lucky girl you are, Lil, never to have lost your slender figure! 'It's a grand piece of good fortune, isn't it?“
She stopped before a mirror. "What an object I am!" she said, with a laugh that affected Winnie more than her tears had done; “please lend me a thick veil, and forgive me for the way that I have been going on: I never did it before. I suppose I am hysterical; at any rate, I have a fearful headache, and everything is physical nowadays. No, thank you, dear, I'd rather not have any tea; I must go home and wash my face for half an hour with hot and cold water alternately—I have grown quite clever at hiding tear-marks—and try to look decent before Gilbert comes back from office. I am tired enough to grovel, if he wants that."
“I do wish I could help you in any way," said Winnie, as she tied the thick veil.
“But you have; it was very good of you to let me talk. I shall not touch on this the next time we meet."
“I understand; nor I."
“Why, I thought you were going out for a ride," said Janet, an hour later. “Yes, I was, only I didn't," replied Winnie from the depths of the most comfortable couch; “something troubled me and roused me, and made me understand that living with a cross old woman is not the worst grief in life. It also made me feel a pretender, a sham freemason who knew nothing of the craft."
“What do you mean, Winnie?"
“Nothing that matters, dear. Tell me news; did Mrs. Tykes make you cook your own lunch, and how do the poultry grow? "
******
“It is half-past ten, and I am so tired; I think I shall go to bed," said Lilian that same evening.
Her husband's face was carefully devoid of expression.
“I am going for a ride to-morrow morning," she went on cheerfully; “Sir Garnet will be fearfully fresh; will you come, Gilbert?"
No answer, and no change in the set face. “Good-night," she said; then, with desperate, courage, she stood very near him, and repeated, "Good-night, Gilbert. Oh, do speak to me!" she added, after a moment of absolute silence; “do, dear!" and she laid a light kiss on his fore head.
“Pouf!" he said, grimacing. She went quickly to her room, and began to undress, humming a tune the while; but the little show of bravado soon ended in helpless tears.
CHAPTER VIII.
"WAS A LADY, SUCH A LADY, CHEEKS SO ROUND AND LIPS SO RED!"
"Oh, merry goes the time when the heart is young ;
There's naught too high to climb when the heart is young!"
"Janet, I'm getting lazy; I can't settle down to anything. Is it the result of Simla, or only a reaction after having paid all my calls and seen the last of 'Cupid's Client'?"
"I should never call you lazy; dear, but you certainly have not done any embroidery for more than a fortnight."
Janet was lavishing dainty stitchery of white thread on a piece of white linen, and spoke with out raising her eyes.
"Never mind; you are industrious enough for two. Cripps, don't sleep so audibly; come here, sir."
Cripps rose under protest, yawned cavernously, stretched himself fore and aft, and sauntered to Winnie's feet.
"Lazy hound! Listen, Cripps. Once there were some cats-s-s-s-s, and they went for a walk and met some rats-s-s-s-s, and the cats-s-s-s-s said to the rats-s-s----"
But here Cripps, perceiving that his finer feelings were being played upon for no adequate reason, lost all interest in the story, and arranged himself for slumber on the hem of Winnie's white gown.
"Silly little dog, Cripps! and there would have been real chocolate later on in that story, if you had only had manners. We have been up here nearly two months, Janet; time does fly. How do you like it—India, I mean?"
"It isn't nearly as Oriental as I expected," said Janet, wrinkling her smooth brow in the endeavour to phrase her thoughts. "It's very nice, but, except for the scenery and the servants, it's very English. I suppose the plains are different."
"They look more like one's conventional notions of India, certainly," said Winnie; "and occasionally one goes to see a mosque, or organizes a picnic to an emperor's tomb, but I think one is no whit nearer to any inner significance."
"I think that is a pity."
"So do I, but what can we do? The very strong walls of custom, prejudice, and ignorance bar us from any true knowledge of native life— we women especially; and let it be remembered that these bars are as much on the other side as on ours. There are exceptions, of course, but most people are not exceptional," said Winnie slowly.
"Indian servants are much better than I had expected," said Janet, passing from vague visions of zenanas and palaces to a subject on which she felt herself competent to speak.
"They are mysterious people; we know nothing about them beyond the fact that they are content to employ a few hours each day in serving us—service is only a little incident in their lives. We do not house them, we do not feed them, we cannot tend them if they are sick, except by giving them papers of quinine, or packets of tea, or a letter to take to the' hospital. One of the jampanies is sure to fall ill when the rains come, and he will send in an empty salmon-tin, or a jagged-edged can that once held two pounds of peaches, to fetch a few drops of chlorodyne."
"Oh, Winnie, surely you would let the poor thing have it in a wineglass?"
"One of our unclean wineglasses! The poor thing would indignantly send it back to me, and feel dreadfully insulted, which is a little alienating. Why, there is a rickshaw turning in here, and it is not calling-time yet; who is our friend?"
"I've been meaning to come and see you for ever so long, only I could never find a minute to spare," cried Mrs. Bertie Vernon, entering unannounced.
"That's very good of you," said Winnie, while Janet escaped unnoticed and Cripps barked loudly, for like all dogs of character and sterling worth, he had his prejudices.
It was generally said of Mrs. Bertie Vernon's manners and customs that, if Mr. Bertie Vernon did not object to them, no one else had any business to do so, and the same reasoning applied to her complexion and style of dress. She was a lady of excellent spirits, and her fondness for practical jokes and baby-games had outlived her youth. Her age was shrouded in mystery; popular belief asserted her to be of a few years less standing than Simla Church, but older than the United Service Club. One thing was certain: viceroys, lieutenant-governors, principalities and powers, came and went in Simla, but through all chance and change Mrs. Bertie Vernon was in evidence every season. She would have been a valuable chronicle of the past if she had not made a point of confining her memories strictly within a seven-years limit. Her figure was conscientiously moulded to an hour-glass outline, her fiercely yellow hair was curiously dark at the roots, and she affronted the freshness of morning by the perfume of "Ess. Bouquet."
"Your dancing was splendid in 'Cupid's Client,' " she said, sitting down with her back to the light; "everyone said it was the best thing in the piece. Colonel Strath-Ingram was so amusing about it."
"Not really?" said Winnie.
"Oh yes, he was; he said it was quite professional, and you really ought to let us all into the secret what theatre you used to belong to."
"What a compliment! but if the dear man had been at home lately he would have recognised the usual five guineas' worth of lessons from D'Auban; I hadn't time for any more. Of course I got my skirts at a good place, though, and that counts a lot."
"Yes, they were lovely, and everyone was delighted except the Pickled Walnut. I heard someone ask her what she thought of the play, and she said, in such a nasty voice, ' She and her ankles! 'Perhaps I ought not to have told you."
"Oh, bless her heart!" said Winnie; "is it possible that she reads Browning? I must call on her to-morrow and find out."
Mrs. Bertie Vernon did not follow her meaning.
"She's a horrid woman," she said; "she can't stand anyone better-looking than herself, and you know how plain she is. She simply hates me, and I'm sure I've never done anything to her."
"You have existed beautifully," suggested Winnie gravely.
"You dear girl!" said Mrs. Bertie, with a sudden clutch at Winnie's hand; "but what I really came to ask you was if you would show me how to do those pretty steps. I always wanted to go in for skirt-dancing, and they're sure to get up a burlesque later on."
"Oh, I'm so stupid, I am afraid I couldn't teach you anything," said Winnie, aghast.
"I pick things up very quickly; I'm sure I should soon get into it. Of course I'm taller than you," said Mrs. Bertie, straightening her pinched waist; "but I'm quite slender, and as long as one's well proportioned, I think it's rather nice to be a little plump. I really have lovely ankles."
She shot out a fat foot in a high-heeled shoe with so much energy that Cripps, who had been growling faintly behind the piano, considered himself challenged, and came forth to war; Winnie caught him hastily and caged him under a wicker chair.
"What a nasty beast! " said Mrs. Bertie Vernon.
"But aren't they small? People have often said they were sure I could wear my bracelets on them if I liked."
"Did you ever do it? "
"Oh no; it would look rather fast; but for a burlesque, though, anklets would be awfully smart. We must make them get up a burlesque —a real good one. They could give the proceeds to a charity. It wouldn't be much for the dresses, and suppers after run away with a lot of the money. Come along, Mrs. Edwards; show me some steps."
Winnie stood up, laughing, slightly raised her white skirts, and flashed slender ankles as she wove a chain of dainty movement with her little feet. After a moment Mrs. Bertie, greatly daring, pranced heavily opposite her, and Cripps growled and wriggled in his prison till the chair's progress would have interested the author of "Haunted Homes."
"It's very hard work," said Mrs. Bertie, panting. "What you really ought to do," said Winnie, pirouetting, " is to practise exercises—practise every day till you are quite supple."
“I will," gasped Mrs. Bertie.
“I'll only give you one to begin with," said Winnie very gravely; "you had better practise it first thing in the morning: Stretch out your hand in front of you, quite level with your shoulder, and try to touch it with your foot. When you can do that easily I'll tell you another."
"Yes, that's right. I mean to really go in for it. Colonel Strath-Ingram says that to see a pretty woman dancing is what he calls the poetry of motion."
"He's very original," said Winnie.
"Yes, isn't he? and so clever and amusing; we are such friends. Of course, you know he is a great admirer of yours, Mrs. Edwards. I tell him that I am nowhere now, but I don't think I shall tell you what he says in answer. I'm sure you wouldn't really mind, for just think of all the time I have known him—more than five years. Jealousy is a thing I can never understand; I always tell Bertie so."
"Is your husband coming up at all?"
"Oh no; poor dear fellow! he can't get away; he's grilling down below, and at this time of year India is divided into hill stations and hell stations, as Strath-Ingram says. The heat simply kills me. I never attempt to stand it; I always have to come away before the punkahs go up. Dear Bertie would be wretched if I stayed."
"Yes," said Winnie.
"I think he really enjoys the hot weather; it is such a comfort to him to know that I am safe in the cool, having a good time. People are always so good to me. I make lots of friends, and I really never feel lonely."
"You are very fortunate."
"Do you know, I can always tell at once if I am going to get on well with a person," said Mrs. Bertie earnestly; and Cripps, glaring through the wickerwork, thought the same thing. "Now, the minute I saw you down at Annandale—you were wearing a black-and-white dress, and an awfully smart bonnet—I said to myself, 'There's a woman after my own heart.'"
"I feel quite overwhelmed."
"Oh no," said Mrs. Bertie encouragingly; "but it does seem a pity that we did not meet sooner. Now, if I'd met you before you had made your arrangements for the season, we might have chummed together. I like a little house better than a hotel in lots of ways. People do talk so; and don't you find it ties you down dreadfully having a girl with you?"
"Miss Rosslyn is a very dear friend of mine," said Winnie.
"Oh, of course that's quite different; I know I looked after a girl one year, and she was an awful nuisance; I was perfectly thankful when she went back to her father."
Winnie bestowed a pitying thought on the unknown girl, and only smiled in answer.
"We have rather fun at our hotel sometimes," went on Mrs. Bertie; "there are some nice boys there; we all played Puss in the Corner and games of that sort last night till ever so late. You must come to dinner some day soon; I want to see a great deal of you. Is that clock of yours right? I have an appointment with my dress maker at half-past twelve—such a fiend of a woman! She's making me the simplest little ball frock, and this is the seventh time I've been to be fitted. But I know I'm very particular about clothes; I simply cannot and will not take a thing unless it fits like a glove; it's much the best way. Well, good-bye; mind you come and see me soon."
"Oh, Cripps, I beg your pardon," said Winnie to the sulky lump that appeared when she moved the wicker chair. "It was a very ill-used dog then; and it thought it was saving own missis from a great big wild elephant, it did. Sue, Cripps! Fetch it! Cats! rats! rabbits!"
"Gone at last?" said Janet, returning; "what did she want? "
"To tread the mazy. Were you frightened when the house shook? I nearly sent you up a chit to say that it was not earthquakes, only Mrs. Bertie Vernon trying to skirt-dance. "
And every time she give a jump,
She make the windows sound !
Janet, I'm succeeding too well. I want to be in the swim and still keep one foot on the ground, and instead of this Mrs. Bertie Vernon says I am a woman after her own heart. Pity me, Charmian."
“Didn't you feel very angry?"
"No, I was delighted in one way; but I don't quite like it. I believe there is not the least harm in her, really, only if you carry silliness far enough it becomes a crime; and I think she is kind-hearted, but there is an atmosphere of stale perfume about her last night's pocket-handkerchief —ouf! Yet she is a thrifty soul."
"Thrifty? I have never seen her wear the same dress twice."
"Never mind; she atones for that in her makeup, which might be chalk and brickdust and burnt matches: I believe it is. I ought to send Nugent over as a missionary to the heathen." She looked at her own face in a mirror. "Why, compared with that woman my maquillage is like the radiant bloom of infancy."
Janet shook her head without speaking.
"But there is a fatal resemblance, all the same," went on Winnie—"a likeness to make one shudder. Janet, I am going upstairs to wash my face.”
"Oh, do, Winnie; wash it all off!" cried Janet eagerly. " I will, and I shall look like a good, honest, respectable ghoul for the space of half an hour; at the end of that time I prophesy that I shall send for Nugent, and I am quite certain that Nugent will scold me."
CHAPTER IX.
"LIGHT-LOCKED WITH EYES OF DANGEROUS GRAY."
"One mere day, we thought ; the measure
Of such days the year fulfils.
Now, how dearly would we treasure
Something from its fields, its rills,
And its memorable hills?"
A. C. Thompson.
"Do you remember Major Gilmour, Nancy? You used to dance with him last year," said Mrs. Ivey.
"A tall man, mother, with a very nice face? Yes, I recollect him; an R.A., isn't he?"
"No; R.E. I see he has come up again; his card was in our box three days ago. I think we will ask him to dinner for the tenth."
"Is that the night you mean to ask Mrs. Edwards?"
"I'm not quite sure. She seems pleasant, but you have seen a great deal of her lately: do you think your father would like you to make friends with a rather fast woman?"
"Mother dear, she isn't fast, and I don't believe she paints really; at least, if she does, she does it so nicely that it's different, somehow. Write the note now, mammy, do." in
"I am a dutiful and obedient mother," said Mrs. Ivey.
"You are a darling, and you shall have your old friend, Mr. Cornwall, to take you in on the tenth. Do you know, I'm so thankful that I'm not one little scrap like you, mammy, for if I was, I'm sure Mr. Cornwall would insist on marrying me."
“Give me the address-book, Nancy, instead of talking nonsense. Who are Mr. Sidmon and Mr. Roseway?—from the Rockcliff? I see you have written their names down."
“They called the other day when you were out. They are subalterns, and one is the short, fair sort, and the other is the thin, dark kind. I don't know which is which, though, for they came together."
“We had better ask them to dinner, I suppose. Your father likes us to acknowledge a call, and as we are going on to the dance at Snowdon, there will be no trouble about amusing them afterwards."
“But I shall have to dance with them."
“Don't be too sure. I dare say they won't be polite enough to ask you, but we need not have them both at once. Shall I ask Captain Curtis to come?"
“Why, the dance is at Snowdon, and he'll be wanted. Besides," went on Nancy quickly, “if I had my way, I should never invite an A.D.C. to dinner; they are so conceited about their crowds of engagements."
“I think Captain Curtis is a particularly nice young fellow," said her mother; “but, then, I am easier to please than you are. I am sorry that he will be engaged, for he seems to be one of Mrs. Edwards' great admirers."
“Everyone admires her, and I don't wonder they do," said Nancy enthusiastically. But the smile left her face.
Alan Gilmour had come up to Simla in July on a piece of special duty connected with military works, which was calculated to keep him in the summer capital until the end of the season. He was not elated at the prospect, though he acknowledged that Simla was, on the whole, not a bad place to be in. He considered also that, since he had elected to spend a certain amount of his service in India, it was well to be known at headquarters. In pursuance of this belief, he had taken a month's leave to Simla the year before, and, having acquainted himself with the extent of its pleasures, was prepared to accept them during a longer period with resigned equanimity. In his own secret imaginings he was a subtle thinker, and a creature of unrealized ideals; to the world at large he appeared a good fellow, who did not seem to know that he was handsome, though perhaps a little conceited about less obvious attributes. He nourished a not altogether healthy contempt for the land of his temporary adoption, and though it gave him an assured income for present and future, while employing and developing his faculties to their fullest extent, he found a certain pleasure in regretting his choice of a career. The life of an English man in India was that of a toad in a hole—a red-hot hole frequently—and for an Englishwoman in India he was divided between pity and scorn—pity if her duty as wife or daughter led her to eat the bread of exile, scorn if she was one of the many light-hearted sisters, cousins, or friends who came out “to see the country." Apart from the vexed question of morals, he was of opinion that feminine complexions and manners underwent a well-nigh instantaneous deterioration in the East, and he looked with scornful wonder at the numerous marriages that took place there. For his own part, having outgrown a few trifling heartaches, when he considered the possibility of sharing his future, he offered it, at some distant date, to an unknown girl who dwelt among untrodden ways somewhere in England. She would be very simple and gentle and quiet, with pretty hair drawn smoothly away from a low forehead, and the rest was vague. It had dispassionately struck him the year before that to those who could tolerate the thought of marrying in India Nancy Ivey's flower face and sweet voice might be very attractive; but there was no personal bent in this reflection.
“Have you been to call on the Pinchbeck Goddess yet?" said Yeatt to him on July 9.
“No; who is that?"
“Little Mrs. Edwards; the best-lookin' woman up here this year, and with lots to say for herself. Knows how to dance too—stage dancin'; knows she's got pretty ankles, and ain't afraid of showin' 'em."
“Who's her husband?"
“Can't say. He conveniently went to heaven some time ago. She's out here globe-trottin' and lookin' out for No. 2; must have a good bit of money too. You go an' call on her; she's quite good fun, and it's a chance for you; I'm not a marryin' man myself."
Thus it happened that, when Gilmour found himself sitting next to Winnie at dinner the following evening, he was forearmed with prejudice against her. She wore a black dress, with no ornaments on white throat or shining head, but the front of her bodice was encrusted with diamond brooches, and her arms jangled with bracelets—slender gold bangles, for the most part, gemmed with turquoise, moonstone and chrysoprase, ruby hearts and diamond initials; trinkets that looked as though they had histories, he disapprovingly thought. He noticed her tinted cheek, too, and how little her gleaming copper hair accorded with her black brows and dark gray eyes.
“The woman is like a jeweller's shop, and the powder simply stands on her nose," he thought, as he made his first remark to her, a few words about the weather.
Winnie deliberately stroked her nose with a handkerchief, which consisted of a small oasis of lawn set in a desert of lace, and turned a smiling face to him.
“Is that better?" she said. “As for my poor bangles, I own I am absurdly fond of trinkets; but that is a taste that is allowed to savages and women all the world over."
“I beg your pardon?" stammered Gilmour, aghast.
"Ah, you confess it! Don't be afraid; you did not say anything, but I am a thought-reader."
“Why did you imagine that I----"
“I am not like Sherlock Holmes," she interrupted; “I never explain my methods. I have not seen you at one of the gymkhanas, Mr. Myles; you work much too hard."
“My office goes on just the same in Simla, and I very much dislike getting into arrears," said Lilian's husband, who was her right-hand neighbour.
“It seems an anachronism to work in Simla; the place as I see it is a veritable Land of Cockayne."
“My point of view is a very different one."
"Yes, indeed; and I have noticed that there is one rule all over India—men must work and women must play.”
“You have only been in large towns in the pleasant time of year, I suppose," he said. “If you knew a little of life in the mofussel, you would not talk like that; the women there have not much play."
“It can't be much worse than a little English village," said Winnie lightly.
“Well, in the English village you don't as a rule have a stifling climate, constant danger of fever and malaria, and difficulty in getting good food and drinkable water," he said, wrinkling his heavy brows; “that's what life in the mofussil means for more than half the year."
“I hope you have not been in places of that sort."
“Not since my marriage, luckily; we have been very fortunate; but I am afraid my wife is not very fond of Simla; she rather shuts herself up."
“His expression was very pleasant as he glanced across the table, where Lilian's pretty head showed above a silver bowl full of red roses. Winnie remembered a confidence of five weeks before, and wondered whether he was a hypocrite or Lilian a hysterical self-deceiver.
“I think Mrs. Myles is rather lazy," she said; “I have been trying to persuade her to sing a duet with me at one of the Monday Pops, but all in vain."
“Yes, she has practically given up her music; girls generally drop their accomplishments after marriage, I have noticed. I suppose the net has caught the fish."
“What a delightfully old-fashioned remark! Now, I have noticed that women who give up accomplishments generally do so because their husbands don't appreciate their efforts."
“That is not my experience."
“Then, we remain unconvinced," said Winnie, with her disarming smile. “Tell me, do the rains really last till the middle of September? How tired we shall be of living in a perpetual wet blanket! I shall never want a home in Cloudland again."
“Do you mean to stay long in India? " asked Gilmour, feeling that it was necessary to say something to this dreadful woman.
“Until the end of next cold weather, I think; and then I really must make up my mind to face England again."
“Do you dislike England?"
“Oh, there are associations," she said, with a sigh and pathetic eyes. Gilmour was silent for a moment; then he looked at the diamonds displayed by the bereaved one, and steeled his heart.
“You seem to like Simla," he said.
“Yes, I love mountains; I am never so happy as when I am among them; and this is one of the few places out here where one sees children—real children, not tiny babies. I do so wish I had brought out my little girl. Do you think it would have been a great risk?"
“It depends very much upon her age."
“She is only six; her birthday was two days before I left home. Poor pet! It was so sad to see her cry at the thought of my going; she had never cried on her birthday before. Do you know Mrs. Wilton's little girl? "
Gilmour said he had not that pleasure.
“She is just my Daisy's age, and has a look of Daisy; but she is a plump little thing, and my child is a tall, slender creature: she does not take after her father's family in the least."
“She is fortunate if she resembles her mother," he said, speaking as one who hears his cue.
“Oh, how nice of you! Daisy is rather like me, though she has dark hair, but her eyes are the same. I will show you her portrait when you call."
Gilmour doubted if that occasion would ever arrive; but the painted lady was certainly pretty.
“Can you tell me the name of that lady in blue with smooth hair?" he asked, to change the subject.
“Miss Rosslyn, a great friend of mine, who was good enough to come to India with me.”
Janet looked up as she spoke, and smiled at her—a smile of love and good fellowship that puzzled Gilmour. Her honest, downright face differed strikingly from the texture and tint of Mrs. Edwards' cheeks and the suggestion of her whole appearance.
“Does Simla amuse you?" she asked suddenly.
“It's not a bad sort of place." “For want of a better, you mean. What do you do to be superior over? do you go in for anything?“
She threw back her head as she looked at him, and he found the note of patronage in her voice keenly irritating.
“I suppose I do as much as most men," he said quickly. “I am in office the greater part of the day, of course; but equally of course I dance, and so on. I am rather fond of acting."
“And do you sing? and if so, has Major Morice secured you for the comic opera yet?"
“He was talking to me about it yesterday."
"Ah, that's right; tenor voices have been a great difficulty, and you have a tenor profile.”
"Oh, thank you, my voice happens to be baritone!"
“Really; well, that's nice, too. They can't make up their minds between a Gilbert and Sullivan and the evergreen ‘Cloches.' Fancy singing 'Ding-dong ' at this advanced stage of the century! Gracious! it's far past nine already; I hope you men don't intend to sit birling the wine long, or we shall all be late for Snowdon. You are coming, aren't you?" she added to Mrs. Myles, as they passed into the drawing-room.
“I think not; Gilbert doesn't care for dances."
“Yes he does; at any rate, he was lamenting that you were so lacking in energy. You have been nowhere lately, to my knowledge; don't be a hermit-crab. Mrs. Ivey, convince her; isn't it very bad for one never to go out?"
"Yes; but it is an easy habit to fall into, I know; I used to be very lazy before Nancy grew up."
“You are lazy now, mother; you hardly ever allow me more than two balls a week," remarked Nancy.
“Two a week is one too many, my child." Lilian only smiled, but a little later she said to her husband:
“I don't care about the dance; don't you think it would be nicer to go home?"
“Do as you like, dances are never any pleasure to me; but I am perfectly willing to go."
“No, we won't," said Lilian.
“Well, please yourself."
“It means to keep fine, after all," she said, when they had parted from the others. She stood for a moment in the veranda of their cottage, watching the rickshaw lamps flashing along the Mall. “It's, to be a big dance, I think," she added, with a little sigh.
“Yes, it's a pity you changed your mind; it's a mistake never to go out, but you are such a perverse woman, one cart never tell what you mean to do. I was fully prepared to go to this dance."
“Well, I shan't feel tired to-morrow," she said brightly. “I suppose the next thing that people will say will be that I keep you shut up, and never let you go anywhere," said her husband gruffly.
“Oh no, Gilbert; no one could say anything so silly."
Gilmour left his pony at the beginning of the narrow path that leads to Snowdon, and found himself walking by Mrs. Edwards' rickshaw. Her profile flashed upon his sight every few steps in the flare of the cotton-seeds that burnt in saucers of oil along the railings, and he was conscious of the heavy scent of the lilies in her bouquet.
“I hope you mean to let me have a dance," he said; and it was not in the least what he had intended to say.
“Very much too late; you should have asked me last week. My whole programme is written out in ink."
"That's hard lines on a new-comer: one of the extras, perhaps, if they have any?"
“They also are written out in ink!"
He was distinctly annoyed; he did not like the woman, but, still, he wanted to dance with her. He danced very little that evening, and as he stood about in the blue ballroom, which bears a strong resemblance to a swimming-bath, his eyes persistently followed the slender, bright-haired figure in the black gown. She seemed to spend half her time with old Strath-Ingram; and how ugly he was, with his chuckling red face! Gilmour wondered that anyone could think him good-looking or young for his age.
Towards the end of the evening Winnie and this maligned gentleman found two chairs in a sheltered corner, and Winnie gently unfastened a bracelet on her right wrist.
“Won't you let me fan you?" he asked, with more feeling than the occasion demanded. “Can't you even trust me to do that little thing for you?"
"I have already trusted you to the extent of three of my pet fans; they have gone home to be mended now. You don't know how strong your hand is.”
Strath-Ingram doubled a square fist, and looked at it complacently.
"It's a man's hand,” he said. “It's had to make its own way in the world. Yes, it's strong enough to knock down a man and protect a woman, eh?"
“Yes, indeed," she said, with serious sweet ness.
"It's a man's hand," he said again—it was to be noticed that in the evening Strath-Ingram had a tendency to repetition—”and it's a strong hand, but it's a lonely hand; there's no one to hold it."
He displayed it, palm uppermost, and broad fingers spread. The glove had torn at the thumb, and his flesh showed redly through the rent. They were alone in the corner, and he drew his chair nearer.
“I'm a very lonely man," he said.
And his suffused eyes were perhaps due to self-pity, but she winced as his breath passed her face.
“Oh no; you are so popular. You have so many friends," she said quickly.
“Friends! Men I play billiards with, and bet with. I've got no true friends, and I don't want any friends. What's the good of friendship, Winnie? You don't mind my calling you Winnie, do you? What's the good of friendship, when what I want is love?"
He caught her left hand. She could feel through his glove and her own how hot his hand was. His face was horribly near. A bracelet fell from her right wrist, and rolled on the floor. She sprang up with a little cry.
“Oh, my bracelet! It is the one with a diamond heart—the last thing my husband gave me. I wouldn't lose it for the world. Oh, Captain Luttrell, do help me to find my bracelet. I think it went over there. Have you got it? Thank you so much. And it isn't even broken. How glad I am! Yes, this is your dance, if it's No. 14. Good-night, Colonel Strath-Ingram."
He was astonished and vexed for a moment; then his views became rosy and glorious.
“She knows how to draw one on, the little devil does," he mused tenderly. “Trust a widow."
“Janet! Janet! " said Winnie, as they climbed their steep stairs together; “I must write to Will next mail, and tell him to scold you. How often did you dance with Mr. Roseway? And you only met him for the first time this evening?"
“He has been in Australia, and quite near the place where Will is now, so I really enjoyed talking to him," said Janet placidly.
“Who was the good-looking man that sat next to you at dinner?"
“A Major Gilmour. And he has no business to look so nice and be such a stodge. I behaved disgracefully, but it was all his fault. I saw at a glance that he considered me a got-up and bedizened wretch, so I apologized."
“What did you say?"
“I wiped some of the powder off my nose—I really must speak to Nugent about overdoing it; I don't want a snowy range down my face—and asked him if that looked better. I said something silly about my trinkets, too, and then I talked 'Daisy.' I don't care; he may think me a fool if he likes. He is 'heavy, heavy—damned heavy!'"
“Oh, Winnie! " cried Janet aghast.
"Dearest goose! must I always hold up my fingers as quotation marks? That's only what Jingle said about his luggage. Didn't Nancy look a dear to-night in her little blue frock? I strongly suspect that she danced five times with the Curtis boy; I hope her mother isn't scolding her now. I shall put this bouquet in my bath, and then perhaps some of the sweet things will keep fresh till to-morrow. Lilies from Struthgrum! How appropriate! He was rather terrible this evening."
“I don't know how you can endure him at any time."
“When revenge is sweet, 'tis folly to be wise; but he was absurd to-night. He sat lamenting himself that there was no one to hold his hand. I can't wonder at the lack of applicants, for if there ever was a pound of Oxford sausages imperfectly disguised as----"
“I am very tired, and it is getting so late," said Janet, yawning.
“Yes, and I am a wretch to keep you up. Take your blue eyes to bed. Good-night, dear."
Left alone, Winnie looked at herself in the glass, first smilingly, then with grave lips and sad eyes.
“You have got what you wanted," she said aloud—"your little twopenny-halfpenny triumph; and if it tastes bitter after all, and seems hopelessly trivial, you have only yourself to thank for it; besides, you are tired now. You will enjoy it all again to-morrow, and so good-night to you. Cripps "—she went to the basket where the pampered watch-dog lay hunting in dreams—”when you wouff in your sleep, it's a sign that you have nightmare, and you deserve put-put, succat putput, hard whipping, Cripps."
CHAPTER X.
" BLACK'S THE LIFE THAT I LEAD Wl' YOU."
" Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so unlike each other ;
To mutter and mock a broken charm.
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 'tis tender, too, and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity." Coleridge.
There were tears in Lilian's eyes as she stood at the window watching her husband on his way to office. He knew she was standing there, but he did not look back. His wife had displeased him, and as it was necessary to punish her, he made himself disagreeable in all honesty and sin cerity of purpose. It was his duty to discipline her. He bore the sword of heaven, and did not doubt that he was as holy as he was severe. She was a good girl at heart, but she needed correc tion. She must learn to control her temper, to guard her speech. It was perhaps unfortunate that his course of teaching included uncontrolled temper and unguarded speech on his own part. On this particular occasion Lilian was abso lutely in the wrong. The day before she had spoken sharply and angrily on very slight provo cation, and though her repentance followed swiftly, after her offence, there had been no place for it. No wife ought to speak to her husband in that unseemly manner; she needed a lesson, and he intended to give her one. He had not spoken to her since the moment of her misde meanourófour o'clock on the afternoon of the previous day. He wished to allow her time for penitential reflection. The culprit turned wearily from the window, with the sense of a familiar nightmare overpower ing her. She was not indifferent to the punish ments Gilbert inflicted, but she was terribly tired of them. She counted the stages and phases through which she must expect to pass before a peaceful life could be hoped for again, and her very heart grew sick. The weariness of spirit brought a feeling of physical oppression; she found herself breathing in long sighs. Her thoughts went round in one dreary beaten track. She was certainly to blame for speaking sharply, but the punishment would outweigh the crime, and she had a bitter sense of injus tice.Half an hour's silence and a few words of re proof would have made her tenderly penitent, but this ominous lull, with a storm to follow, only angered her. It was unjustóunjust. Oh, the dreary beaten track! How was she to preserve even a decent self-respect amidst such constant blame? Fault-finding that included unborn to morrow and dead yesterday, misjudging her mo tives in the past, and foretelling reproof for her future actions! Her husband would have been honestly sur prised by the bitterness of her thoughts, for he forgot half that he said to her in angry moments, and -considered her vindictive for remembering it; but it was her misfortune to remember. She attached too much importance to the spoken word, and failed to understand the peculiar re serve of a nature which gave the freest expres sion to anger or disapproval, but only showed tenderness by infrequent phrases. Her eyes were holden so that she could not see the true value of the gracious actions he cloaked in ungracious speechóa gauntlet with a gift in it. Lilian sometimes thought that she resem bled a puzzled dog, not knowing whether it was intended to jump up or to lie still with its nose between its paws. She generally adopted the latter attitude, to save herself from rebuffs, while her husband often wondered, in pained silence, if it was his fault or only his misfortune that she had become so indifferent and so cold. She was growing accustomed to her image as he showed it to her in the distorting mirror of his mind, and it troubled her less than the un dreamed-of depths she discovered in her own na ture. He had taught her that, his anger once roused, neither tears nor prayers for pardon had the least effect upon him, and she found herself resorting to silent petty defianceóa species of whistling to keep her courage up. Once, indeed, she made a grimace at her husband's sulky back, and was deeply ashamed of herself the moment after. Was she to grow vulgar as well as em bittered? Round and round circled the dreary thoughts; something must be done to escape from- them. She had no desire as yet to seek sympathy, and the recollection of her one confidence to Mrs. Edwards pricked and stung her. It was a breach of faith which seemed to justify her husband's misprision, and it should never be repeated. It had only happened because she was at the end of her forces. She was strong now, ready to ac cept whatever might come, but she hoped, with a hope that was as fervent as a prayer, that he would not punish her by very long silence. She could not write letters; she did not feel able to read. She dusted her piano in a series of discordant crashes, and shut it with a clang. It was always dumb when Gilbert was; any music that she made at such a time would be marred to her by a miserable association. A little pile of clothes caught her eyes as she wandered aimlessly into her own room; the dhobi had brought them the day before, and she had not yet mended them. She acknowledged herself to be a careless and forgetful woman; no wonder that Gilbert was so often angry with her, and yet what did it matter? If he were not vexed with her for one thing, he would be for another. The socks and the shirts became emblems of a loveless yoke, of a heavy burden. It was mechanical, miserable work. At home the house maid would do it. Here her ayah could not set a stitch, and her husband objected to her hiring a dhirzie to do sewing by the day. He had said, " What's the good of having a wife if she can't darn socks and sew on buttons? " That was the view he took of her duties and her responsibilities. She might sit mending his clothes all day, and looking forward to his com ing sulkily home at five o'clock. She had been a girl of ideals and aspirations; marriage to her had meant the renunciation of certain vaguely lofty ambitions. The needle pricked her finger, the worsted knotted itself into a snarl, and her eyes filled with tears. There! the socks were finished at last, and tossed aside. Now for the buttons. Her needle was too large. The little pearl button cracked in half, and she stamped her foot as she looked for another. Then the scis sors were lost; they were not in her basket, not on the table, not among the shirts, not on her lap. She got up and shook herself; still no sign of them. She was obliged to find another pair. A thin vest had been machine-sewn, and ripped at a touch; she had better bind it all anew, and what a long seam it looked! Did other women feel like this? Did they, too, sit at home doing little services for their husbands while they half hated them? That was wicked, but it was the truth; Gilbert was hateful. Surely some men were more lenient ; she thought of two incidents in her girlhood, and wondered how their heroes would have treated her in the battle of married life. Who could tell what tyrannical potentialities had lurked behind their soft seeming, since the dearest lover of them all had become her taskmaster? She looked at the forefinger of her left hand; it was slightly needle-pricked, and a sudden mem ory made her kiss it: it was not she who had kissed it once long ago. He had said then that he hated to see it marked; he never noticed it now. Her thoughts escaping from the beaten track flew back to the past like homing doves, from the husband of to-day to the lover of four years ago, until the gallant image of what had been effaced the memory of the sullen looks across that morning's breakfast-table. Little far-away memories appeared before her as clearly as visions: the expression in Gilbert's eyes when he had said, " I have not courage enough to face my life without you " ; Gilbert climbing a hedge-bank to gather wild-roses for heróa strong, erect figure and a laughing face; Gilbert kneeling with uncovered head to fasten her shoe-string; a thou sand tender trifles. She could do very little for him: he it was who bore the burden and heat of the day while she sat safe and sheltered, and grudged him the speed of her needle. Oh, false and thankless! If every stitch were set in her heart, she should still be proud and glad; it was her privilege to tend him. The vest was finished, backstitched with dainty neatness, and she looked for more work to do. When Gilbert came home, she was embroid ering initials on one of his silk handkerchiefs: he opened his lips to tell her that this devotion was very charming and effective, and closed them again, remembering that they were not on speak ing terms. " Have you had a very busy day? " she asked. No answer. " Shall I tell them to bring tea, Gilbert? " No answer.
" Have you any plans for this evening? " No answer. Then she understood that he was still re solved not to speak to her, and kept silence for half an hour, smiling gently now and again to show that she was not sulking. Her hus band drank three cups of tea and read a news paper. " I am going to take some books to the libra ry," she said at last, " and then I shall walk a little." Her voice was as appealing as she dared to allow it to be, but he did not look up. Janet Rosslyn was the first person she met on the Mall. " How nice you look! " said Janet, in friendly recognition of the pretty gown that disguised Lilian's sadness; "are you going anywhere?" " Only to the library; do come with me." A bright face smiled at them from a rickshaw; it was Nancy Ivey, sweet as boughs of may, has tening to a tennis-party. " I wonder if that girl has a trouble in the world," said Lilian a little wistfully. " I believe we all have the same amount to bear sooner or later," said Janet placidly; " it only seems to be unequally divided." " Your share seems to weigh lightly now, for you look radiant." " I have had some good news: Mr. Norris is almost certain that he will be able to go to Eng land next year." " I am so glad; and shall you be married then? " " Yes, some time in the summer, I believe; I have not seen Will for three years; it seems too good to be true." There was so much enforced concealment in Janet's life for the moment that she found an honest pleasure in telling her little tale frankly to a friendly woman. It was often a matter of reproach to her tender conscience that she could permit herself to be happy in what she termed " a life of deceit," but the very strong power of habit held her enthralled. Her devotion to her friend dated from the days when they had worn pinafores, and Winnie had written French exer cises for her while she did Winnie's sums. The girl of twelve had given blind faith and absolute allegiance to the child of nine, whose quick clev erness annulled the difference between their ages, and faith and fealty had strengthened during more than twenty years of friendship. In some ways Winnie was more truly the romance of Janet's life than broad-shouldered Will Norris, far away on the Darling Downs, and she was cer tainly a more present and powerful influence. From the time when Winnie had run laughingly along the crumbling edge of the cliffs, or courted a ducking at the brink of the rising tide, Janet had followed her with faithful heavy feet, and the tradition bade fair to be a lifelong one. " I wonder how Mrs. Edwards will do with out you? " said Lilian. " Dear Winnie! she is already planning won derful clothes for me, though I am sure I shall only want very simple things." " Have you lived with her ever since her hus band's death? " asked Lilian idly. Janet flushed crimson, and stooped to fasten her shoe-lace. " No, not quite. Winnie asked me to come to India with her; it was a great pleasure for me óI had never travelled before. Do you think it will rain to-night? " As they were in the midst of the rains, this was exceedingly likely, and Lilian was a little surprised at the evident desire for a change of subject. " Look at the plains," she said good-humouredly, " how wonderfully the clouds have grouped themselves; it's like a stormy sea." They looked down across swelling ranges to the deep blue plains, where in clear weather the silver links of the Sutlej River could be traced; now they were heaped with white clouds rolled and tossed like great breakers in a beautiful mim icry of a raging sea. The tonga road, showing first as a white ribbon, then as a mere thread winding among the hills till it vanished through a gap, seemed a very little pathway to lead to the great world. " It makes me feel lonely to look over there," said Janet.
" Think of all the way one's letters have to go and come: one sees the distance so clearly."
" Yes, it's a far cry to Australia."
" Winnie says I ought to have what she calls - a ' posy ' engraved in my ring: " ' Heart to heart Though far apart.' But you know it has Mizpah on it already, and that means the same, only better." "Does it? I don't know what Mizpah means." " It's in the Bible; it means, ' The Lord watch between me and thee when we are absent one from another.' " The married woman was silent; she was thinking that the most suitable posy for her own wedding-ring would be, " Though near Not dear," and shut her lips on the bitter little thought. " Hi! stop!" cried a strong voice, and Mrs. Tykes' rickshaw drew up beside them; " you are just the very people I wanted to see. Will you take a ticket in my raffle, Mrs. Myles? Only two rupees. This is the first prize." She unwrapped a newspaper parcel, and flourished a large doll, clad entirely in pink cro chet from its big yellow head to its small, stiff feet. " If you'll promise that I shan't win it, I'll take two tickets," said Lilian. " Now, that's a disagreeable thing to say; you can always give it away." "Very well, then; I'll give it to you." " Do, and I'll raffle it again. The second prize is well worth having, tooóa baby's woollen jacket and two pairs of lovely little boots." " That would be very useful for me! " " Well, you could keep them by you; one never " " Who is the raffle for? " asked Janet. " A very good, deserving woman, with a drunken brute of a husband, a native Christian." "The husband?" " No, the wife, poor thing! We want to get up a little sum of money to send her away from him; he treats her disgracefully. That reminds me: if either of you ever have any nice little thing you don't want, you might send it over to her. I will give you her address." " What sort of thing? " " Any little dainty; she is glad to eat exactly what we do, you know, and the poor soul is not in the least proudóa box of sardines, a bottle of port wine, half a cake, anything of that sort." 10 " I see," said Lilian. " Mind you ask Mrs. Edwards how many tickets she'll take, Janet. You are getting much too fashionable for me; I shall expect to see you riding with A.D.C.'s next. You are looking very pale, Mrs. Myles; what's the matter with you? Well, good-night." The rain began soon after sunset, and by nine o'clock it was pouring steadily, a strong, persist ent ' downfall, which sent the monkeys deep among the dripping pine-branches for shelter, and made them cough dolefully. Lilian's little drawing-room was very bright and pleasant, but her husband still sustained the part of skeleton on the hearth. " Good-night, Gilbert," she said at half-past ten, more from a habit of politeness than with any expectation of being answered. But he rose and addressed her: " Listen to me, Lilian: I have made up my mind not to go on with this silence any longeróit's wearing to me; but though I forgive you, I want you to distinctly under stand " " It was very wrong of me to speak as I did; I know I have a very hasty temper." " You have indeed, and you seem unable to brook the smallest opposition. However, my will is a little stronger than yours, and " " Oh, Gilbert," she cried, feeling as though the shades of the prison-house were visibly clos ing about her, " don't talk of a combat of wills as if we were two beasts fighting. I don't want to thwart you; I only " " You only want your own way in everything, and that I have not the slightest intention of giving you. One of us two has to be broken, and óI don't know, of course, but I don't fancy it will be me." She turned away, for the tears were coming through her eyes in spite of herself, and he would be vexed if he saw them. " I spoke very crossly, I know, and I was dreadfully sorry for it five minutes after," she said. " You always are, on your own showing, but I fail to see that it does any good." She was silent. Her heart seemed full of burning wordsóappeals, explanations, eager prayers for a better state of things, were crowd ing to her lips; but she knew that she was powerless to change his point of view, and she dreaded to provoke a discussion. She was si lent. " It's all very well to confess to a quick tem per," he went on, " but you should try and con trol it." " I do try," she said softly. She was afraid of sobbing if she ventured on a longer sentence. " You'd better try a little harder, then. Now, it's no good standing there looking cross. I'll forgive you this time, though you are a most pro voking woman."
" I'm very sorry," she said; and the tears as serted themselves. "There you go!" said her husband despair ingly; " one can't say one word to you without your flying into a passion." " I'm not cross now, Gilbert ; I'm sorry." " It looks very like temper. Now, don't be silly; leave off crying, and give me a kiss." He kissed her quickly, and a little roughly. She involuntarily drew away from his arm. It seemed a very dreary mockery of a caress while their hearts were separated by deserts of mis understandings, and had lost the way to each other. " Oh, very well, if you want to sulk, do," he said quickly; "but I thought I had taught you it was a dangerous game to play." The prospect of a number of black, silent days shook her like physical terror; she threw her arms round his neck. " Oh no, dear! please, truly, I never thought of sulking. Gilbert, do speak to me; it is so lonely. I have nobody here but you." He looked at her and laughed. " There is nothing to be so theatrical about," he said; "we are not on the stage. Go to bed, and don't be a goose."
CHAPTER XI
" WITH CHEEKS ALL RED, AND GOLDEN LOCKS ALL CURLED."
" What are these things thou lovest?
Vanity. To see men turn their heads when thou dost pass ;
To be the signboard and the looking-glass,
Where every idler there may glut his eye ;
To hear men speak thy name mysteriously,
Wagging their heads." Proteus. "
Mrs. Bertie Vernon has been talking to me about fancy dresses," said Winnie, looking up from her writing-table. "Already! why, I thought it was not even settled that there was to be a fancy ball," said Janet. " One must risk that if one sends home for frocks; and there is nearly certain to be one to wards the end of the season. Mrs. Bertie had a terrible scheme that she and I should go as ' Music-hall Sisters,' in some ridiculous costume exactly alike; but I put my foot down for once, almost as heavily as she does when she dances, and it is not to be." " Have you chosen a dress yet? " " Well, I had serious thoughts of going as 'East and West '; I have such unusual facilities for having half my hair dark and the other half light; but it might startle people, and certainly would not be becoming. Do you know that Madeline went to a fancy ball here in a Puritan dress of her own making; it was down to the floor and up to her ears, and it had three wrinkles right across the back." " I am sure she looked very sweet." " It would not appear so by the way she had to sit out. I think I will keep to the dress I or dered provisionally before we left home; it will be startling enough." " What is it, Winnie? " " A dead secret, my dear; I don't even mean you to see it until five minutes before we go to the ball. Have you made up your mind what you would like? " " Yes; if Nugent will help me a little, I can easily make a Swiss peasant dress." " Dear thing, you shan't. Do let me have the pleasure of giving you a pretty gown for once; we will choose something that you can wear in the evening afterwards." " You give me far too many presents, Win nie."Winnie blew a kiss across the room to her. " We will think what it is to be before next mail-day," she said. " I insist on something to wear with powder. Mrs. Bertie was not charm ing this morning; she amuses me sometimes, but to-day she was so spiteful, so absolutely clawing, that I woke up Cripps, and said, 'S-s-s-s cats!' She did not take the hint, though. By-the-by, she is coming to dinner next week, so is Colonel Strath-Ingram, and I am just writing to Yeatt and the other boy and Major Gilmour." " I wonder why you ask him for the same evening? " " I am doing it on purpose; it's a kind of dis illusion party got up for his sake." She spoke with her face averted. " The Acid Drop has been trying to fit him with a nickname," she added, after a minute; " but she can only think of Sir Galahad, which isn't very appropriate, though it rather suits his eyes and something in his ex pression: " ' My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.' I am going for a ride with him to-morrow." " I am so glad, dear," said Janet warmly. " Are you? Oh, Janet, I wish I wasn't a brother to dragons and a companion to owls!" " What do you mean, Winnie? " " Mrs. Bertie Vernon, of course, and that old man of the mountain, Strath-Ingram. However, I'm talking nonsense. Cripps, come here and be hypnotized." Cripps rolled upon his back and winnowed the air with all four legs at once, as Winnie chanted, with much gesticulation: " A lemon has pips, And a yard has ships, And I'll have Cripps ! " Twice she repeated it, bending lower, with wav ing hands, while the dog wriggled and whined in an excitement that was half ecstatic, half appre hensive; then came the climax: A tweak at his short tail broke the spell, and sent him tearing out of the room to bark joy fully as he scoured the garden ; and Winnie went singing back to her invitations. But little more than three weeks had passed since Gilmour's first meeting with the woman who was like a jeweller's shop, but this brief peri od had seen the decay of some of his most cher ished prejudices. He had learnt, for instance, that though Mrs. Edwards was almost the em bodiment of what, theoretically, he most detested in woman, her fascination was at the beginning an uneasy influence, and soon a dear enchant ment. He had called upon her the day after the dance, and when he left she promised to ride with him on the following afternoon. He felt it was his duty to despise her for admitting him to intimate companionship so soon; but he knew that had she refused he would have been ab surdly saddened. Since then his chances of meet ing her had been many, and he had availed him self of every one of them. There had been rides, dances, picnics; he had walked by her rickshaw wheels coming home from tennis-parties, when A lemon has pips, And a yard has ships, And I've got Cripps ! kindly twilight hid on her face that which dis played in the sunshine made him wince. He had met her by elaborate accident when she was beginning a busy day by giving Two and Two a morning scamper round the racecourse. He had watched her laughing and voluble in a noisy little circle of men whom he disliked, and noted with keen pleasure her friendship with Nancy Ivey. He had conned her varying moods with patient persistence, misunderstanding most of them; and he had begun to hate the thought of her dead husband.
He told himself that she was obviously not a person to be taken seriously, even while he at tached weighty meanings to her most trivial words. He occasionally thought, too, that she presented the appearance of a woman whom it was not necessary to respect; but when he was with her he found it impossible either in act or word to overpass her invisible unmistakeable bar riers. Winnie's acquaintances were not long in learning that her light-hearted freedom of speech was companioned by an unexpected quality of pure reserve. No one of those who sought and followed after her and smiled meaningly when her name was mentioned had ever possessed her laughing lips for an instant. She played a foolish game so daintily and adroitly that it never be came a dangerous one. She knew her rules, and none of her playfellows tried to break them twice. Her light feet made pretence of crumbling ground while they knew the solid rock was be neath them. Gilmour had thought, not unnat urally, that no good friendship could have Strath- Ingram for one of its supporters, but even that lion among ladies was conscious of an unacknowl edged Una. Her little note to Gilmour set his hopes leap ing high. Surely to dine quietly would mean only Miss Rosslyn and another man- besides himself. She would be in one of her rare moods of serious sweetness, and she would sing with that low, thrilling voice of hers; perhaps she would let him choose her songs. If she asked him to sing, his choice would be " To Anthea, who may com mand him anything." As he rode down from the club on the even ing of her dinner, he softly whistled the air of " Anthea," with his thoughts upon the words: Then he stopped; this was exaggeration. He had hardly known her a month. She was un-suited to him in a myriad ways, and yet never before had a woman filled his thoughts and domi nated his mind as she did. The smooth-haired maiden, who dwelt among the untrodden ways, seemed very unattractive and very far distant. The chuckling laugh of Strath-Ingram reached him as he dismounted in the veranda. When he went in, Yeatt was saying: "Then you're comin' out ridin' with me to-morrow; " Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me." that's settled." As he shook hands with Win nie, Mrs. Bertie Vernon swept in, scattering odours, breathing perfume, and Luttrell followed after. The disappointment was very bitter, though it was a little comfort to find himself sitting by Mrs. Edwards at dinner. " I must have you two bad children opposite, where I can keep a guard ian eye on you," she said. But not even being classed with Mrs. Bertie as a bad child made Strath-Ingram look contented. Winnie, in a white satin gown blazing with diamonds, was more audaciously decorated than usual. Her beautiful eyes shone under theatric ally-darkened lids, and as she smiled with red dened lips, Gilmour wondered why it was that she escaped looking disgusting. " How appalling this weather is! " she said. " It's enough to take a doormat out of curl, and my very mind feels mildewed. I was all alone most of the afternoon, and my spirits were sui cidal." " Oh, why didn't you send me a chit? I'd have come over like a shot," said Strath-Ingram. " How nice of you! But I had meant to go out, and instead of that the rain came, and Mrs. Tykes arrived on the wings of a waterproof. I thought she was an experiment in military bal looning, one of our failures, when I saw her flap ping down the hill. She brought me some scones that had got rather wet on the way, and we had them imperfectly dried for tea." " I didn't think you and Mrs. Tykes were so chummy." " Yes, we are great allies; she wants to make me a clever housekeeper. Won't it be a triumph if she does? But to-day she only came to seek sympathy. Half the poultry-yard has got croup, or roup, or houpóI forget whichóand she had been spending a happy day giving them vitriol and carbolic oil and other dainties. ' And then I felt so dull, Mrs. Edwards, I just changed my dress, and came over to see you.' I am so glad that she thought of changing her dress! " " ' If I were as tedious as a king, I could find it in my heart to bestow it all upon your wor ship,' " said Gilmour in an undertone. " Ah, thank you; it is so nice not to be the only person who quotes. I love sharing my vices." " Sharin' your vices? " said Yeatt, who sat next her. " I'm on in that piece." " Oh, you naughty girl ! " cried Mrs. Bertie Vernon. The dinner-table was adorned with a pretty confusion of ferns and wild-flowers in little silver bowls and lotahs. The silver animals they make at Muttra peered out from the mimic jungleó fantastic tigers, mice, horses and elephants, all the same size. " May I compliment the fair fingers that ar ranged these flowers so charmingly? " said Strath-Ingram in sprightly tones. " Yes, do," said Winnie. " They belong to my maid, and she will be delighted. Nugent en joys trimming a table, as she calls it, and con siders it in profile as though it were a bonnet. I have to forbid her silk or ribbons, else I feel certain she would tie everything together with terrible loops and bows, and add a few feathers and paste buckles probably." " I think they would look awfully smart," said Mrs. Bertie. Mrs. Bertie Vernon was in high spirits, and the noisy converse she was holding with Strath- Ingram did not prevent her from playing what she called " post-office " with Luttrell. This game consisted of dropping almonds and bonbons down the back of his neck, and when he sat with defensive, humped shoulders and raised chin, she put fragments of bread and unconsidered trifles into his peg tumbler and salted his champagne. He presently moved his glasses to the other side, and grew a little cross, till she assured him he was a " didums was," and loudly requested him to hold her hand under the table. This he presum ably did, until she needed it again to show him a new system of flicking bread pellets. She chose Gilmour's nose for a target, but her aim was not good, and he was elaborately unconscious of her efforts. " When a silly woman tries to be funny, the angels weep," said Winnie softly. " What floods of angelic tears she and I are responsible for! " " Please don't couple yourself with her, even in jest," said Gilmour earnestly.
" It's a very amiable goose, but she is too silly to-night. Oh, goodness, look at her! She's opening her mouth for Captain Yeatt to throw sweets into across the table. My dear Mrs. Bertie, do take care! Suppose you were ' struck so,' as my nurse used to say, and never able to shut it again ! Are you playing hippopotamus at the Zoo? " Mrs. Bertie, who had beautiful teeth, brought them together with an indignant click, and sulked for five minutes. At the end of that time she slipped a piece of ice down Luttrell's collar, and became herself again. " Mrs. Edwards is trying to catch your eye to take you away, because you've been behaving so badly," said her writhing victim. " I don't see any sense in going away," she said loudly; " and as for cigarettes, I'm sure you may smoke them if you like. I don't mind helping." But Winnie rose definitely, and Mrs. Bertie was forced to follow, making a face at Yeatt on the way. " Look here, dear," she said, clutching Win nie's arm as they crossed the narrow hall: " tell one of the servants to bring some flour, and we'll make an apple-pie hat. Oh, it is such fun! When the man puts it on, the flour falls all over him, and ruins his coat. Won't I put lots into Gilmour's hat! Isn't he an awful stupid? Which is his, I wonder? " " No, don't let's," said Winnie. " Something WITH CHEEKS ALL RED. must have been left out of me, for I hate practical jokes; they set my teeth on edge." "Well, you are silly. Never mind; I'll think of something else to make us laugh; there's lots of go in me." " Have you seen Winnie's new photo graphs? " asked Janet shyly. " No; where are they? Oh, that's lovely; it's quite beautiful, but I don't think it's very like you, my dear girl. Now, that's a better one; it is not nearly so flattering, but I can quite tell who it is meant for. The other one makes you look as if your eyes were enormous. I must go to that new man." " He is rather expensive," said Winnie, " but all Indian photographers are." " I dare say he'll take me for nothing," said Mrs. Bertie Vernon, yawning, with great frank ness; " but if he won't, I shall just have the small est number of copies I can." " But heaps of people are sure to ask you for them." " Rather! But you don't fancy I buy those, do you? Why, I should be stony-broke at the end of the season. When anyone asks me for a photo, I just tell him that I'll give him leave to go and get it from the shop." " I see," said Winnie. " Where do you get your lampshades? " de manded Mrs. Bertie, crushing with firm fingers the filmy hanging flounce of one that stood near her. " Those chiffon ones, which require very deli cate handling, came out from home, and Miss Rosslyn made the cripe paper ones." " Did she really? Why, they look just as good as if they had been made in a shop. Oh, you must do some for me! I sjuppose they don't cost much. There are the men coming already; they have been quick." " Are we in time to save our reputations? I know how ladies talk when they get to gether," said Strath-Ingram in his most florid manner. " Do you? Who taught you? " " Ah, that's a secret. Wouldn't you like to know, Mrs. Edwards? " "Yes, dreadfully; come and tell me," said Winnie, keenly conscious of the cold, tired look on Gilmour's face. " No, you shan't have itóI don't mean to let you have it," cried Mrs. Bertie shrilly. She had stolen Yeatt's pocket-handkerchief, and was waving it triumphantly above her head. " Oh, all right; keep it for my sake," he drawled, dropping into a chair. " I'm not goin' to chase you round the room so soon after din ner; 'tisn't half good enough. You and I'll have a cosy little talk, Miss Rosslyn; let's hear all the news." Luttrell snatched the handkerchief, and Mrs. Bertie Vernon pursued him round tables and over chairs with loud laughter and sharp little screams.He was very lithe and quick, but he allowed him self to be caught in the pink muslin room, and she returned scarlet and victorious. " You haven't seen Cripps do his new trick," said Winnie to the public generally. " He goes upstairs and fetches down both my slippers at once so cleverly. We often hear him drop them on the stairs, but he picks them up again some how." Cripps was found sheltering under a sofa; he had a sulky face, and was evidently longing for the guests to go. He had been an ill-used dog that day, he considered, for having seen an inso lent red-faced monkey in the Lakkar Bazaar, he had felt it his duty to chase it over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier, over park, over pale; and when at last he lost it, and returned panting to his mistress, she had scolded him se verely and struck him twice with her umbrella. It could not be explained to him that he had been chastised out of pure love and tenderness, since monkeys have been known to literally turn and rend pursuing dogs, and still the memory rankled. He listened wearily to Winnie's instruc tions, and loafed out of the room. There was a long pause. " 'Tisn't comin' off, seemin'ly," said Yeatt. " Wait a minute. I hear him now." There was a shuffling, bundling noise on the stairs, and Cripps tumbled through the portiere, dragging laboriously after him a pair of large gray felt slippers, the private property of Nugent. He stumbled with them to Winnie's feet, and looked up hypocritically. " Cripps, you slanderer!" she cried; and as she pretended to kick him, her little shoe flew off into the middle of the room, where it was pounced upon by Strath-Ingram. He held it up, declaiming: " ' Who stole her slipper, filled it with tokay ' " " ' And found it held a hogshead every day/ " broke in Winnie. " Cripps, you'd better take these boots back to your friend Nugent; she'll scold you. Please give me my shoe." " Let's play Hunt the Slipper," cried Mrs. Bertie, as Strath-Ingram knelt to fit the shoe on Winnie's outstretched foot. " I'm too old to sit on the floor; think of another," said Winnie. " Musical Chairs, then." " We are not nearly enough, and it breaks things." " Hissing and Clapping? " "Kissin' and Slappin'?" said Yeatt. "Oh, come now, Mrs. Bertie, Mrs. Bertie! " " Oh, do shut up, and don't be such an idiot! " said the lady, with a wriggle and a giggle. " I know an awfully good card game; you deal round one pack, and the other's on the table, and you turn up cards, and all say things. If the card is in your hand, it applies to you, you know, and you can say whatever you like." " Rippin' ! let's try it ; you do explain awfully well." Luttrell expounded the rules of " Personali ties " more clearly, and they began to play. "The holder of the card like this," said Strath- Ingram, with a leering glance at Winnie, " is the Belle of Simla." "Now, isn't that a coincidence!" simpered Mrs. Bertie, displaying it. " The man who's got the card like this is a regular old rip," said Yeatt. Gilmour laid the fellow to it upon the table. " He's a dark horse, Mrs. Edwards; don't you trust him; truth will out." " This card is up to his ears in debt," said Luttrell. " Hullo! I've got it myself; that's too bad." " The person who has got this card is devoted to me," said Mrs. Bertie Vernon. " Oh, how nice ! " she added archly, as Strath-Ingram showed it. " I'm so fond of the owner of this card," said Winnie; and three were on the table at once, but Yeatt was the fortunate man. " Oh, I say, I'm blushin'," he remarked coyly; " you ought to tell one that sort o' thing in pri vate." " It's hardly worth while having another round," said Winnie, pitying the anxious eyes of Janet, whose turn came next. " Won't you sing us something, Mrs. Bertie? " " Couldn't possibly; I'm as hoarse as a crow; I don't mind dancing, though, if you will." " Just the thing," said Winnie, raising the wide folds of her gown with either hand; " we'll do that pas de deux we practised the other day." " I wish I had a short skirt on," said Mrs. Bertie, fastening her train to her shoulder with a vast star which bore the courtesy title of " dia mond." " So do we all," said Strath-Ingram gallantly. " Never mind; we can kilt our coats," said Winnie. " Play quite slowly at first please, Janet." Mrs. Bertie giggled, and made eyes as she blundered through a few simple steps, while Winnie seemed to have no thought but for the music, to whose measure she bent and swayed and footed featly. In reality she was keenly alive to the look that each man woreóStrath- Ingram's gloating smile, Luttrell's handsome foolish face, the half-smiling, half-sneering lips that Yeatt's small moustache did not shadow, and the expression of polite interest that Gil-mour had assumed like a mask. Did the mask hide indifference, or dislike, or disgust? She must remember that it was her purpose to dis gust him. The music quickened; the paste buckles on Winnie's shoes sparkled and flashed. She was dancing with butterfly grace, and her breathing had hardly altered, though Mrs. Bertie was pant ing audibly. " Oh dear! I must stop; I can't do any more." And Mrs. Bertie flung herself into a chair. " Go on, Janet," said Winnie, " and much faster." She had the floor to herself, and her gesture and poses became freer and more elaborate. Her white arms now swayed the folds of gleaming satin, now were tossed above her head, now bent with the supple swing of her slender figure, until they were almost on a level with the little white shoes that " fluttered like doves," as Strath-Ingram afterwards phrased it, with a touch of un expected poesy. It is perhaps to be regretted that this flight was followed by an enthusiastic eulogy on the ankles of the doves, but to observe them was unavoidable. At the last bar she sank in an exaggerated curtseyódown, down, till she was like a great white flower on the floor. Ris ing slowly, she kissed both hands to her audi ence. " Bravo! " " Oh, you never showed me those steps." " Rippin', Mrs. Edwards, rippin'! " "En core, encore," came in a quick chorus. " You are very kind," said Winnie, lying back at languid length in the largest chair; " but I am quite exhausted, and somebody must sing to me. Who will?" She tried not to look at Gilmour as she spoke; she was longing thirstily for the sound of his voice, but he was silent. The ever-ready Yeatt took possession of the piano, and they shouted comic songs till after midnight. Gilmour had intended to bid Winnie the most indifferent of good-nights, but when the moment A PINCHBECK GODDESS. came, some constraining power changed the words on his lips to: " When shall I see you again? " " It depends upon when you look for me. I am generally in evidence," said Winnie flippantly. " Yes, I know; but I mean, see you to talk to. Can you spare an afternoon for a ride with me this week? " They were virtually alone, for the three men were noisily helping Mrs. Bertie into her rick shaw outside, and Janet was tidying the scattered music. She looked at him with a strange gravity on her painted face. " Do you really want me to? " she asked. " Yes; you don't know how much I want it," he said. " Hurry up, Gilmour!" shouted Yeatt. "This brute of a pony of yours is kickin' the veranda down." " Was the ' disillusion party ' a success, Win nie? " asked Janet, when they were alone. " No, dear," said Winnie, speaking with averted face; "it was a failureóa triumphant failure! "
CHAPTER XII.
" THEN THE GOOD MINUTE GOES."
" The flame will catch thy floating veil
If thou dancest round the fire." Lute-player's Song.
Winnie, in her riding-habit, was drinking a cup of tea exceedingly slowly, while Strath-Ingram stood fidgeting near the window. Two and Two was waiting without, and so was a glossy black pony, known to his master as Satan, and to Winnie as Satin. " Do you really think it is safe to start? " she said. " I'm sure it means to rain in torrents, and I do dread a cold. What do you say about it, Janet?" Janet raised her truthful eyes from her em broidery. She had an idea that Winnie wished to avoid this impending ride, but she did not know how to help her. " I don't know at all, dear. I think you had better take a waterproof." " I'd much rather be drowned. Walking in a waterproof is bad enough, but riding in one is pure misery." Cripps gazed up at his mistress with tender, appealing eyes, fearing that she intended to leave him at home. Strath-Ingram looked at her at the same moment, and Winnie was struck by the similarity of expression between man and dog; it gave her a little shiver. " No, Cripps," she said; "a dog that chases monkeys never goes to heaven, and never goes out for rides. Own Aunt Janet will take you with her presently. Don't let him get into your rickshaw, dear. He is growing so fat he will soon be a sausageóa white sausage with a black patch over one eye." " I believe we shall have a lovely evening, after all," said Strath-Ingram, as he put her into her saddle. " I doubt it; and if I get a ducking, followed by influenza, Mrs. Tykes is coming to nurse me. She made that threatópromise, I should sayó yesterday, so can you wonder that I am anxious to keep well? " " I should think that you were never ill," he said, looking at her admiringly. " But I am, constantly, and I make a horrid invalid," said Winnie, giving rein to her imagina tion. " I get so cross and exacting that it is per fect pain to me to see anyone sitting down near me. I spend my time in devising things for them to do. When I had pneumonia, I nearly killed my poor husband. I don't think he had more than an hour of consecutive sleep for a week." " But I thought you were always so well and jolly." " I am a most deceptive creature; I simply live on excitement ; when there is nothing to do, my vitality burns low. I am intensely neurotic." He was a little startled. " Well, I should never have thought it, Mrs. Edwards! " " No, nobody does." She looked across the hills for inspiration, and went on brightly: " I often wonder if my spine is at fault; there must be something to account for the nervous crises from which I suffer. There are times when a darkened room and absolute stillness are all that I can endure. Did you ever feel like that? " " No, I can't say I ever did." " Ah, how fortunate you are! But surely you have suffered from sleeplessness? " " No, I generally sleep like a top." " Really? It must be delightful not to know the misery of lying awake counting the hours, and wondering whether one had better take sutphonal or chloral." "Good heavens! you don't take chloral?" Winnie smiled sadly. " ' Quel chagrin, quel ennui, De compter toute la nuit Les heures, les heures,' " she murmured softly; " but that's enough about me, let's talk of something more amusing. Heav ens! the age of miracles is not yet past; there's a man walking with Mrs. Alchin! " They were moving at a foot-pace through the most crowded part of the Mall, the Ridge on their right, a row of little open shops on their 1 62 A PINCHBECK GODDESS. left. Half Simla seemed to be walking, riding, or trundling there (sitting in a rickshaw cannot be called driving). Winnie bowed every moment, and Strath-Ingram's hand never left his hat. " How we all come out between the show ers! " said Winnie; "it's like worms after rain." " Hullo, where are you off to? " cried Mrs. Bertie Vernon, suddenly appearing round a corner. Her figure was more like an hour-glass in her habit than in any other garment, and she was mounted on a tall dapple-gray creature, which had exactly the colour and very much the paces of a rocking-horse. Her companion, little Mr. Sidman, who belonged to the short, fair order of subalterns, looked unfeelingly young and fresh. " Come with us," she said, making what she called a moue, and other people a " face," at Strath-Ingram; "four's a much better scamper ing number than two, and we'll all go helter-skelter on the Ladies' Mile." " Oh, we're tired of Jakko; we're going the other way!" he said, loudly enough to be heard by another pair of ridersóNancy Ivey and Gilmour. Winnie noticed for the first time what a good-looking couple they made, and winced under a prick of jealous pain. Nancy's flower-face was very fair and sweet, and Gilmour was smiling as he talked to her, with an extra smile, indeed, as sumed when he recognised Two and Two. They had only met by chance five minutes before, but Winnie had not the comfort of knowing that.THE GOOD MINUTE GOES. " I do wonder why Mrs. Edwards likes Colo nel Strath-Ingram; he seems horrid, somehow, I think," said Nancy, after they had passed. " I am glad he is not a friend of yours," said Gilmour fervently. " That's a case, I should fancy," said Strath- Ingram to Winnie. " You mean Miss Ivey and Major Gilmour? " " Yes; he's supposed to be clever, but he's rather a stick; that pretty girl might do better for herself." She was silent, which was a bad sign, but he had not the wit to see it. " How I hate this long, sloping road down to the Public Works Office! " she said presently; " let's trot." " Don't, for God's sake ! you know Two and Two isn't very sure-footed, and if he tripped and came down, you might be killed." "You are complimentary to my riding!" " It's an awful thing to see a woman come to smash," he said solemnly; " if the horse rolls over on her, there is no chance for her. Just think how ghastly it would be if you were disfigured! " " Oh, much worse than death! " There was a long pause. She noticed that he was wearing new boots, and had a particularly well-made buttonhole. " ' These are portents, but yet I hope They do not point on me.' " she murmured. " I beg your pardon? " "Nothing; I wasn't really speaking; I've got into a bad habit of thinking half aloud. Did I tell you that they've settled on ' Les Cloches ' after all, and I'm to be Serpolette? The list of re hearsals came to-day, and it's much longer than my arm, so I suppose I shall not have a minute to call my own till the business is over." " I wish to goodness you'd chuck it up alto gether! " " Oh, you traitor! Well, this is the unkindest cut of all ! Why, you have encouraged me to act from the first, and said all sorts of pretty things about my singing and my dancing, and now here is a change! " " One's feelings do change. I can't help hat ing the thought of all those people staring at you now, and " " But I love being stared at. Ah, the road is level again at last; come along." Two and Two cantered gaily off, and sus tained speech was impossible for the next few minutes; when they slackened speed, Winnie was voluble. " Do you remember when Viceregal Lodge was at Peterhof? " she asked eagerly. " It must have been amusing, so small and so squashy. Mrs. Alchin told me that the Viceroy in those days had to dine in his ballroom, or, rather, to dance in his dining-room, for there was no proper place for dancing. So when there was a dinner before a dance, they hurried the courses, and everything had to be cleared away directly. Fancy a ballroom decorated with a smell of dinner! Oh, look! aren't those ferns pretty? " " Which ferns? " he asked gloomily. " Those little feathery ones on the treetrunks." Since the rains had begun, even the branches of the trees were decked in living green ; soft vel vet moss, plumed with little ferns, clasped them round. " I am sure there are lots of wild-flowers here," she went on. " My jampdnies are getting lazy; they pretend they can't find any. Oh, did I tell you about the faithful Nugent and the bou quet of violets? I wore a pale pansy-coloured dress at the Black Hearts ball. Do you remem ber? No, you don't. Well, you will take my word for it. Nugent decidedóand the Medes and the Persians pale before Nugent when she is decidedóthat nothing but violets would go with this dress." " If you had only told me, I'd " " How awfully good of you! But she tried at Annandale days before, and they hadn't any, so she sent out the eight jampdnies first thing in the morning to pick all the dog violets they could find. Eighty fingers, counting their thumbs as fingers, though in reality their fingers are all thumbs, all picking violets! They toiled for hours, poor things! and Nugent was quite piti less; she was like that terrible ' Hungryóstill hungryóI want some more ' in the fairy-tale. She kept on tying up the flowers they brought into little bunches, and sending them further and further afield for more. Finally, at four o'clock they were fainting in heaps, and she made a most lovely bouquet, only, as she said, ' Unluckily, the perfume must be left to the imagination, 'm! ' " They had reached the place where the road round Summer Hill (a mere bridle-path) branches off from Observatory Hill. " Do come this way," he said. " Shall we have time? It's nearly sunset." " Heaps of time. You might grant me this." Something in his voice made her obey at once. " We are in for it now," she thought, biting her lipó" the revenge of my wildest dreams; and it's horribly serious, and not in the least amus ing, and I would give the world for it to be He cleared his throat loudly and nervously. She glanced at him, hoping that something ri diculous might partly justify her conduct. But three seeming impossibilities for Strath-Ingram had met in his face; he looked pale, serious and good. " My leave is up next week; I have to go down on Friday." " I hope you won't find it very hot," said Winnie, wishing that she possessed a spur or some unseen means of goading Two and Two into a convenient frenzy. " I never mind heat. I hope to get ten days' leave about the end of October, but that depends on you." over. " On me? " And she tried to make her voice sound sur prised. " Yes, and on the answer you are going to give me." " Of course I shall be delighted to see you if you come up again in October," she said. But he looked at her so gravely that her pre tence at laughter failed. " I want more than that. I dare say I have seemed as though I was only laughing and playing the fool, but surely, Winnie, you knew that there was more in it than that." " How was I to know? " she said. " It must have been my fault if you didn't," he said. " At first I wasn't even sure of it my self; it didn't seem like me; but I know now that I love you with all my heart." She was silent. Her right hand was stroking Two and Two's neck with monotonous regular ity, and she did not raise her eyes from the glossy chestnut skin. " I didn't take you a bit seriously to begin with," he went on. " I thought you were very pretty and very good funóthe sort of woman that amuses one, you know." She nodded. " And then I found it was a hundred times more than that. I was always thinking of you; everything I looked at meant you, somehow. You must have known, Winnie." " I thought I amused you." It is difficult for a man to stamp his foot in the stirrup while riding, but Strath-Ingram at tempted the action. " I am a damned fool to have said that. I beg your pardon, darling. I didn't mean to swear; I hardly knew what I was saying. This means too much to me." Winnie took the slight shelter proffered by a platitude: " You have only known me three months." " It feels like the best part of my life," he said, as simply and earnestly as a boy could have spoken. The eager, waiting look in his eyes troubled her. She turned her head away, almost expecting next moment to hear his chuckling laugh, and the declaration that the whole thing was a joke; but he was sadly serious, and absolutely in ear nest. " I can't pretend I'm a young man," he said; " but I'm stronger than many young fellows, and there's nothing the matter with me. I wouldn't ask you to marry me if it meant your having to look after me." Winnie murmured something to fill the pause óshe hardly knew whatóand he went on: " I couldn't be called rich, but I have a cer tain amount of money of my own. Every penny of yours should be settled on you and the little girl, and I'd do all I could for her, too." " It's impossibleóimpossible." " Oh, for God's sake don't say that! Are you thinking of the child? Why, she's so young she'd soon get fond of me, and you don't know how good I'd be to her. I've thought of her often lately. You needn't be afraid that I shouldn't love your child, Winnie." There was a tone in his voice that she had never heard before, and her heart was full of shame and sorrow, and her eyes were full of tears. " I am not in the least what I seem," she said slowly. He took her hand in spite of the menace of Two and Two's laid-back ears. " My dearest girl," he said, and a faint echo of his usual chuckle accompanied the words, " I'm not blind; of course I see that you make up a bit, but you don't often overdo it, and the result is very charming." Two and Two gave a vigorous kick; Satin saved himself dexterously, and Winnie's hand was her own again. The instant had been enough to show her that she neither needed nor wished to explain matters further; her secret should re main her secret. " Don't give me my answer yet," he pleaded; " do take time to think it over. I have startled you; tell me to-morrow." " No; this is my real answer: I do not mean to marry." He looked bewildered. " But I never thought you cared as much as that for your husband," he said. 12 " I am not influenced by the past ; but I in tend never to marry." The narrow road had circled the hillside now, and the pageant of sunset blazed before them. Winnie noticed three little flecks of scarlet cloud floating in the golden sky; the evening star swam in a delicate blue that melted to softest green. The whole air thrilled with the shrill notes of the cicalas, and she heard some monkeys quarrelling in a tree as they chose sleeping-places for the night. She watched a large lizard glide behind a clump of potentilla, whose vapid red berries mimicked those of the wild-strawberry; she even took note of a stone on the path; and through all this consideration of trifles Strath-Ingram's pale, serious face troubled her, and she felt very sad and a little angry, as at an unexpected re sponsibility. An old man passed them carrying a heavy load of wood on his bent back. His face was seamed and lined, and his clothing a few filthy rags, but he had stuck a bright pink rose in the tangle of grizzled hair above his left ear. She wondered if it answered to a buttonhole, and whether he too was going a-wooing. Strath-Ingram was saying again what he had said before, only more fervently, more insistent ly. The chattering, self-satisfied person, with whom and at whom she had so often jested, had vanished utterly, and in his place stood an un happy, passionate creature, for whom she was responsible. Her vanity or her small-mindedness was the Frankenstein that had created this mon ster; but she had thought him so safe, cased in armour of proof, safe in his own conceit. She was helplessly sorry, and said so when his eager expostulations allowed her time for speech. Presently she grew weary of answering, and her eyes could no longer force back their tears; they overflowed upon her cheeks. He saw them, and all that was chivalrous and best in him, the good impulses of early days, and a far-away tra dition of nobility, conquered and silenced the self ishness, the sensuality and vulgarity, of later years. " Forgive me," he said; " I Won't say any thing more. Well, I am glad that I have had the chance of meeting you and loving you, though it hurts now." Then Winnie did what she blushed to remem ber, though at that moment of strained feeling it seemed natural and simple. Leaning over, she kissed Strath-Ingram's wrinkled cheek; and grace was given him, for the moment, to understand and accept her kiss quietly and purely. " God bless you! " he said. There was a long silence. They rode quickly through the sunset glow, and the glory faded and paled, and the stars came out over the whole ex panse of sky. At last he spoke, in the unlovely tones of selfpity. " I believe you are right," he said. " I know my faults, and though I am a fairly clever man, and have a very good constitution naturally, I have my weaknesses. Did you ever hear that I was a little too given to lifting my little finger, eh? " She winced. " Oh no, no," she said softly. " It's a mere habit; one does it out of good fellowship. You could have stopped that if you had cared; but I forgotóI promised not to say any more." This time the silence lasted until they had dismounted and stood together in the veranda of Winnie's little house. The syces led the ponies away. " Don't think hardly of me," said Winnie, with the word too much that a woman so often speaks; her voice was softer than she knew, and he responded at once. " I believe there's a little hope for me still," he cried jauntily; " give me another kiss, Win nie."But she was gone almost before he ceased to speak. Some three hours later Strath-Ingram, hav ing dined lightly and drunk heavily, was telling a chance acquaintance that he had been hitóhard hit. She was the best little woman, the sweetest, dearest little woman; and, mind you, he didn't say that she had led him on, but, still, a man might suppose Well, other people had thought so too, he wasn't the only one that saw it, and yet when it came to the scratch, when he had offered himself as humbly as though he had been a subalternóa damned subaltern! Oh no, she never meant to marry! She'd been amus ing herself, playing him like a fish. But she was the best of women. Such a bonny woman! Such a bright little woman! No one had better try to say a word against her in his hearing; he should like to see the man who had a word to say against her; and so on, and so on, at great length, but always, be it said, without mentioning her name. Presently the chance acquaintance slipped away, leaving Strath-Ingram shaking his head sadly and solemnly and still murmuring confi dences to his unlighted cheroot. The glory had departed.
CHAPTER XIII.
" BID THAT HEART STAY, AND IT SHALL STAY."
" Foolish love is only folly,
Wanton love is too unholy,
Greedy love is covetous,
Idle love is frivolous :
But the gracious love is it
That doth prove the work of wit." Nicholas Breton.
The next day was hopelessly wet. The rain began during the night, and the gray dawn dis closed a drenched, dripping world. Masses of cloud filled the valleys and blotted out the hills, and a dense white mist hung like a curtain before the windows. Winnie could scarcely see the heavyheaded scarlet dahlias that nodded, water-logged, just beyond the narrow veranda, and the pinetrees were dimly-looming gray ghosts, sometimes quite hidden, sometimes half revealed. An allpervading feeling of damp added its gift of dis comfort to the dreariness of the sullen skies, and everything was clammy to the touch. "What a day!" said Winnie. "Water for anguish of the solstice! Nugent, please tell them to light a fire in the drawing-room; I must have something dry to look at." " The last wood has all got green moss and little white branchy things growing on it, so pretty, 'm," said Nugent cheerfully. She went to the wood go-downóa boarded shed at the back of the houseóto return in a moment with a terrified face. " There's something in the woodshed, 'm. I saw its big white head," she gasped. " It can't be Cripps," said Winnie, for the household scapegoat was sleeping at her feet. "Oh no, 'm; it's like something under the floor poking its head up through the groundó all round and white." Practical Janet called for the bearer and a hurricane lantern. " We need not hope for a ghost, as it is only ten o'clock in the morning," said Winnie sadly; " but we are in the land of the horrible and the unexpected, so tell one of the jampdnies to come as well as the bearer." By lantern light the " big white head " proved to be a huge fungus, as large as a footstool, that had sprouted between the damp boards. Nu gent weighed it on the meat scale, tied up in a duster, and it was over four pounds. " I believe this is the very thing that Mrs. Tykes was talking of the other day," said Janet. " It is an edible kind of puff-ball, and she says it is delicious cut into slices and fried with but ter." " Send it to her at once, then, with my love. If she likes to go to heaven on a toadstool, it is not for me to hinder her, but I won't allow you to do so." "We can take it this afternoon; we have promised to go to her sewing-party." " Have we? Oh, I felt that there was some thing horrible hanging over my head, and that's it. I can't go; I simply won't go. I decline to go out on a day like this. Tell her that Nugent shall dress dolls, or make a lot of silly fluffy things for her bazaar. Nugent loves fussing with ends of silk and satin, and so we shall all be happy. Come and play for me now, please, dear. How tired we shall be of these Serpolette songs be fore we have done with them! Cripps! this is not a duet. Go upstairs to Nu gent if my singing gets on your nerves." Winnie was very restless when she was left alone that afternoon, and roamed aimlessly about the house. She strayed into Janet's room, and smiled at the neat stiff writing-table, where ink stand, blotting-book, Bible, and Will's photo graph always occupied exactly the same position. She watched the rain, which still fell heavily and steadily. The crows were like drowned rats, and a slim maina with bright yellow legs was shelter ing in the veranda, keeping a sharp look-out the while for possible danger. She took up four books in succession, finding nothing to fix her attention in any one of them; then by a great " ' I must be princess, leastways, madam ; That from my style may well be seen.'effort of will she sat down before her little em broidery frame, and began to add stitches to the delicate satin of what would some day be a screen panel.
The thought of Colonel Strath-Ingram and the scene of the day before weighed upon her spirit like the recollection of an evil deed. She had never seriously intended this to happen. He had exceeded his part, and she found a tragic comedy a hateful thing. The web that she had woven so lightly was tangling round her, and in her search for amusement she had met responsi bility with its train of attendant anxieties. Per haps he would forget her soon. He was not likely to be a man of long memories; but when should she forget? The ending of the episode had been insufferable, too. Her cheeks burnt at the thought of his last wordsó" another kiss." Why had she, how could she have, made it pos sible for him to say such a thing? And yet her heart still melted at the memory of his voiceó the look of his face in the sunset glow. She de spised him for loving the creature she appeared to beóa painted brazen-haired woman, frankly frivolous; but, still, he had loved her. She had stolen that which she did not want, and the world was the poorer. She reminded herself of a slight of long ago, but it seemed a very trivial thing, and the revenge she had taken was dispropor tionate. Why had she not realized that while she played a comedy the people round her were living and loving and real? Her own act, the posi tion she had chosen to place herself in, forbade her to be one of them. She was a puppet in a world of human beings, and her playtime would presently be over. She would give herself until the spring, until the first of Aprilóa most ap propriate date; and then Mrs. Edwards would vanish from India, leaving no address. It was the end of August now; she should see Alan (she did not know when she had ceased to think of him as Major Gilmour) for a few weeks more, and after that she should remember himóre member him till the end of her life. She won dered whether the memory would make those gray impending years sadder or more endurable. But she had always promised Janet that they should travel in the cold weather, and his sta tion in the plains was a celebrated city that it would be impossible to avoid. She might see him once more before life's night began. A sud den flood of youth, hope and folly swept away her dreary thoughts. She was conscious of a mass of mental contradictions, and laughed at them all. She must not fancy that she was in love with him. She had never been in love--it was an un discovered country; but she was happy, and the nearest days were golden, and the other days were too far away to be considered yet. She threw down a needleful of dark silk, and began to outline an arabesque in gold-thread, singing softly the while, crooning the first snatches of song that came to mind:'" I sit beside the fire, I spin upon the wheel ; Winter nights for thinking long, round runs the reel ; Sparkle o' the fire, sparkle o' the fire, Mother Mary keep my love and send me my desire.' " A man's step sounded in the veranda, and she looked up with sudden terror; but the tall, broadshouldered figure that passed the window was not Strath-Ingram's. She called the bearer. " Give a salaam to the sahib," she said, " and tell them to bring tea at once." " How lucky I am to find you at home! " said Alan Gilmour, and a damp breath of cloud swept into the room after him. " I know you hate going out in the rain, and I thought you might be charitable enough to give me a cup of tea." " Two cupsóthree if you like. But what have you done with your poor pony? Let me tell them to take him to the stable." Gilmour watched her as she busied herself with a teapot of Lucknow silver, ornamented with elephants and snakes, and noticed, as he had done at their first meeting, the beauty of her hands and wrists. Her wedding-ring annoyed him. It was a noticeably broad band of gold, only leaving room for one other ring, a half-hoop of large rubies and diamonds; and the thought of the man who had put them on her finger was an acute vexation to him. " Miss Rosslyn's scones are a success to-day," said Winnie. " She makes them every morning as solemnly as though it were a religious cere mony, but the result is a lottery. Sometimes they are delightfulólike theseóand sometimes they are dark little lumps that even Cripps sniffs at." " Where is your treasured dog this after noon? " " He has gone to a sewing-party at Mrs. Tykes'. He is probably fluttering her hencoops now. She dislikes him so much that I always send him to teach her Christian charity." Gilmour smiled, and said nothing; he was looking at her too intently to feel any need for speech. She was very simply dressed: her gray gown had a wide Puritan cape of white lawn, and a broad white ribbon was wound round her waist. Her face was rather pale, and she seemed younger and sweeter than he had ever thought her be fore. " What is the news in the gay world? " she said. " I am a poor hard-worked, hard-working creature," he replied, leaning back luxuriously in his large chair, " and I have seen nothing all day except the point of my pen." " That's better than the point of my needle. If this rain goes on, I must find something fresh to do, if it's only suicide. I have no new books, I have sung myself hoarse, and I'm tired of stitching." " I thought sewing was always a pleasure and comfort to women, just as smoking is to men." " That is a pretty fiction invented by a man. As a matter of fact, your cigarette-case, backed as a solace against my needle-book, would win in a canter." " I never heard you use slang or sporting terms before." " I am afraid you have not listened often, then, for I like slang; there is something pic turesque and forcible about it. Don't you think so? " " What I really think, if you won't be angry, is that slang used by you affects me like a slug on a rose." " I must forgive the slug simile, which is not pretty, for the sake of the rose, which is." The damp mist had curled Gilmour's fair hair into a little crest above his brow. He would have been distressed by its untidiness had he seen it, but in Winnie's eyes the slightly-ruffled hair above the strong, fine profile changed the char acter of his face from ordinary good looks to ab . solute beauty. His tweed coat was in good ac cord with his sunburnt colouring. She liked to see him in brown riding-boots; he looked so dif ferent from other men.
" I shall have a little picture of you in my mind, just as you are now," she thought, " when you are a white-haired old general, and have for gotten my very name." " How are the chorus rehearsals of ' Les Cloches ' getting on? " she asked. " I hope you know that it's most condescending of me as a ' principal ' to make any inquiries? " " It's atrocious: half the women sing out of tune, and all the men are making excuses to try and get out of the whole thing. I should never have gone in for it if I had not thought that we were all to rehearse together from the first." "We are having fine times, too: Germaine (Mrs. Bryce, you know) refuses to learn her part, and spends her time flirting with Gaspard be hind the scenes; and the Baillie has an awful temper, and is always threatening that he won't play. Poor Major Morice is a pattern of pa tience, and steadily maintains that it will ' all come right on the night.' " " It generally does somehow," said Gilmour. " May I look at your books? I saw the other night that you have quite a little library, and that's very unusual out here." " I think one of the worst things about India is the way people live without books," said Win nie. " I know, of course, that they get them from libraries, but they do not have well-filled shelves round them. It's partly a bad habit, I be lieveóa tradition of the time when books were very costly." " They weigh fearfully heavy, though." " So does water; but if one goes into the desert one carries a supply of it, all the same." " You are not likely to die of thirst, at any rate." He stooped to look at the bookshelves, which were frivolous things of enamelled wood, but held a great many books. " Most of my dear old friends are left athome," said Winnie; " these are travelling com panions, and many of them are in rather small print; but it's very much better than not having them at all. Fancy that this little shelf holds all Thackeray! " " And Dickens just below; are you old-fash ioned enough to read Dickens? " " Life must be dreary work without him. But I was a greedy reader in my young days; I know him too well now, and I am waiting to for get him a little. I was able to re-read ' Great Ex pectations ' the other day, and it was a joy! Do you remember the description of Mr. Wopsle's 'Hamlet'?" " I remember that he was ' massive and con crete.' " "Yes; and Gertrude, with her regal tooth ache, and the body of Ophelia arriving for inter ment in an empty black box, with the lid tum bling open! Dear Dickens! " " The descriptions of plays in his letters were always delightful," said Gilmour. "Yes; he was half an actor; his dramatic sympathies were perfect. Ah, you are looking at my dear little 'Goblin Market'; that's a first edition. Aren't the two Rossetti pictures charm ing, especially the tiny one of the girls asleep, and the goblins passing the window? Compare it with the work of the modern illustrator whose only idea of fantasy is hideousness." " Where do you keep your modern books, bytheby? These are all the immortals." " Sundry of the living immortalsóMeredith, Hardy, and othersóare on the shelves; but if by modern you mean the ' up-to-date ' novel (ugly but unavoidable phrase), I don't buy them. They are the class of book that I get from a library, and return promptly." " Don't you believe in the New Woman, then? " " She is frequently neither new nor womanly; but I am not speaking now of her aims and claims: I only say that when she writes she often mistakes coarseness for strength, and that is a fault I could cry over if it did not make me so angry." She emphasized the last word with a little stamp of her foot, and sat down laughing in a low wicker chair: he was still kneeling near the books. " I'm afraid my chief feeling was disappoint ment," he said. " I'd seen a great many reviews of two or three novels, and when I read the books themselves, I thought: Well, is that all?" " Their intentions are very good," said Win nie slowly; " I sympathize with their message heart and soul, but the feet of those who bear it are not beautiful upon the mountains, and they proclaim it out of tune. If it could only be freed from the mud and the discord! But they main tain that these unlovely things are an essential part of it." " I rather think," said Gilmour, " that one reason for the tremendous sale of these books is that they afford opportunities for discussing sub jects that it would be difficult, to say the least of it, to introduce into conversation otherwise." " True; and these discussions, in nine cases out of ten, damage the cause of woman more than I like to think of. I do resent, too, the way some women publish their worst thoughts, their most morbid imaginings, saying: ' Thus think women; we are all like this.' Then men, with their talent for formulating generalities, say: 'A woman writing of her own sex must tell the truth.' The mischief of the written word does not even stop there, for some feeble folk set to work to imitate pen-and-ink vagaries in their own lives; and the rest of us know that it's all about as serious, sensible and original as the bad little boy who says ' Damn! ' to be just like papa." " It is a fashion, and will pass as fashions do." " I hope so indeed: I know too many books that faithfully follow the mediaeval recipe of hew ing pigs into gobbets. Let's talk of something else; I feel too strongly on this subject." " ' Let's '! Are you one of the women who find it impossible to say ' let us '? " " I suppose I am, though I never thought of it. I did not know you were a purist about parts of speech." "Yes; it's an old-fashioned particularity I own, and it does not extend to my own talk." " That is convenient." The bearer brought lamps, for the dusk had drawn in quickly, and the soft golden glow that came through their spreading shades seemed to complete the charm that Gilmour always found in that fantastic room. " Do you like kneeling on the floor? There is a chair very near you," said Winnie. " Thank you ; but one can sit on a chair any where, and I do not kneel on everyone's floor," he said, laughing a little from sheer content. " You might if you liked, I should think; it's an easily gratified desire. My few poor books are not accustomed to having so much notice taken of them." " They are telling me your character. What is this big, solemn volume? " "That? Shakespeareóa reprint of the first folio." " And there are two other editions next to it; you read him, then?" She laid a finger on her laughing lips. " Hush! one must not own it," she whis pered; " one reads Shakespeare as secretly as one does the Bible; but I have read him, especially in far-away days." " Do you find that you have no time for reading now? " " The people who say that would find no time for reading if they were imprisoned for life in the British Museum Library; I know the phrase." "This is a well-worn Keats; may I look at it?" " Do; it's larded with sweet flowersódried onesóand is sure to open at ' Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel! ' by reason of the sweet basil there." " Yes, it does ; why that is tulsi, the holy tulsi of the Hindus." " It is also sweet basil, though it was rather a grief to me when I discovered it. The smell is a homely one, and suggests kitchen-gardens and pot herbs." " Isabel should have chosen lemon verbena. Where is the ' Ode to a Nightingale '? One verse of it describes India." " Which verse? Read it, please." He was admirably without self-consciousness, and read: " ' The weariness, the fever, and the fret, Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies, Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.' " " Oh, what a dreary India! " said Winnie. " It is not half as bad as that ; why do you take such melancholy views? " " One can't help it at times. Has your life been so happy that you have never taken them yourself? " " Does anyone ever own to a happy life? " she said, smiling. " I have noticed that when fortune-tellers look at a hand they always say, ' Ah, you have had a great deal of trouble ! ' and the plumpest and most prosperous people agree complacently." " Yes; but your own lifeóhas it been happy? " " No, I think I may honestly say it has not; though perhaps my miseries were minor ones." He was feverishly anxious that she should speak of her husband's death. " But when your great sorrow came," he be gan blunderingly, " that must have been " Winnie sprang up with a shiver, and went to the window. " I never can talk of my troubles; it hurts too much. Listen how this terrible rain goes onó there is something inexorable about it; the very sunset was gray to-night, and looked as though there would never be a sunrise."
" Have I offended you? " he asked, following her." Nonsense, no! Only this weather puts me on the sharp edge. Please sing me somethingó a joyful song for choice." She spoke at random, with the instinct that it would be well to check his next words. He was more minded to speak than to sing, but the tone of her voice warned him to respect her mood, and he went to the piano at once. After all, it was a very fitting time for " To Anthea, who may command him anything." Winnie started a little at the opening chords and the first burst of words: "Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be ; Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee.' " What a fervent, passionate thing it was! She had never heard him sing like this before; and she .tilted a primrose shade that her face might be more deeply shadowed, as the tender phrases rang out and the triumphant ending came: ' " Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me ! And hast command of every part To live or die for thee.' " She tried to say, " What a nice old-fashioned, extravagant song that is!" but her lips moved mutely; and he was standing near her, looking like one who seeks an answer. The rattle of Janet's rickshaw in the veranda broke a tension of expectation, and was an intolerable interrup tion. " It is too late now," he said. " Good-byeó Anthea." She realized afterwards that, instead of the usual leave-taking, he had bent his head and kissed her hand. At the moment the act had seemed to be part of his song.
CHAPTER XIV.
" ONCE A BOY A ROSE ESPIED."
" Shy as the squirrel that leaps among the pine-tops,
Wayward as the swallow overhead at set of sun,
She whom I love is hard to catch and conqueró
Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won !
George Meredith. "
What are you going to wear to-day, Nancy? " " My thinnest gray habit, dear. It's sure to be rather warm." " Then you had better have your rickshaw; you never give your jampdnies any work in the daytime." " One generally does ride to a picnic, and my blue gown is very thick." " Why not put on the white serge? " said Mrs. Ivey. " But it will only be a little picnic, mammyó Mrs. Alchin said soóand the white serge is nearly new." " Thrifty child! But I don't like you to look shabby, and the fewer people there are, the more you will be noticed. Run and dress now, dear; you mustn't keep Mrs. Edwards wait ing."
Nancy's white serge was fashioned in a waysuggestive of the riding habit that stage tradi tion assigns to Lucy Ashton, and her sweet eyes were shadowed by a large black hat, with black feathers. " I wish you were coming, mother," she said, as she turned slowly round for inspec tion. " I am not fond of picnics; I always have a headache after spending a whole day out of doors. Yes, darling; you look quite neat. Take your cloak, and don't forget to put it on coming home." Winnie was waiting at a turn of the road. " Fairly punctual," she said. " And what a pretty gown, Nancy! But I really cannot allow you to wear black and white; that is poaching on my preserves." " There are three pink roses somewhere under my hat-brim at the back," said Nancy apologetic ally. Winnie was in a French gown of white and black check, her vivid hair crowned by a strik ingly-becoming toque, which, viewed in the hand, seemed a well-nigh demented construction of jet, white velvet, and black violets. She appeared to be a little absent, and sat gazing across to where Simla lay out on the mountain-side looking like a collection of toy-houses. " Are you waiting for anyone? " asked Nancy simply. " Oh no. Janet is on ahead, escorted by Mr. Roseway. That flirtation is becoming most marked, and you and I will take care of each other." Their rickshaws rattled quickly down the long steep road to the Glen. Early September had brought a break in the rains as a promise of their ending, and the day was radiantly lovely. Moss and ferns and a revel of green things ran riot over the hillsides, scaling the tree-trunks, and draping the branches with emerald velvet and waving verdant plumes. A babble of little streams hur rying down to the valleys made the air soft and musical, and ranges of washed mountains spread far as eye might see in the dazzle of the morning sun." What's to be done now? " asked Winnie, when the road brought them to a sign-post point ing to tangled depths of green which it termed " The Glen." " I have never been here before. Do we leave the rickshaws, and walk on our own flat feet?" " Yes; we shall soon find the others." Their path lay over short turf enamelled with young flowers, and blotched with sudden lumps of gray rockódown, and still down. " The sun is much too hot. Why do people choose such a stuffy place? " said Winnie, walk ing delicately. " The Glen itself is beautifully cool. Don't be afraid." " At last! I began to think you weren't com ing! " cried an eager voice.
And Nancy blushed till she was as pink as her three roses. " How do you do, Mr. Adare? Are we on the right track?" Winnie spoke, but he did not answer her. He was looking at the down-dropped lashes that for once veiled Nancy's frank eyes. " Is this the right way? " repeated Winnie. " Oh yes; it's only just a little lower down." Sholto Adare was a tall, thin young man, with a long pale face and a small black moustache. He belonged to an English cavalry regiment, and had only come to Simla to spend a month's leave and escape the plains at their worst. But the brief visit seemed fated to have a lasting influence upon him, for Nancy's young eyes, still wound ing where they looked, had all unwittingly wrought mischief. She hardly spoke as they followed the wind ing path to its ending near a patch of smooth grass, a bickering little brown stream, and a group of people. Winnie saw at a glance that the tall figure she looked for was not there, and the day became a weariness. " It's so good of you to come, Mrs. Ed wards!" cried Mrs. Alchin, in her thin voice; " but I'm afraid you'll find it dreadfully dull. I haven't a single A.D.C. for you." " You are too modest. I can see Captain Curtis over there." " Oh, but I thought he didn't count. He's not viceregal." " We'll ask him if he thinks he counts." " And Sir Galahad cried off at the last min ute, which I call mean of him. I used to fancy that he had better manners than most men, but he is just as bad as the rest of them. I got a note from him yesterday, saying that he was off to Narkunda for a week." " It must be beautiful there now," said Win nie, imitating a smile so perfectly that Mrs. Al-chin was deceived. " I wonder if she has refused him," she thought. " Men are fools enough for anything, but, still, it is hardly likely. The Pinchbeck would appreciate her bird in the hand now that Colonel Strath-Ingram has escaped from the snare of the fowler." And Winnie's heart was crying out, " Why has he gone? Is it to think, or to escape, or to show me that he wishes to free himself from any thought of me? He might have told me that he meant to go." The picnic was a small oneóless than twenty people. Curtis stood aloof for a few minutes, but Adare talked so resolutely to Nancy that he per force had to content himself with a place near Winnie. " You look sad," she said. " I think it re quires a really young and merry heart, like Mrs. Bertie Vernon's, to enjoy, or even endure, a pic nic."" I like them sometimes." " I mistrust our hostess; she is sure to make us do fearful things. Even when one dines with her one has to play games that are either intel lectual or ignominious, sometimes both." " The last time I dined there she made us all draw pigs with our eyes shut, and write our names under themó' portraits,' she called it," said Curtis gloomily. " Oh, I know that ' Pig Book.' I have learnt to turn yawns to laughter over it; but it's better than ' Word-making and Word-taking.' " Lunch was not a merry feast, though Mrs. Alchin was in elaborately jovial spirits. Nancy scarcely spoke, and Adare ate nothing, but lived by gazing. "How I hate sitting on the ground!" said Winnie softly. " It makes an old woman of me in ten minutes. It's an absolutely unbecoming position; and when with difficulty we all scram ble to our feet again, we shall look like a cripples' home out for a holiday." " I beg your pardon? " said Curtis. " I couldn't possibly repeat it. The silly little speech has gone where the old moons go, and the snows of yester-year, and the loves of last season, and other forgotten things." " Yes, last season seems peculiarly far away," he said, with mournful emphasis. " Did you bring your banjo, Captain Curtis? " asked Mrs. Alchin. " Oh, I'm awfully sorry; I quite forgot." " You remembered to forget," whispered Winnie. " But it doesn't really matter," he went on, " for Mrs. Edwards can sing most charmingly without any accompaniment at all. No one will regret my strumming." " Oh, do sing us something, Mrs. Edwards! " " Do sing! " " You must sing! " rose in a polite little chorus. " But I have forgotten everything except songs from ' Les Cloches,' and I am utterly and absolutely tired of them, and so will you all be soon." " Oh no; just one verse." Winnie looked mischievous, and broke into a merry little refrain: But I forgot: Major Morice told us not to sing one line of our songs in public. ' Les Cloches ' is so perfectly new and fresh that he wishes it to come as a dazzling surprise. You must all keep my secret." " Well, if nobody will sing to us, I think we had better play something, some really nice game. I brought pencils and paper on purpose," said Mrs. Alchin. Rising to get them, she went across to Nancy. " Will you take Sholto to see the bend of the stream I admire so much, dear? Where the big rock is, you know. I want him to see it." Sholto sprang up eagerly, and Mrs. Alchin 1 Apples are tossed, hearts are lost, And if a girl should be won this day I wish good luck may betide her sat down by Winnie. Her guests were now talk ing with animation, hoping to avert the dreaded games. " Aren't they a good-looking couple? " she said, indicating the two slender young figures walking away together. " I call him too dark and sallow for beauty," said Winnie. " Oh, but that makes such a good contrast with the Lily Maid. I have known Sholto ever since he was a school-boy. He is a dear fellow, and his mother is charming." " Really? " said Winnie. And Curtis bit his moustache. " Yes, and so devoted to him. He is her only child, and it is the dream of her life that he should marry and settle down. They are so rich, too. He had a long minority, and she simply lives for him. Her collection of old lace is enough to kill one with envy. Nancy is a very lucky girl; I was telling Mrs. Ivey so yesterday." " Isn't that a little previous? " " It's a foregone conclusion," cried Mrs. Alchin, with a little shriek, " for it's an absolutely ideal matchóevery possible worldly advantage and love at first sight. Of course, dear little Nancy is not half clever enough for Sholto, but she is very sweet." " She has only known him a few days." " Life is not always measured by time, though, and emotions never," said Mrs. Alchin, sighing. " Do you never write? " asked Winnie quick ly. " That last phrase did so suggest one of the ' Pseudonym ' books." Mrs. Alchin took the bait. "It is strange that you should say that; I have been asked it so often. It must be some thing in the way I talk. I think I will write a novel some day, when I have time, and if I only put into it one half the queer people I have met, and the strange things that have happened in my life, it ought to be a great success." Nancy meanwhile was walking with long steps, swinging her white sunshade. She felt very self-conscious and uncomfortable, and won dered whether she herself or Mr. Adare was to blame for this. The place he occupied in her thoughts was disproportionate to the few days during which she had known him, and her sim ple mind could not account for this in any satis factory way. It was not that she liked him par ticularly, for she considered him amiable, but af fected, and his mode of speech and choice of words often struck her as being peculiar, and even fantastic. The brand of his University education was indelibly impressed upon him, and it was not a stamp that she admired or was accustomed to. She could only condone his weakness for quota tion because he shared it with her dear Mrs. Ed wards. Her own influence or effect upon him was a matter that she had not considered. She was not the type of girl who hopes to meet a lover, or at least an admirer, in each new acquaintance, and she could look at her face in a mirror without either exhilaration or expectation. She did not know that her whole life had been sweetened by her pleasant prettiness; she was like a rich man unable to realize poverty, and had no thought of the power of her charm of looks. It was an economical advantage that she could wear the simplest gowns, and had no difficulty in finding becoming hats; but for her the question of her appearance ended there. She could think of nothing to say; she had never found Sholto easy to talk to, and she raised her hand nervously to her cheek now and again, as though his gaze were a tangible touch. " You are walking very quickly," he said. " Yes; I always do." " Not always; the first time I saw you you were walking quite slowly." " How can you recollect? " " I forget nothing that concerns you." " This is the rock that Mrs. Akhin wanted you to see," said Nancy hastily. She was breath ing hurriedly after her quick walk, and sat down on a gray stone only large enough for one. " It's beautiful, but rather dreary," he said, after a moment of standing with bared head and upturned eyes; "why is India so flowerless? In all this miraculously green grass there is hardly a flower to be seen." " English streams are so lovely," said Nancy. " One of my aunts lives in the country; I always spent my summer holidays with her, and in a field not far from the house there was such a dear little stream. Meadowsweet grew in great clumps near it, and big blue forget-me-nots with quite pink buds, and tall flags, and those beautiful white daisies." Sholto threw himself on the grass at her feet. " You might be describing our brook, not the river that we boat on, though that is very lovely, too, in its way, but just as you say, a dear little stream. I came across a verse the other day which was like a breath of England: " How that elder piles and masses Her great blooms snowy-sweet ! Do you see through the serried grasses The forget-me-nots at your feet ? And the fringe of flags that encloses The water? and how the place Is alive with pink dog-roses Soft-coloured like your face ? " Nancy was uncomfortable and a little impa tient when he repeated verse; she thought it silly, and his voice changed in a way that worried her; it assumed a higher note, and its cadence became a cultured monotonous sing-song. " You really ought not to sit on the grass; you are sure to get cold or fever," she said. " Oh no, I am a very hardy creature; but tell me if you like that verse. To me it means home andóyou. ' Soft-coloured like your face.' " Nancy's face blushed from pink rose to crim son rose. " We ought to go back to the others; it will soon be tea-time."
" Ah, not yet ! Do stay a little longer to show that you are not angry with me." He attached a foolish importance to trifles, she thought; when she was with him, she was constantly either granting or pardoning some thing; and it was generally all about nothing. He leant a thin hand on the grass and looked at her earnestly; his dark eyes shone strangely in the face that was a little too long and much too pale. " It seems so strange to remember now that I could not make up my mind whether to come to Simla pr not," he said suddenly; " it's awful to think that I nearly went to Naini Tal." . " I believe it's a very pretty place," she said. She had found a little clump of rushes, and was trying to plait them into a basket. " But it was fate, and it began so soon. I saw you the very first morningóthe very first thing. I don't know why I went out earlyóI rarely do it; it was a spirit in my feet, I think. I went out that morning, and just by the lovely bit of road, where all those pine-trees are, near Chota Simla, I saw you." There was a pause; Nancy was very busy with her rushes. "You were alone and walking slowly; you looked as though you were thinking of some thing happy. You were all in blueóa dull, soft blueówith a big white hat." " A pith solah topee, I suppose," she said, snapping a rush. 14 " You looked at me as you passed; I saw your eyes. I saw nothing else that morning, though I walked miles." " You must have a most wonderful mem ory." " I saw you again in the afternoon," he went on; " you were riding by your mother's rickshaw, and I heard you laugh. I found out your name then, and came to call next day; do you remem ber? " "-Yes; mother and I noticed that you hardly spoke; you did not quote anything that day;" and she laughed nervously and more loudly than she intended. "The quotation was in my heart; will you hear it? ' Here, by God's grace, is the one maid for me.' " His long fingers caught her soft hands and the green tangle that they held. She started, and her eyes were like a frightened child's. " You are not surprised, Nancy? Darling, surely you knewóyou must have knownóthat I loved you from the very first? " " I didn'tóindeed I didn't!" " Don't say that ; how could I have shown you more plainly? The thought of you has been like a golden thread running through everything. Why, you are trembling like a startled bird! My sweet, I never meant to frighten you; forgive me! " He stood up, letting go her hands, and the action was a release and a relief to her, though her heart still almost choked her by too rapid beating. " The days have been so long to me, fraught with so much since I knew you ; the hope of win ning you has been the best part of my life for ages, as it seems to me. I had forgotten that it is only a little over a fortnight, as we count time, since we met. Dearest, I am so grieved to have startled you; I should have remembered that flower-face and flower-soul went together. It half delighted me and half maddened me from the first that you were always so cold and pure and sweet." " IóI am so sorry that you think you care for me," began Nancy, feeling for words. " Ah, darling, not that ! I have been too hasty; I don't ask for a definite answer now; I can't take one. I'll wait for monthsófor years, if you like! " She longed to be alone; the thought of her own white room was like a haven of refuge. She was excited, grieved, and a little glad: thrilled with a strange sense of power, and troubled by a feeling of absolute helplessness. If she could only run away and be alone! He was too near her, his voice was too eager, and she could not look at his eyes. The crimson flush on her cheeks was so deep that it disfigured her; she had an impulse to hide her face, and raised her handkerchief nerv ously to her lips now and again. " I won't say a word more now," said Sholto, in a restrained voice, after a little silence; "you will teach me patience, darling! I believe I have been a spoilt child all my life. That is my moth er's fault. You don't know how she will love you, Nancy! " " But you mustn't think that " " I shall think nothing till you give me the right to do so; I shall only have dreams, happy dreams." "We had better end it now; if you said I was unkind later " she began, forcing herself to speak clearly, but still with downcast eyes. He was on the grass at her feet again. " Believe me, I could never blame you what ever happened, and, remember, I ask nothing now, but that you should listen to me again in the future. You are plighted to nothing, only to let me speak." She sighed, and bent her head silently. " You told me the other day that you liked living in the country," he said; " Swanhills, my home, you know is such a dear old house in the heart of Worcestershire, a region that is all flushed pink with apple-orchards in the spring. I know you would love the garden; roses are my mother's favourite flower, and her rose-garden is a great delight to her." " You won't misunderstand me?" said Nancy. " Only trust me! " Bending his dark head, he kissed the hem of her white dress as it lay upon the grass. " Oh, don't ! " she cried, half laughing, half sorry. ONCE A BOY A ROSE ESPIED. " I would so gladly kiss your little shoe," said Sholto. On the way back Nancy was struck by a stinging thought, a poisoned suggestion: had her mother guessed this, and wished for it? Was there treachery in the choice of the white serge? Uncertainty was unbearable; she must know at once: it was terrible to doubt her best beloved. " Didóhave you said anything to my mother about this? " she asked suddenly. " Not a word; I did not venture to till I had spoken to you, and had your permission to speak. Shall you tell her now? " he added, after a mo ment. "Why, I tell mother everything!" she said, with wide-eyed surprise. " Oh, you darling! Forgive me; I beg your pardon for saying that." And they returned to the others, who were wearily and drearily playing bouts-rimts.
CHAPTER XV.
" THAT THOU ART BLAMED SHALL NOT BE THY DEFECT."
" The stars some cadence use ;
Forthright the river flows ;
In order fall the dews.
Love bfows as the wind blows.
Blows ! . . . and what reckoning shows
The courses of his chart ?
A spirit that comes and goes ;
Love blows into the heart." W. E. Henley.
It was raining heavily from a leaden sky when Gilmour set out for the last march into Simla. Dank clouds hid everything save a few feet of the wet road before him, and the sodden pines dripped drearily, and the air was close and muggy. The clinging damp condensed into little water-drops on every hair of his tweed Norfolk jacket, and his strong boots squelched as he walked quickly through the watery ways. His face was set and troubled, for he had been compelled to make an admission of failure, and although it was only a mental admission, it was still very galling. He compared himself to a man who, after years of perfect health, suddenly contracts a mortal dis easeóan exaggerated simile; but his feelings were overwrought, his whole mode of thought exaggerated. Since the evening when he had sung " To Anthea," his mind and heart had been at mortal war, and his week at Narkunda was intended to give them space and place for a final conflict; but they were still fighting.
He assured himself that his love for Winnie Edwards was a transient glamour, and wished to Heaven that it were so in the same breath. His scheme of existence had never included the possibility of experiencing a passionate love; he preferred a quiet domestic affection, a homely glow to warm the family hearth, not this brilliant leaping flame. He had been smitten down as the sun strikes: yes, it was very like sunstroke óas sudden, as unexpected, almost as unwel come. For why, in the name of all that was per verse and impish, should he have been so power fully attracted by what he theoretically detested? It was bad enough to be in love with a woman who rouged her cheeks, and was noted for her ankles, and whose dark eyes gave the lie to her resplendent hair; but all that would not have mattered if she had not been a widow. And a widow with a child; he hated the very thought of Daisy. It would be impossible for him ever to forget his predecessor. Then he checked himself; he was assuming far too boldly that she would be willing to marry him. She had given no sign that she cared for him, and he had given no surety that his thoughts of her were serious. He was pledged to nothing. He might leave Simla at the end of the season, in all honour and hon esty, never to see her again; and the prospect filled him with desolation. If he lacked courage for this, if he ignored the doubts and fears that came and went and came again like shadows, and told her of all the love and longing that filled his heart, what would her answer be? He thought he knew, and noth ing coherent followed that blessed thought for some little time. Then the Demon of Doubt returned, bring ing seven other devils with him. Even granting this, what would come after the first fine careless rapture? Could it be happiness? To begin with, her money was an obstacle, and those cursed dia monds! He was unduly sensitive, perhaps, but he loathed the idea of seeing his wife decked in the gifts of her dead husbandógifts, too, that it was impossible for him to hope to rival. As for her money, not a penny of that should benefit him; it should be settled on herself and Daisy. Daisy again! Winnie had grown strangely reticent about her lately. He had even tried, with an instinct of self-torture, to induce her to talk of the child, and she had evaded the subject. He could not bear to think that she was an un loving mother, but surely she was behaving like one. A mere search for amusement had made her leave her child in the first place, and she had no photographs of her, only the little paint ing in the copper frame. It was pain to think that no child of his could be her first and dear est, but it was misery to imagine her devoid of natural affection. Now that he came to remem ber she had no photographs of her husband, eitheróat least, none in evidence in her drawingroom; and, save at the very beginning of their acquaintance, she had made no reference to him. He had once spoken of Mr. Edwards to Miss Rosslyn, but she was so evidently distressed and confused that pity had silenced his curiosity. The obvious explanation that Mrs. Edwards was an adventuress had been rejected by him long before. In spite of her follies, she had the eyes, voice, and manner of a good woman. If she was a divorcee, the sufferer for another's fault, it would account for Miss Rosslyn's embar rassed manner, and her own avoidance of her hus band's name; but he remembered that this avoid ance was of recent date, and dismissed the idea.
No doubt Mr. Edwards lay under a highlyrespectable tombstone at Kensal Green or else where, and he was tormenting himself for noth ing. Had she understood the meaning of his im pulsive action, of the one word " Anthea " on that gray, rainy, glorious evening, or was she ac customed to more explicit declarations? Then his mood changed. He was a brute to malign her, merely because, like another most innocent lady, she was " fair, lived well, loved company." After all, why should she not use the * foolish, harmless embellishments that have been dear to women since the world began? If he judged her by her friends, she shone out faultless. Mrs. Bertie Vernon was sooner caught than the pestilence. There was no knowing whom she might elect to afflict. She did not count; but Mrs. Myles was a thoroughly nice little woman, and Nancy Ivey one of the sweetest girls he had ever seen, and they had both an enthusiasm for Winnie. It spoke volumes in her praise, too, that Mrs. Ivey often asked her to chaperon Nancy. Even that " fretful porcupine " Mrs. Tykes seemed to be fond of her. Who could help being? But yet, being all she was that was dear and love worthy, if she could only be quite different, how delightful it would be! He thought of his moth er's pale face and gray hair, and his sister's honest rosy cheeks; the metallic head and the careful tinting would seem meretricious, and utterly out of harmony in that quiet, pleasant little house. His decision was as far away as ever; but the clouds dispersed as he reached Simla, the rain ceased, the sun came to dry the world, and he should see her soon. It was ten days since he had seen her last, and, oh, the age away! A printed notice from Major Morice was waiting him at the clubóa rehearsal of " Les Cloches," principals and chorus together, was to be held at 4.30. He was implored to attend in terms of almost passionate entreaty. With all his haste in changing and riding down to the theatre, he was only in time to be too late for the chance of a word with Winnie before rehearsal began. He saw her livery, black with a white monogram, among the waiting Jampdnies at the stage door, and Cripps pricked a recog nising ear and wagged a friendly tail from the rickshaw, where he lay in great comfort. Her voice, raised in song, greeted him as he entered: " ' I must be princess, leastways, madam ; That from my style may well be seen.' " The chorus was arranged somewhat awkward ly on the narrow stage, for they had not yet learnt their groupings; and the lamps at the wings lit up Winnie, who was the central figure. The crude lights and hard shades needed a lover's eye to condone them, but he thought he had never seen her look more beautiful. She was all in whiteóa simple woollen gown, but it shone out against the dark coats and skirts that were the only wear of the other ladies, and a little Puritan bonnet of black velvet made an incident of dull shadow among her gleaming hair. Gilmour slipped quietly into one of the stageboxes, where the keen eyes of Morice, stagemanaging from the stalls, soon detected him. " Hullo, Gilmour! better late than never. I began to wonder when you were coming back. You've missed a lot of rehearsals. Take your place over to the right there." " I have had wretched weather all the time I was away," he said, when his first chance came of speaking to Winnie. " Oh, have you been away? " she said, glanc ing up from some fashion plates. " No, I haven't quite made up my mind as to the colours yet, Mrs. Bryce. I wanted to ask you. I suppose we ought to harmonize." She had not even noticed that he had been away. He accepted her words in all simplicity, and did not draw the honey from them that a vainer man might have found there. " Second actósecond act, please," cried Morice. And they formed anew. It was a loathsome way of spending an after noon, Gilmour thought, as he joined mechanically in a chorus, herded together like cattle in a pen, on a grubby little stage in a stuffy little theatre, howling doggerel. Germaine gave him a very sweet glance. He found it difficult to smile in answer. " Wrong exit, Gilmouróleft, left." Well, thank goodness, he was off the stage now, and the principals would be making fools of themselves for some time before the chorus was wanted again; he would have a cigarette outside. A burst of laughter came from one of the stage-boxes, where a woman in white was talking to several men. " Less noise, please, Serpolette," said Morice. Vulgar familiar beast, Morice! He might as well call her by her own Christian name while he was about it! That was what women got for mixing themselves up in these absurd theatricals. If he ever married, his wife should never be al lowed to act. " Do you think there is any tea? I am so dreadfully thirsty," said a lady of the chorus plaintively. " The usual school-feast turn-outóthick cups and chunks of cakeóis spread near the stairs," he replied gloomily. " Oh, thank you very much. I'll come with you and get a cup; my throat is absolutely parched. I often think that people don't realize how much we actors give up for their sake. I always have to take my ride in the morning now." She was an angular woman, with one of those unfortunate noses which have been described for all time as " not so much a feature as a limb "; but the eyes above the long nose shot self-satis fied glances, and the mouth beneath it simpered complacently. Gilmour felt certain that she con sidered herself a great acquisition to the com pany.
" Only it's rather lonely all by one's self," she went on. " Do. you never ride in the morning, Major Gilmour? " " I can never manage to be up in time in the hills, somehow," he said hastily. " It takes hot weather to get me out before breakfast." " Oh, what lazy people you men are! You all say that." " How do you think ' Les Cloches ' is getting on? You know, I have missed several rehears als," he said, changing the subject. " Oh, awfully well! Mrs. Bryce will be sweet as Germaine. It's a great pity we are not equally fortunate with Serpolette." " Mrs. Edwards seems to me to be about the only one who knows her part." " Oh, she can sing, of course, but she is the sort of woman who thinks about nothing but flirting and amusing herself. Think of coming to a rehearsal in a white dress! " A fresh contingent of the chorus filled the small room to over-brimming, and Gilmour es caped. He had lost his desire for a cigarette, and prowled among the shadows until he dis covered Winnie, who was alone in a box, observ ing a little altercation between the Baillie on the stage and Morice in the stalls. " It simply comes to this: if I am to act the part at all, Morice, I must do it in my own way. Of course, if you can get a substitute, I shall be only too glad to " " My dear fellow, we are less than a fort night off the night. All that I wanted to say " Don't be agitated," said Winnie to Gilmour; " we are used to this falling out of faithful friends, and it means nothing. I hope the chorus is not trembling, and expecting the whole ring o' bells to break up." " I should not care, for one." " You are the exception that proves the rule; you make a point of being so. Are they drinking tea here? " " In battalions and hollow squares. Would you like some? " " No, thank you. I had a great deal at home in a thin cup; I cannot drink over a stone wall. I wish these good people would go on rehearsing." " After all, it is I who have got to act the part, and " " But, my dear fellow, all I wanted to say " I do now let loose my opinion," said Win nie, looking from the flushed face of the Baillie to the shadowed features of Morice in the stalls: " the more public private theatricals are, the worse it is for them. I don't suppose a mere ordinary play is as bad as an operetta, but with all these people who think they can sing, the naive displays of vanity and spite have been a lit tle terrible. It is human failings seen through a magnifying-glass. I'm so glad my own are mer cifully hidden from my piercing ken." " It hadn't struck me in that light." " Consider the chorus from that point of view. Aren't you all longing to be principals, except you, the shining exception, who declined to be? That woman with the nose, Mrs. Layard, simply transfixes me with an evil eye as soon as I begin to sing. I see her lips moving to the very phrases as she thinks how much better she would render them."
" You are pleased to be severe this after noon." " I am suffering from a determination of ' Just look at that, just look at this,' to the head, and Nugent deaved me for one mortal hour this morning about frocks for the tiresome business. It is greatly to my credit that she still lives." " Are the dresses to be very pretty? " " Peasant costumes chiefly of the degradingly conventional kind. I am having sabots made for the first act; they will look so delightfully ab surd with silk stockings. Do listen to those men! " " It's absolutely necessary at that point that I must be in the very centre of the stage." " Be all over it if you like, my dear chap; only do let us get on to the next scene." " Well, but you clearly understand that " "Talk about women being unreasonable!" said Winnie; " why, two women would have set tled it long agoówound up with a fit of tears or a fit of temper, if there was no other way." " Unluckily, we are debarred from that out let."" Not the temper. You must miss the tears, I should thinkóI could not get on without them; I suppose you swear, though, and that does just as well, and does not give you red eyes. Oh dear! I can't endure these squabbling creatures any longer. Major Morice! Major Morice! He is too excited to hear me: give me that little chair, please. She stood up and deliberately threw the chair over the box edge into the stalls below; the crash echoed through the small theatre. " I only did it to call your attention, gentler methods having failed," she explained, in the si lence that followed. " Listen: it's getting very late, and we none of us want to stay here any longer than we must. Please get on to the next scene, and you and the Baillie can have pistols and coffee after dinner." She carried her point, and the rehearsal pro ceeded. "Here's a how-to-do!" said Winnie, when the released members of the company trooped away, and Cripps welcomed her reappearance tempestuously. " Down, Cripps, down! I love you very much, and I'm delighted to see you again, but I don't want proof impressions of own toes all down the front of my gown. Yes, we are going to walk home, but that is no reason why you should go quite mad." " May I come too? " said Gilmour. " Yes, do; you have not described your moun tain fastnessesóslownesses, I ought to sayóyet. You have not said one word about the inevitable snows and sunsets. When I write a book on India, I won't mention a snow or a sunset from the first page to the last; I'll do all the requisite padding with pine-forests and dawns. Let's go up on the Ridge and see if the snows are visible to-night." " Most lame and impotent conclusion." 15 " Not at all. What's the good of being a woman, if I mayn't change my mind every other second? " Cripps was their barking herald to the crest of the Ridge. The sunset glow had faded; the snows had died, and were lying in state, with stars for their corpse-candles. The chill white, gleaming through the twilight, was the coldest thing in all the world. Winnie made the sign of the cross. " 'Come away, for Life and Thought here no longer dwell,' " she said softly. " There will be a resurrection at dawn," said Gilmour. " Ah, bless you for understanding! I walked here last night with my dear good Janet; all was as it is now, and while I stood wrapped in the wonder of it, she said, ' Isn't it beautiful? It's just like whipped white of egg, only grander! ' " " And what did you say? " " I said, ' Let's go home, dear.' " " Will you say it now, if I give you the same provocation? " " Three words of it, if you like, even four, as you always insist on my saying ' let us ' instead of ' let's.' I heard myself talking of ' Let us's Diary ' the other day." " Do you keep a diary? " " Only the dry bones of oneóa mere record of fact. It is supposed to show a well-balanced mind; therefore my Aunt Agatha made me begin the practice when I was ten years old."
It was the first time that she had mentioned the name of any relation, and he caught eagerly at the reference. " Did you live with her? You have never told me one word about your childhood." " Does one generally talk of one's child hood? " said Winnie, laughing. " If it comes to that, I know nothing of yours." "I'm afraid it wouldn't interest, you, but I have often wondered if your parents were still living." " If they were, I should not be here. Cripps, drop that dirty bone this minute! Greedy dog! " " So ' Aunt Agatha 'óI beg your pardon, but I do not know the lady's nameóbrought you up?" " She did, indeed; I owe her more than I can tellóeverything, in fact." Then, with one of those sudden changes of voice and manner which so frequently puzzled her acquaintances, she went on: " Do you know, these absurd theatricals have demoralized me. I am actually thinking of giv ing recitations in character, only I know Mrs. Bertie Vernon will insist on doing the same, and make the whole thing ridiculous." The sound of Mrs. Bertie's name always si lenced Gilmour. Two rickshaws passed them. A tall man walked by the first one, and the occupant of the second bade Winnie " Good-night " in a fresh young voice. " There go Mrs. Ivey and Nancy, with Sholto Adare in attendance as usual," said Winnie. " Oh, wise young man! he is walking by the mother's rickshaw. I suppose he is to be the favoured one, and in some ways I am glad, and in others I am not so sure." " He seems a nice young fellow, but a trifle thin-skinned. He has been a bit spoilt, I fancy." " Very likely. He is the only son of his mother, and she is a widow." " So is my mother. I wonder if I have been spoilt, too." "Are you an only son?" "Yes; I have one sister, younger than I am. The dusk had gathered quickly; a veil of shade hung between their faces, and the pleasant evening twilight seemed to invite and encourage confidential speech. Gilmour followed a sudden impulse, and talked of his home and his mother, of far-away days, and of early ambitions; and Winnie said little, but when she spoke, it was in the low, gentle voice he loved best. They passed the turning to Deodar Cottage without noticing it. The rickshaw lamp was lighted behind them, and the pine-shadowed road before them was so dark that the white body of Cripps, hurrying on in front, only showed now and again. "My heavens!" said Winnie suddenly and shrilly, looking at her wrist-watch by the rick shaw light ; " are you aware that it is ten minutes to eight, and I am dining out at the other end of Simla at a quarter past? Where are we? We seem to have gone half round Jakko. Observe the terrible results of being what Janet, when she was a little girl, used to call ' obejogrifal,' mean ing 'autobiographical.' Cripps! Cripps! come here. Oh, thanks; put him in anywhere near my feet. I'm sorry I can't offer you a lift. Would you like to take the place of one of myjampdnies? There's a generous offer! Good-night. Chello, jampdnies ; jeldi, jeldióas quick as you can ! " Gilmour stood alone in the darkness with the words of a checked declaration trembling un spoken on his lips.
CHAPTER XVI.
" WHOSE FEET DO TREAD GREEN PATHS OF YOUTH AND LOVE."
" The forest thinks, too, that the laughing spring,
Who is his all in-all,
Is nobody and naught compared with love ;
And that he were to blame for growing green
In spring, except love asked him to grow green.
The forest thinks that tears would die away,
If all had love, as ev'ry nest hath eggs,
And ev'ry head of maize its feathery cap." Roumanian Folk-song.
Nancy was troubled. A new element, a dis tracting excitement, had forced its way into her quiet life, and she longed for the peaceful days to return. She was nervous and restless, doubting her own thoughts and feelings ó doubting the value of her decisions and the strength of her purposes. The loneliness which is an essential part of the atmosphere surrounding every human being was borne in upon her mind for the first time, and it was a desolating realization. There had never before been a trouble that her mother could not soothe away, and to know that the dear mother could not help her now was to feel the solid ground failing beneath her feet. Mrs. Ivey herself was in a state of tender distraction, fearing to influence her child unduly, yet feeling that it might be her duty to do so for the sake of the girl's ultimate happiness. It had been an unconfessed annoyance to her hitherto that pretty Nancy's admirers were of an unsatisfactory description. There had been two óa young civilian, whose hardly-won learning had apparently left him no time to grow in either stature or grace, and an elderly major, who was prematurely confident that Nancy would be a kind and careful mother to his five orphaned children. But Sholto Adare, in appearance, man ner, youth, devotion, and position, was the ideal loveróthe lover of dreams. The mother's heart rejoiced to think that her cherished child would be saved from India, and delivered from all the Indian trials and troubles that she herself had undergone. Nancy's father was too busy administering justice and maintaining truth in a province that could have held half England, and asked for a few more counties, to be able to come to Simla, even to decide a daughter's fate. The thought of losing Nancy was equally repulsive to him in whatever garb the wooer came, and in answer to his wife's anxious letters, he would only say that the child was very young; she must do ex actly as she wished, and be in no hurry to make up her mind. Make up her mind! Nancy wondered some times if she possessed a mind, or only a bundle of indecisions. She wavered with the wind, as a ship saileth. It struck her as ridiculous that, all alone in her quiet room, with nothing to distract or agitate her, she should feel as vague and un knowing as when Sholto surrounded her with an atmosphere of devout observance; but thus it was. She wondered how she ought to feel. She was lost on a sea of wild conjecture, only landing at long intervals on desert islands of puzzled mis conception. Books and good counsel advised her to follow the dictates of her own heart, and her heart dictated nothing but miserable hesitation and postponement. Sholto was behaving irre proachably, which seemed to make her own con duct more culpable. She had. an uneasy fear, too, that every day of indecision tacitly pledged her to him, and though he was indignant at the whisper of this, and her mother gently put the question by, Mrs. Alchin rushed in trumpet-tongued. Sholto having rashly confided in her, she betrayed his confidence far and wide, and did her busy best to precipitate matters. Thanks to her efforts chiefly, Nancy began to feel that it was incumbent upon her to yield sooner or later, and that she was something of a criminal and a good deal more of a goose not to perform this action gracefully and immediately. But the whole strength of her sheltered maiden hood held her back. The white light of her young innocence fell on glowing reflections from a pas sion beyond her knowledge. Her eyes were dazed, and her thoughts troubled. They were in articulate thoughts, too; she could not phrase them even to herself. Solitude and the surround ings meet for deliberation were her chief desires, though thus far they had brought her neither comfort nor counsel. She had not the habit of deciding for herself, and that the first decision she was called upon to make should absolutely fix the fate of her own life and another's filled her with a well-justified terror. She was not habitually an early riser, but in these troubled times she lost the sound childsleeping which had made soft her pillow for nine teen years. One morning, three weeks after the eventful picnic, she woke early with an urgent need for fresh air and the wide world upon her. She had promised to ride with Adare that after noon, so she would not take out the pampered Brownie; but the sunshine was beautiful among the pine-trees, and soon after seven she was breathing their morning incense on the shadowed road of Observatory Hill. Her hair was pinned in an uneven lump under her shady hat. She had hastily put on the first serge skirt and white blouse that came to hand, but neither careless dress nor grave expression could disfigure her fair young face. She walked quickly, not noticing the beauti ful green layers of shade above and around her, only conscious of the great responsibility that clung so closely to her side and whispered her so near. She felt that she could not go on as she was doingóthe state of affairs needed ending; yet she was no more certain of herself than she had been on the day when he had first spoken. At least, she thought, now as then, that she did not care for him, but that was an answer he would not accept. He did not call it a definite answer; he only asked for time to make her love him. It surprised her that he was not too proud to risk a second refusal, but he told her he had no pride where the whole happiness of his life was concerned. The whole happiness of his life! And six weeks before he had not even heard of her existence. It was terrible to be a girl, to have the shap ing of two lives put into her hands, yet with nothing to show her how to use her power. She supposed that if she loved him she would know what to do. Girls in books always knew in a minute, and were not tormented with doubts, but Nancy did not think such happy certainty possi ble in the real world. Her mother would like her to marry him, and surely the dear and wise mother knew best. Per haps she was not capable of romantic loveóall girls were not; and her mother had said that the best and most lasting love often came after mar riage. But how could she tell that it was only possible to her to feel in this humdrum fashion? And she had been so certain that vacillation was almost a crime. She had despised girls who " played with men," and asked time to decide. The matter was perfectly simple; they either loved them or they did not. It was plain black or white. But she found now that nothing was black or white; but shaded in many different tones of gray. Mrs. Alchin had told her in so many words that she was " playing with poor Sholto."
Nancy frowned at the memory, and each day that she delayed, because she was try ing to do what was right and best for them both, counted as an additional reason why she should not " throw him over " in the end. It seemed impossible for grown-up women to escape a taint of vulgarity when they discussed those serious complications of feeling they called " love af fairs"; they were generally odiously facetious. Sholto Adare really understood her better at this crisis than anyone else, only he failed to realize how cruelly unfair her acceptance of him in her present mood of mind would be. He begged her to trust him to change her liking into love; he never seemed to doubt that he could do it. Men appeared to have a peculiar gift of happy self-confidence on that point. She remembered that the far-away Major, the refusal of whose square hand had not cost her a doubting moment, had used exactly the same words. She walked very quickly, looking at the ground with unseeing eyes, endeavouring to" be reasonable and to phrase and consider unformu lated thoughts and feelings. They soon narrowed themselves to one regret. If only she had never met him! She had been so happy for the last three years, the first years she had spent in her own home with her father and mother. She did not want to think of the future; the present had been perfect and complete before he came. True, there had been vague fancies and imaginingsóa dream that she blushed to remember; but that was an outgrown folly, and counted as nothing. She had light-heartedly supposed that she should marry some dayómost girls did; but she had bestowed little more thought upon it than upon the prospect of death. She assured herself now that it was highly probable that she would never care for anyone, and when she was quite old, five or six and twenty, she should make a marriage of reason, and be miserable all the rest of her life. It was a dreary thought. Sholto seemed good and kind and nice; he was young, and in some ways sympathetic; and she knew that she should appreciate the big house in the country, and the little one in London, and all the pleasures and advantages his money could give her. He frankly dwelt on these as a setting to the jewel, the jewel being himself. If she was to be doomed to a marriage of rea son, it might not be a hard fate to make him happy; surely she should find her own happiness in thinking always of someone else, never of her selfóthat was how a good woman ought to live. But was she likely to make him happy under these circumstances? Presumably he knew best what he wanted; but her honest soul shrank from the meanness of taking the best love of his heart and giving him a little lukewarm liking in ex change. Perhaps even this liking would not last during an engagement, for, in spite of studied self-restraint, he sometimes frightened her, and made her feel uncomfortable. She was much more ready to contemplate the possibility of marrying him when her mother spoke of it, than when he himself was the speaker. Something in his voice, and a strange hungry look he had, made her feel nervous, and as though she did not be long to herself. She always sprang unaided from Brownie's back after a ride with him; she shook hands with him as seldom as possible, and at moments would have promised anything only to escape and be alone. Suppose, instead of Sholto Adare, it had been Noel; but she was thinking of a man who wanted to marry her, not of one who cared nothing for her, and she gave her head a little backward shake to chase away the intruding thought. It was detestable to think constantly of love and marriage, and it made her feel vain and self-conscious; but yet it was a seri ous matter that needs must be considered and faced. She had never imagined that anyone could care for her as he did; it seemed cruel to waste such love, and she need never hope, she told her self in all humility, to gain it from another. Oh, if she could only tell what she ought to do! If he would go quite away and not try to see her, and not expect her to write to him for some time, she would not mind being engaged to him. " Good-morning! I did not think you ever went out so early." Nancy raised her eyes, and started. " I did not see you coming, Captain Curtis." " You were in a brown study, and never once looked up." Her first thought was excessive thankfulness that he was not Adare; her second, regret that he was himself, for certain memories of him were too much mingled with her dearest and most se cret thoughts. He turned and walked with her. " You are a long way from home; you must have started very early? " " I am a quick walker," she said, realizing at the same moment how far she had gone, and how tired she was. " You are a very pale one, at any rate. Look, that bench is quite dry; do rest for a few min utes! " The bench stood in a nook of the road, and was half hidden by bushes that had sprouted high during the rains. Nancy leant back and looked away and away across the hills, watching a fleecy cloud that sailed to wreck in a green shadowed valley, and Curtis looked at her, and there was a gentle silence. " I wonder how long it is since I have seen you alone," he said suddenly. " You did not come to the last dance," she said." Oh, good! you noticed that I wasn't there? No; I hadn't the heart to go." " It was a pretty dance, and not too crowded."
" I heard a piece of news in the afternoon, and that was my reason for staying away." " No bad news, I hope? " and Nancy's gray eyes came quickly back from five miles over the hills to glance at his grave face. "Yes; the worst in the whole world to me, and then it was contradicted the next day. Will you tell me the truth about it now? " "I? Do I know it?" How she hoped she was not visibly blushing! " Yes; indeed you do. Is it really true that you are engaged to Adare? " The rush of colour that flooded her cheek and neck was even swifter than her prompt denial, and he misunderstood. " Only thinking of it? I suppose you will be soon? " he said, almost roughly. Nancy felt that dignity demanded her imme diate departure, but the pine shadow was cool and sweet, and some soft power seemed to hold her from moving. " Won't you tell me? " he asked gently, after a moment. His gray sun-helmet lay on the bench beside him, and she could see that his eyes were more earnest than his voice. " I don't think it is a thing to talk about." " I do, seeing that everything depends upon it for me." There was a silence, and though her heart was beating as tumultuously as it had done in the Glen, she had no impulse of flight. She looked steadily at the little cloud, which had gone to pieces and was scattered in cotton-wool-like flecks on the hillside, and tried to count its frag ments to convince herself that she was perfectly calm. " It's not my fault that I've been silent all this time," he said, leaning forward; " I'm not a lucky fellow like Adare, with any amount of money of his own; I was obliged to look on gagged while he could speak. May I speak now? you won't be angry? " " I don't know what you want to say," mur mured Nancy, in the direction of the cloud. " That's because I've been put into this false position. Oh, Nancy! don't you know that I've loved you ever since last year? I fought against it all the winter, because I knew I was very hard up, and even supposing you managed to care for me, it would be a beastly life for you." She was silent; there was nothing for her to answer at the moment, and she wanted to laugh a little, though she felt it would be un seemly. " I thought I'd taught myself not to care, but the first glimpse of you at the beginning of the season knocked that on the head, and I knew I loved you more than ever, and always should." " Why, often you seemed as if you did not want to speak to me."
" Oh, if you had only known how hard it was to keep away! But what had I got to offer you except a few debts and some polo ponies? But do you remember the day I met you on Jakko, just after your hat had blown off." "Yes; why?" " Because that very evening I wrote a long letter to my father, and told him all about you, and how I was thoroughly in earnest, and asked if he could manage to start me fair on a larger allowance, if I could get you to marry me. He is an awfully good old sort." Bald words. But his voice was tender, his sunburnt young face aglow, and she found his simple sentences better than all the poems that ever were sung or said. " The old man made some difficultiesómar riage was a very serious thing, and so on; but I kept on writing to himóhe's never had so many letters from me before, he saysóand I made up my mind to have everything cut and dried be fore I said a word to you. It's been most awfully difficult, but I've seen some of the mistakes that come when things are not quite settled, and I did not mean to let you in for that." He could only see the line of an averted pink cheek and the mass of her fair hair, but the hand he took was not drawn away. " And then this damned fellow Oh, I beg your pardon; I never meant to say that, it slipped out. Then Adare came, and made all the running with his poems and his places at home; I've been half mad at times. You don't really care for him, do you, darling? " " I think he's very kind and nice." 16 " Oh yes; it's so good of him to be kind to you. Do tell me quickly, Nancy: isn't there any chance for me? " " I don't care for him in that way," said Nancy, wondering why her hand was so content to be held. " Oh, it's good to hear that; and the mail came in last night, and the old man wrote awfully nicely. We shouldn't be really hard up, only have to be a little careful for a bit. Do you think you could stand it? " " I wonder when you first began to think of this? " she said slowly. " The first minute I saw youóMay last year, it was. Darling, I feel a regular sweep; that other fellow could give you diamonds and every thing in the world you could want, and I've got so little, from the money point of view. But I vow he doesn't love you as I do. Don't you think you could get to care for me a little? " " It is so difficult to be quite sure," she said, delaying her surrender for a little minute, and looking with a great effort of courage into his anxious eyes. " Is it? Well, so long as you don't tell me to go away "óhis voice was changing from entreaty to triumph. " How can we be quite sure, I wonder? " She did not shrink from the arm that held her, and the cheek he kissed only crimsoned with out moving. " Are you very angry, darling? " he said.
" No," said Nancy. She had become suddenly aware that life was a perfectly simple and very happy thing. The tragic suggestions of self-sacrifice had melted away like the little distant cloud on the hillside. It had always been Noel; it never could have been anyone but Noel. Her doubts, fears, and uncertainties had all been spent on poor Sholto's wooing, and light-hearted happiness alone re mained. The full realization of her feelings for Noel showed her how little she could ever have felt for Sholto. A little brown bird whistled with shrill sweet ness overhead, and the sun sent down a golden ray to them through the shadow of the pines. Sholto, under similar circumstances, would have likened the straight stems to the columns of Love's Temple, and observed that the out stretched branches suggested benediction. The lovers were, perhaps, hardly worthy of their sur roundings, for they were simply and unappreciatively happy. They were both young for their years, and the reaction from the state of strained feeling they had recently passed through took the form of a very babble of talk and laughter, foam and spray from a deep river. " Oh, do you know," said Nancy suddenlyó " isn't it absurd?óI used to say that, if I ever married, I should like him " " Me, you mean." " No, I don't; it was long before I met you. I should like him to propose to me at eight o'clock in the morning, for then I should think he really meant it." " Twenty to nine now," said Curtis, looking at his watch. " I think I was well up to time." " Oh, is it so late? I must go home at once; mother will think I'm lost." " Tell her that she is going to lose you pres ently instead. Are you still tired, little girl? If you don't mind waiting, I'll run on and tell them to bring your rickshaw." " No, indeed; I'm not a bit tired now." " Well, you've got your colour back. Must we really go? Bless this little bench; I must get a photograph of it. Don't be in such a hurry, Nancy." " We shall be so late." " Nothing to speak of. You'll walk much better if you take my arm." "Oh, I can't; it would look so absurd." " Who's to see? Does that look better? " "Let me go, Noel; someone's coming." " So there isóa brown child, fully two feet high, and looking awfully shocked. I would ask him if he saw usóonly I've forgotten the Hindu stani for ' kiss.' " " I'm going home; I don't care what vou do." " There! I've bribed him to secrecy with eight annas. Oh, darling, I just feel off my head It seems too good to be true, and I have been so wretched. ´ I think it was worse for me, though," said Nancy; " for if I found myself remembering you or thinking about you, I felt I mustn't do it." " Good Lord! And is that why you used to be so stiff? " " I wasn't, only I thought you avoided me." " I had to, until the letter business was set tled. I'll write to your father to-day. I wonder if he'll cut up rough. We shall have £150 a year certain besides my pay, Nancy, and I'm pretty sure the Chief will do something for us."
" And I thought once that you were in love with Mrs. Edwards," went on Nancy, who had no consideration to spare for money matters. " Oh, you little darling idiot! Mayn't I come in and speak to your mother now? " "No, please not; I should like to tell her first." " Just as you like. Well, I shall come over directly after lunch; I shall be busy all the morn ing, worse luck ! " " Oh, Noel, I forgot. I promised to ride with Mr. Adare this afternoon." " You did, did you? Then, suppose you write and tell him that you are engagedóabsolutely engaged." " It won't be an easy letter to write." " Put it plainly; don't leave the poor devil a loophole of suspense or hope. Look here, dar ling: why didn't you give him his answer at once? You'd have saved him a lot of pain, and me too." " But, Noel, I did, and he wouldn't take that answer." " Well, he's got to take it now. You won't really let me come in? I suppose you know best. Now, there's nobody coming, so say ' Good-bye ' properly. Oh, Nancy, you don't know how happy you've made me! " When she ran indoors a moment later, she had very bright cheeks and eyes, and she told her tale in a hurried rush of words that her mother found hard to understand. It was a disappoint ment to Mrs. Ivey, but her life, like that of many another good woman, was reckoned by it's dis appointments, and she had learnt how to deal with them. Moreover, Nancy's radiant face was a weighty argument in favour of Curtis, and she had always liked him ; he had the merit of being far more usual than Sholto Adare. Before she sat down to write to her husband, she succeeded in convincing herself that they had much reason to be thankful for Nancy's choice. The end of her letter ran thus: " Nancy is writing to Mr. Adare now, to give him his coup de grdceóshe has torn up four sheets alreadyóand her face is the prettiest, tenderest mixture of happiness and sorrowóthe one for herself, the other for him. " Of course, the dear, tiresome child has chosen the poorer man, so far as money goes; but I think you will feel with me that this mar riage will leave her more our daughteróI mean, we shall still be able to give her pleasure in various little ways that would be impossible if she became a rich woman. Had she cared for Sholto Adare, I suppose I should not have thought of this, but fancy fearing, when she came to see us in the cottage we hope to retire to, that things might not be as she was accustomed to have them!"
CHAPTER XVII.
" O life! how dear hast thou become! "
" In the tender flush
That made her face like roses blown,
And in the silence and the hush,
Her thoughts were shown." Jean Ingelow. "
Winnie dear, Mrs. Tykes wants me to go to the hospital with her this morning. Do you mind? " " It's much too good of you to go; but, apart from that, how could I mind? And for once I have no shopping to burden you with. Shall you take Cripps? " " Well, I'd rather not. Mrs. Tykes dislikes him." " Wicked woman ! I always knew she was a serpent heart hid by a lowering face. Never mind, Cripps; stay at home with the lady that loves you, and own Nugent shall take you out later." " I'll send an excuse in a minute if you want me to play accompaniments or do anything," said Janet. " Nonsense, dear! I mean to have a real worry at scales and exercises, and you know I never like doing that unless I am alone in the house. Joy go with you. Don't bring scarlet fever home to lunch, and please have my Not-athome box hung on the tree as you pass." " Cripps," she said presently, " we have prac tised for one whole hour, and you have endured it with unusual fortitude. Come here and talk to me. Cripps rose obediently, and laid a sympathetic head and two firm furry feet on her knee. " We are no happier for it, Cripps ; ' thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart.' Oh, my Cripps, it's well to be you, with nothing on your mind but monkeys, and a bath twice a week." Cripps interpreted her sad voice as an invita tion, and leapt upon her knee, turned round swiftly three times, settling himself with a little sigh of content. " Mannerless one, I never asked you to jump up, and I'm not dead leaves in the primeval for est that you should try and knead me into some thing softer. But since you are here, keep awake, and talk to me. What would you do if someone was longing to tell you something that you were dying to hear, and yet your own folly had made it impossible for you to listen? I'm very wretch ed, Cripps." The bearer brought in Mrs. Myles' card, and on it was written: " Can you see me for a few minutes? " " Give a salaam," said Winnie aloud. Then to herself: " Heaven grant that there are to be no more confidences this morning! A little touch of someone else's woe would set mine over-brim ming." " Forgive me for pushing past your box," said Lilian, as she came in. " I wanted so much to see you." " It was never meant to exclude you, only Mrs. Bertie Vernon and her like." " But I am sure you were busy. Please go on with whatever you were doing." " Indeed I wasn't ! I had just finished what Nugent politely calls ' your very simple songs, 'm,' meaning scales and exercises. And what's the news with you? " " I have been nowhere, as usual," said Lilian, shaking hands repeatedly with Cripps. She was one of his favourites, and he stood offering her alternate paws in quick succession. " I did not see you at the last Viceregal dance," said Winnie. " We were not there." " Or at the Snowdon cotillon." " We were not there." " Did you go to the club dance? " " No, my dear." " Or to the Monday Pop, or the Barnes Court ' at home,' or to a heap of other things? Lazy is no word for you. Cripps, it is not usual to shake hands with a lady more than sixteen times. Down, sir! "
" No, I like him. Did you go to all these diversions? " " Every single one. ' And some of them were dull, and some were not,' " sang Winnie, to the tune of a barrack-room ballad. " Then, it's no wonder that you look so tired." " I feel it a little, but I'm not like Mrs. Alchin, who says that she was born tired, and has never had time to rest since. The rains and ' Les Cloches ' combined are enough to weary any one." There was a silence. Cripps stretched him self in the centre of the room, with a loud long yawn that reached from ear to ear. " Rudesby, begone! I have told him for months to put up his paw when he yawns, and he quite understands, only he won't. Cripps, come and say your nursery rhyme, and I'll give you a chocolate. Here it is; sit up." Cripps sat up with gleaming eyes, and Win nie rapidly recited: " ' The dame made a curtsy, the dog made a ' " Cripps flung his paws above his head. " That's a bow," explained Winnie. " Now, gently: 'The dame said, "Your servant," the dog ' " " Bow wow! " broke in Cripps, one word too soon. " Take your chocolate, then. But you have no ear for metre." " That is a pretty trick. You must have needed patience to teach it. Do you give Daisy her lessons yourself when she is with you? " asked Lilian. " Do you think little ones ought to do les sons? " said Winnie quickly. " They say nowa days that a child should be a mere healthy little animal, with its mind lying fallow, till it is seven years old." " That sounds nice; but if the child does not learn obedience and the habit of application be fore that age, it must have some stormy years before it." " I wonder why she wanted to see me, if she talks only of things that don't matter," thought Winnie, in the little silence that followed. Lilian was looking pale, and there were dark shadows under her dark eyes. Her dress was blackóa sombre serge that almost suggested mourningóbut she had red roses in her hat. " Do you remember that day in June when you were so good to me? " she said suddenly, in the tone that betrays premeditated words; " I lay on that sofa and talked nonsense, and stormed and cried. You don't know how grateful I've been to you for never referring to it." " I am glad you don't mind referring to it now; it shows the sting has gone," said Winnie gently. " Yes, it has, and I want to apologize, and tell you how ashamed I felt afterwards. It's so much easier to confess other people's faults than one's own; but, dear Mrs. Edwards, I have been very foolish!
" Have you, dear--how? " "In my behaviour generally; I insisted on being so tragic. I see it now, looking back, and life is so much easier if one laughs at it a little." " It is well for us when we can laugh, cer tainly." " I was a hysterical wretch that day. Do you rememberóI am afraid you mustóhow I ac cused poor Gilbert of being cruel and coldhearted, and all sorts of things? You should have scolded me instead of sympathizing with me. " But you were very unhappy. I thought you were mountaineering on molehills a little, I own; but it made you honestly wretched." " Indeed it did! And all the time he was just as unhappy and just as misunderstanding as I was." " I wonder what began the tangle, thenó can you guess? " " Tangles begin so easily," said Lilian, and Winnie was struck by a gentle, far-away look in her eyes that she had never noticed before. " I'm afraid I was very much to blame. I could not make allowances for anyone except myself, and I remembered much too clearly and bitterly, until at times it seemed my duty to be disagreeable." " It's the greatest pity in the world when a woman really grows hard and embittered," said Winnie; " a disagreeable man is as nothing in comparison; because one is much more used to them, I suppose, and also because ' lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.' Do you know that you are sadly pale, in spite of your brighter mood of mind? " "Ami? I don't feel pale." She looked across the room at the copper-framed portrait, with a smile on her lips and in her eyes. " You must have some photos of your little girl when she was a baby; do show them to me." " I really don't possess one; you know I am not fond of photographs," said Winnie hastily. " Since you have told me so much, I wonder if you would mind telling me what brought about this happy change for you? " " I have been shopping," said Lilian, looking down, and speaking with seeming irrelevanceó " such dear, silly shopping! Very fine cambric and the softest white flannel, and ridiculous tiny lace edgings." " My dear? " "Yes, it's true; and, oh! you can't guess how glad I am." Winnie kissed her silently; it was the first caress that had ever passed between them. " Of course, most of the things are coming out from home; but I mean to make some myself for the pure pleasure of it, though I'm not a clever needle-woman. Gertie Malet has lent me wonderful little patterns; the length of a baby's waist is enough to bring tears to one's eyes." She measured a fraction off one finger, and laughed softly. " I have a whole new world of thoughts and hopes and feelings now, and I am disciplining myself: no more bad temper or wicked thoughts can be allowed." " I rejoice for you with all my heart," said Winnie. " I suppose your winter plans are al tered now? " " Yes; I shall stay up here instead of going into camp; I love the cold, and Gilbert will be able to get leave in Marchófor a few days, at any rate." " But shan't you feel lonely? " "
Oh no; lots of people stay up here for the winter, and Mrs. Tykes means to move into that little house next to ours." " Are you looking forward to having her as a neighbour? Well, you are indeed con tented! " " She is very kind if one needs taking care of in any way; I must go and see her soon. I have avoided her lately, for I have told no one except Gertie, and now you. They say one is generally depressed at first ; I was before I knew, but since it has been all gladness. Was it like that with you? " Winnie stooped over the sleeping Cripps. " It seems so long ago, I hardly remember anything," she said. " How strange! I should have thought one's feelings then were too vivid ever to be forgotten." " Perhaps I am a forgetting woman." " I should not think you were. Do you know, sometimes when I am half asleep, I wonder if I have only dreamt of the happiness that is coming to me, and then it is so beautiful to wake and find it is all true." " Yes," said Winnie, with a little sigh ; " I am so glad you feel like that. I hope you mean to stay and have lunch with me? " " I mustn'tóthanks, dear; I am on my way to see Gertie. I am much fonder of her than I used to be, and I love playing with her babies now." She stood up and looked out of the win dow as she said, " Can you imagine what a wretch I felt when I found that Gilbert did care? He had wanted it as much as I did, only would not hurt me by showing that he did. You will for get all that I said before, won't you? I am so ashamed of it." "Don't spend another thought on it; it's over and gone. Must you really go, already? Good-bye, then; it was sweet of you to come and tell me this." " I wonder how long her happiness will last? " thought Winnie, as she stood in the veranda watching Cripps frantically digging in pursuit of an imaginary rat, his hind-legs forming a wide Gothic arch, through which he rapidly flung pawfuls of earth. " She is happy now, and that is the great thing; long may she remain so! She has no thought of fear of disillusionment, and per haps the best way to keep that shadow aloof is not to imagine the possibility of its coming. She has better things to think of, though. A woman must feel a member of a great community, one of a holy army, as she makes the soft, tiny clothes, and bears pain and weariness for the sake of the little new soul. And the life that waits for that little new soul is probably " " Oh, Mrs. Edwards! Then, you are not out, after all? Please be at home." Nancy Ivey spoke. She was riding down the hill, wearing an ordinary dress, being one of the few girls who could ride gracefully in such a garb. " Come in, of course, dear; you are welcome as flowers in May." " I was so disappointed to see your box, and I came down to leave a note," said Nancy, dis mounting and tying up her pony. " The syce is miles behind; I cantered the whole way." " So I seeó' red as a rose is she.' And what have you been doing? " " Nothing," said Nancy, suddenly much oc cupied with Cripps, who, serenely unconscious of a very muddy nose, was begging her to accept the assurance of his distinguished consideration; " only, have you seen Mrs. Alchin lately? " " No, not for more than a week, strange to say." " Oh, I am so glad! I wanted to be the first to tell you." " To tell me what, Nancy child? " " That it has all come right, and I'm en gaged." " You are going to marry Mr. Adare? Many congratulations, dear! I have not met him often, but quite often enough to know how devoted he is to you." 17 " Oh no; it's not him," cried poor Nancy, blushing crimsonó" it's Noel." " Do you mean Noel Curtis? " " Yes, indeed I do." " Then, I congratulate you with all my heart. He is one of the nicest young men I have ever met. Rut you are a real surprise-party. When was all this settled? " " It was only quite settled yesterday. I should have liked to tell you beforeóthe very * next day after he spoke to meóonly mother said it must not be mentioned till we had heard from father. Mrs. Alchin found out, somehowóyou know the way she always does find out about things, though I'm sure Mr. Adare did not tell her." " And what have you done with him? " " Oh, he was so nice about it; he went away at once." " Poor boy!óa last proof of devotion, and the hardest one to give of all. Was he very tragic? " " I don't know; I didn't see him again after I wrote to him. I never found a letter so hard to write before; it took nearly two hours, and yet it was quite a short one. I wanted mother to write it, and let me copy it, but she said it ought to be all my own doing." " Yes, I agree with her." " But it was so difficult, only Noel had told me that I ought to put it quite plainly; so I wrote that I knew now that I should never care for him, because I had just found out that I loved Captain Curtis, and we were going to be mar ried." " Well, that was certainly putting it plainly." " Yes, wasn't it? Noel told me to. And then I said that it was so much better than if I had married him, and then found out that I didn't care for him, for that would have been dreadful; and I hoped he would not feel angry with me, for I should always remember him, and be his friend. That was right, wasn't it? "
" I believe girls generally say it, dear, though I'm not sure that the man is very grateful at the moment for a protestation of friendship. Did he answer your letter? " "Yes; his answer was the funniest thing of all; it was a piece of poetry. Don't you think that shows he could not have cared very much? " " Was the poetry original? " " I suppose so; this is it. It isn't like a real letter, so I don't feel as though I ought not to show it to you." Sholto Adare's farewell to the lady of his love ran thus: " Then, dearest, since 'tis so, Since now at length my fate I know, Since nothing all my love avails, Since all my life seems meant for fails, My whole heart rises up to bless Your name in pride and thankfulness ! Take back the hope you gave ; I claim Only a memory of the same. " Sholto Adare." " The sentiment is excellent, but it would have been a little more honest if he had signed it ' Robert Browning'; and he has left out one line," said Winnie, folding the thick paper, where the minute, fantastic writing showed as a care fully-margined spider's web. " Oh, do you mean to say that he did not make it up himself? " " No, dear; he took it out of a poem called ' The Last Ride together.' " " Have you got that poem? I should so like to see it." Winnie found it, and the girl considered it silently for some little time. " I am glad he did not ask me to go for an other ride with him," she said at last; "for though it would have seemed unkind not to, I am sure Noel would not have liked it." She laid aside the Browning; her interest in his pages was over. " I suppose not. You have not shown me your ring yet, Nancy." " Oh, how did you know? He only gave it to me this morning." " By the way that you have been pinching your finger through your glove to make sure that you have not lost your treasure." The ring was a simple oneóthree very blue sapphires in a broad band of gold. " Sapphires for truth," said Winnie.
" ' The gold doth show her blessedness, The sapphires tell her true, For blessedness and truth in her Were livelily portrayed.' " " More poetry. I think you ought to marry Mr. Adare," said Nancy, laughing. " What a mercy that I don't think so! And you are really happy? " Nancy's eyes made sufficient answer. " Yes, I see," went on Winnie. " I always thought you a bright-looking girl, but now you are like a Japanese lantern after the candle is lit; before you were only the lantern by daylight." " It does feel so restful to be quite certain," said Nancy, watching her sapphires. " I've been wretched for three whole weeks, and life seemed solemn and dreadful; now it is all cheery again." " Then, you found Mr. Adare solemn? " " Yes, indeed; he was always so grave and gloomy, and took things so seriously. Noel and I are always laughing." " Does your mother like Captain Curtis? " " Oh yes, very much. I think she was a little sorry at .first, because she would have liked me to be rich; but she has been so sweet about it, and so has father." " And what did Mrs. Alchin say? " " Oh, she has been so cross and horrid; and it is not as if she was even related to Mr. Adare! She told me that I had behaved disgracefully; and I got very angryóI couldn't help itóand then she begged my pardon, and said I was only a dear little goose, after all. She calls Noel and me the ' two Ninnies,' because both our names begin with an 'N'; but I don't think that's at all clever. Oh, goodness! is that half-past one? " " It is. Do stay to lunch, dear." " I can't, thank you. Noel is coming directly afterwards, and I must rush. Good-bye, dear Mrs. Edwards; I am so glad you are pleased." Janet returned very late for lunch, and with her heart and head too full of the sights she had seen to apologize fittingly. " Oh, Winnie, I wish you had come! it was so interesting, and it would have been much bet ter for you than sitting moping here alone." " The voice is the voice of Janet, but the words are the words of Mrs. Tykes ! You know I never mope." " You don't often; but weren't you lonely? " "Not in the least; I was very well enter tained." " But if you had come you would have been taken out of yourself; it's all so different, and so interestingósad, of course, but very interesting. One felt as though one was really studying hu man nature." " Well, I preferred to study it from a comfort able chair, and it was most obliging in presenting itself. Now, Janet, if you will kindly go upstairs and burn sulphur, or bathe -in carbolic, or throw all your clothes out of window, or take any other simple precautions your conscientious nature may suggest as suitable after visiting the accident ward of a hospital, we will have lunchóCripps is white with famine alreadyóand then I, the stayathome, will tell you a piece of news. Some body's engaged; no, I won't tell you who; come back quickly and guess."
CHAPTER XVIII.
" MY LIFE, WHAT STRANGE, MAD GARMENTS HAST THOU ON? "
" If I had chosen thee, thou shouldst have been
A virgin proud, untamed, immaculate,
Chaste as the morning star, a saint, a queen ;
Lo ! thou are none of this, but only fair ;
Yet must I love thee, dear, and as thou art." Proteus. "
It's a most effective dress, 'm," said Nu gent; she coughed slightlyó"really striking." Winnie stood before her long mirror, ready for the fancy ball, a vivid, vulgar figure. Her short skirt was of black satin, made gar ish with leaping tinsel flames; the fire-coloured bodice ornamented with demon silhouettes, and a black bat on each shoulder formed epaulettes and made pretence at sleeves. Bats' wings of black suede, jewelled along their ribs with red and yellow stones, stood out behind her, empha sizing the slenderness of her waist. Her hair was caught high on her head, and two pert jet horns jutted sharply from the burnished curls. " I do think, 'm, that your diamonds would be more becoming than those little black spikes." "Nonsense! I have had to draw the line at hoofs and a tail, but what is the good of a demon without horns and claws? " " Shall you wear no diamonds at all, 'm? " " Only the stars on my shoes; have you fas tened them quite firmly? " " Oh yes, 'm; but none of your bangles? " " Not one; lock them all up." "Winnie's black shoes had each a great flash ing diamond star instead of bow or buckle; they glittered and winked as she advanced and re treated before the mirror. " May I come in, dear? " asked Janet's voice. " Yes, I am nearly ready. How do you like my dress? Give me my pitchfork, Nugent; " and Winnie struck an attitude with the long black trident; " my gloves are black with long golden claws. By-the-by, please take them away, Nu gent, and sew the buttons on very firmly. There, Janet, you can say what you like now that we are alone." " You are not really going out in that dress, Winnie? " " I am indeed." " What shall you call yourself? " " Diavolina, Satanita, Lady Lucifer, the Princess of Darkness, which you like. Don't you think the stars on my shoes are a good idea? They symbolize the headlong fall." " Oh, Winnie darling, I dislike it more than I can say! " and Janet's eyes were full of tears. " You can't dislike it more than I do," said Winnie, throwing down her pitchfork; " I hate it; I should like to tear it to pieces. It's a horri ble dress; the bodice begins too late, and the skirt ends too soon. It's like an attempt at a French caricature, and I wear it as part of my penance." " I would so much rather stay at home. Do stay at home, dear." " I must go; I must carry out my original programme. I ordered this hateful dress before we came to India; it suited what I meant to be. It serves me right to have to wear it. I had no business to let myself be serious for an instant; if I allow anyone to think seriously of me for a moment, my silly freak becomes an unendurable dishonesty. Janet, you are not to make me cry. Don't you see my face is done up, and done up even more than usual? " " I suppose you know best, dear; but, " You haven't nearly enough rouge on to suit your powdered hair. Hold up your head, and I'll put on some more. There! don't you feel wicked? But I wish your dress wasn't so sombre." Janet was " Frost at Midnight," a high-sounding title devised by Winnie to suit a beauti ful gown of black brocade, decked for this one ball with glittering draperies. Nugent had gained her way for once, and Janet's abundant hair was a pile of stately curls, powdered and silvered. " You look delightful with your hair like that ; you must be photographed, just as you are, as a Christmas card for Will. Fold up my wings, still-MY LIFE! 259 please, Nugent; there are two little springs. It's time to go, dear, if you're ready. Night-night, Cripps; go to own bed." The cloak-room at the town-hall was very crowded. Winnie kept her long cloak round her as she worked her way to a looking-glass, where Nancy was arranging a cluster of moondaisies in her kerchief. She wore a milkmaid gown of pink print and a white sun-bonnet; stool and pail stood near. " What are you doing, my pretty maid? " said Winnie. " Oh, Mrs. Edwards, I haven't such a con ceited name as that; I'm only Dolly, the milk maid, out of your song." " I know, of courseóthe last verse: " ' There'll be a bride at Eastertide, And Dolly is her name.' " " Oh, I had forgotten that verse," protested Nancyó" I had really." "Very well, then; there is another one that suits you: " ' My Dolly's words are sweet as curds ; Her laugh is like a tune.' " "That's just as bad; but mayn't I see your dress? I know it's something lovely." "Indeed it isn't; it's only a little strange." Winnie's fingers fumbled at the fastenings of her cloak; then she flung it back with a sharp laugh. "There! and my wings unfasten with a little springóso! " " Oh, it's very striking," said Nancy slowly. " That's exactly what Nugent said, only she coughed; you merely imply the cough. Ready, Janet; come along." " Do look at Mrs. Edwards! I believe she calls herself the ' Devil,' " said Mrs. Layard to her husband. " She's modest, but it's a smart sort of turn out, all the same." " Oh, I hate those loud, flashy dresses; they are such bad form." She herself was dressed as a hospital nurse, but with an amount of rouge that would have debarred her entrance into any respectable hos pital. Winnie had more the appearance of an imp than a demon, for her short skirts made her look peculiarly small and slight, without giving her the dumpy, dwarfed aspect which is the usual reward of the grown woman when she dons such attire. She seemed to be in wild spirits, and her eyes shone brilliantly under the little black horns. "You audacious person!" said Mrs. Alchin. " But I like it on you." "I have one terror," answered Winnie: "if anyone says to me, ' Cow with the crumpled horn, will you dance? ' as was once said to a devil domino at a masked ball, I shall go home in de spair. What are you? " She had reason to ask, for Mrs. Alchin was in the garb of the " Powder Period," that elastic and much-maligned epoch which is so frequently represented by any old dress that can be worn with a white wig and pink roses.
" I am the Pompadour." " That's rather audacious, too." " Never mind; Mrs. Bertie Vernon beats us both. Have you seen her yet?" Prompt as rhyme, Mrs. Bertie Vernon passed them, with a Greek dress of the inevitable white and gold tightly girt about her hour-glass figure óa " Grecian knot " that was not Grecianóand very high-heeled shoes. " I call her ' Ancient Greece,' " hissed the Pompadour through a smile. " She says she is ' Helen.' " " ' Helen's cheek, but not her 'óface." " Oh, you wretch! I wish I had said that." " You may all the rest of the evening if you like; I promise not to repeat it." Satanita's partner came for her, and she whirled away. Gilmour arrived a little late. He was wear ing an " Old Court " dress and had had a diffi culty with his wig. He had no reason to regret the delay, however, for his dances with Winnie had been arranged the week before. The earliest was No. 6, and he had reached the stage when other women were as shadows. "Seen the latest?" said Yeatt, who was standing in a doorway, looking plainer and more English than usual as a " Gentleman of France." "Which?" asked Gilmour, his eyes alert for one beloved face. She had refused to tell him what her dress was to be, and the brightly-coloured throng was be wildering. " Satanita; rippin' sort o' dress,ówhat there is of it." Winnie circled past a moment later. She was dancing with a Pierrot, whose baggy white rai ment contrasted with her bizarre black figure in a most striking way. Gilmour's first impulse was to throw a cloak round her, to take her away, to hide her out of sight; his second, and the one that he followed, was to turn away himself. " Have you seen my partner anywhere? " piped Mrs. Layard at his elbow. But he did not hear. The need was on him for night and silence, but when he tried to get out, he found the door surrounded by an atten tive crowd ofjampdnies and coolies, who gazed at him admiringly, and whose essences turned the live air sick. He plunged back, and found a quiet little veranda not yet invaded by sitters-out, where he could pace to and fro unnoticed, and reason with the impulse that had driven him away from sight of Winnie. The dress was, perhaps, not strikingly objec tionable in itselfóworn by another woman, he might have observed it with a passing smileó but it was vulgar; it was not what he had imMY LIFE! 263 agined her likely to wear; it confirmed his least love-inspired thoughts of her. Foolish, vulgar, gaudy, well-nigh indelicate, if the apparel pro claimed the woman, he had been a fool to think seriously of her, and it was a mistake he must not fall into again. He had dreamt of her and wor shipped her as though she had been an angel, he told himself, with angry exaggeration, and she took the first opportunity of dressing as a devil, and parading about with wings and horns and short skirts. She might have called herself a hornet, and secured the same possibilities of dis play. The name Satanita revolted him; it was like a cheap attempt to shock people. It was all over, ended as completely as though it had never been. He had longed to lay his heart at her feet, but he was not prepared to prostrate it before black silk legs, with an inadequate amount of skirt. He had deemed it a tender fantasy, a prettily sentimental thought of hers, always to dress in black or white or quiet tones of gray and violet ; now it seemed to accentuate the vulgar gaudiness of her flame-decked devil-dress. She had dis carded a gentle memory of the dead for the sake of this flaring folly. What need to waste more thoughts on her? Henceforth his heart should be as marble to her, and his face should be as flint. He would be politeóabsolutely polite; she should never guess how much she had shocked and disgusted him. He would be as courteous as was compatible with ignoring her almost utterly; she should never know the starry hope that had arisen only to be over cast.Winnie, meanwhile, was surprised when the sixth dance began and he did not come. Could he be ill? She refused several would-be partners, and went to demand a share of the sofa where Mrs. Tykes sat in state. That lady appeared to have sprinkled a little flour on her head, as a tribute to the nature of the entertainment, but her long shouldered gown was unaltered. " Well, what do you call yourself? " " Satanita," said Winnie sweetly. " I don't like your dress at all. It looks flashy." " I don't like it, either; but as I had it, I felt I really must wear it, for economy's sake." " The truest economy would have been not to get it at all." " So it would ; but having got it, what else could I do with it? " " You might have given it away." "But who would take it? Happy thought! would it suit your native Christian? " " You are very fond of talking nonsense, Mrs. Edwards; she has a natural rational figure." " You mean that she's quite flat, with a twenty-eight inch waist; it wouldn't be natural for me to be like that." " There I differ from you." " Yes, you do. Will you take a ticket in my raffle, Mrs. Tykes? " " You getting up a raffle! What next? "
" Only fifty tickets at -five rupees each; first prize, this dress; second, the pitchfork. The pro ceeds to go towards getting me another fancy dressóone that you will like. What character should you recommend? ' White Cat? ' " " ' White Goose ' would suit you better, I think," said Mrs. Tykes, grimly chuckling. " Oh no, that trenches on your provinceóthe poultry-yard. I would have come as Mother Hubbard to-night, with Cripps for my dog, only I was afraid of being too original." " You wouldn't have been; there are two Mother Hubbards here to-night." " Not really? " Winnie's eyes wandered in search of a figure that did not come, and her spirits sank lower and lower. " Janet looks quite pretty in powder; so dif ferent from what she usually does," said Mrs. Tykes. " You must tefl her that; she'll be delighted." " Why aren't you dancing? " " Surely I am employing my time far bet ter. How many eggs did you find this morning? " " Only seven, and that after giving the hens warm food twice a day. I am perfectly certain that the sweeper has a duplicate key and steals more than half." " I should try a protective measure, consist ing of Colonel Tykes and a blunderbuss." Yeatt strolled across the room. 18 "Hullo, Mrs. Edwards! is the world comin' to an end? You sittin' out! what next?" " I was doing it for fun, only Mrs. Tykes has been rather unkind to me, and if you would like to take me to have a cup of coffee you may." " Oh, you're a humbug! " said Mrs. Tykes. " Now you are going on being unkind, but I'll forgive you if you will take care of my pitch fork. Please hold it for me; I'm very tired of it," said Winnie, trying to thrust it into the re luctant hand of Mrs. Tykes. "No, certainly not; take the nasty thing away." Winnie left it in a corner, and went off laugh ing." I say, you ought to let 'em down gently, you know. You've given good old Gilmour fits. He's been well brought up." " I'm sorry, I don't follow." " You should have seen him tearin' out of the room directly he saw you ; I believe he was blush-in'."" To my better understanding," said Winnie, drinking a cup of coffee; "for I haven't caught your drift." " Come, now, you can't want better under standing than you've got," he said tenderly, look ing at her stockings; " never you mind 'em, Mrs. Edwards: you couldn't have chosen a dress that suited you better." " A doubtful compliment, perhaps."
For the next few minutes, during a brisk ex change of follies, she told herself that her dress had done its perfect and appointed work more swiftly and surely than she had hoped, and that she should rejoice at itówhen she did not feel so absolutely heart-sick. When Gilmour realized that as a beginning of all his coldly courteous behaviour to Mrs. Ed wards he had forgotten to claim a promised dance, he thought of feigning illness, and leaving at once. But fear of self-betrayal, and another feeling that he did not specify, prevented this. He went in search of Winnie, and found her talk ing to Captain Luttrell, who was in paroxysms of foolish laughter. She hardly noticed his grim apologies. " Oh yes, never mind; I promised you this one too, and I want to dance it, for it's the Coster Lancers, and I love them. We must go and get my pitchfork firstóI can't dance with out my pitchforkóand then we'll find a cheery vis-d-vis." She romped through the Lancers like a riot ous child, " doing steps " with great conscien tiousness, curtsying till her short skirts were bil lowed upon the ground, and making much play with her pitchfork. During the first round of the grand chain she offered Gilmour the handle of this weapon, and as he refused to take it, the remaining three times she merely menaced him with the prongs in passing, while her face ex pressed a glee that was well-nigh impish. Sen tences from a fairy-story, read long ago, and for gotten for many years, rang through her head the while, like the haunting burden of a weary tune: " ' You shall have your way, but it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty Princess,' said the Sea-witch. . . . ' No dancer will tread more lightly, but at every step you will feel as though you were treading on sharp knives, and the blood will flow. . . . And the Sea-maid glided over the floor, dancing as no one had ever danced before, though at every step it seemed to her that she trod on sharp knives. But the Sea-maid suffered in her endeavour to win the Prince's love, while her task was to lose the love of her Prince, and his expression made her think that she had succeed ed with fatal easiness.' ' You shall have your way, but it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty Princess.' " Again those words! How absurd it was of her to think of them! She shrieked a hasty pleasantry to the " Pompadour " in the next set, and hoped devoutly that she was smil ing properly, and that people were deceived. To herself it only seemed that she was lengthening her mouth. " It is a very pretty sight," said Gilmour, lead ing her to the nearest seat. " What is, this? " she asked, kicking forward a diamond-decked little foot. " I mean the ballroom." " The decorations are charming, the floor ir reproachable, the hosts indefatigable, and there must be a very large number of people here to night. Is there any other suitable commonplace that I have forgotten? " " I must apologize for not being more amus ing," said Gilmour grimly. "
I will try and overlook it for once." There was a pause, broken by a familiar air from the band : " Oh, the roast beef of Old England, And, oh, the Old English roast beef ! " " I think you were good enough to say I might take you in to supper," he said, rising promptly. " Please leave me here, and find a hungry lady ; I want nothing to eat or drink." Her voice was wearier than she knew, and he fancied that without her rouge she. would be ghastly pale. " Come out of this stuffy room; you will feel better in a cooler place." She obeyed silently, leaving her pitchfork be hind her. His veranda, which was, indeed, only a canvas-screened balcony, was still empty. Win nie furled her wings, and sank into the largest chair. " You have been doing too much. What is the good of wearing yourself out over this sense less frivolity? " he said roughly. " But it amuses me." " I don't call that an excuse. Of course, it's very impertinent of me to talk in this wayóI have not the slightest right to question the wis dom of your actionsóbut I do wish you could take your amusements a little more easily." " ' The gay, the gay, the glittering scene, The halls, the halls of dazzling light ! ' observed Winnie. " Do be serious for a few minutes. I dare say you are accustomed to a life that is much fuller and more engrossing than anything you can find here; but, still, you go out constantly, and I can't help fearing you are overtaxing your strength." " In this tropical climate? " " You are laughing at me ; but many people find the hills trying, and you do not look strong." " I suffer from excess of nervous energy," said Winnie sadly; " and the worst of it is that it carries you much further than you can go, and then you've got to come back again. Twice over unnecessary ground; it's too fatiguing." He refused to smile, and went on doggedly: " I know that you will make fun of anything I say, but that does not alter the fact that it is very easy to overdo one's self in India." " Do you know that you would have made a delightful doctor? Your voice has just that nice tinge of medicated sympathy. Wouldn't you like to feel my pulse? " She held out a narrow black hand, garnished with golden claws. He did not touch it. " You have not told me how you like my dress yet," she went on recklessly, " and it is all my own invention, like the White Knight's pudding." She sat up and clicked the spring that re leased her wings. " Look! isn't that ingenious? " " I detest it," he replied, all that he had least meant to say coming in a sudden torrent. " I never dreamt that you were capable of wearing such a dress. I thought you sweet and tender and womanly at heart, in spite of your small fol lies. I'm not a boy; I can't understand how I have been deceived for so long. I know better now. You have certainly taken no pains to keep up the illusion. I suppose I ought to thank you for this, but I can't just now; it hurts too much." He had risen and stood near her. She was looking down, and he could only see her gleam ing hair and the horrible little black horns. It's the cruellest trick of fate that I should have been heart-free all my life, only to find my self in love with you now," he went on vehement ly. " What does it matter to you? I am a fool to talk like that; I only do it because I am so angry, so disgusted. My love gives me the right to speak plainly for this once. It's bitterer than death for me to see you making a laughing-stock of yourselfóa target for ridicule and slander. Ah, my dear, for all your assumption of worldly knowledge, you do not know how easily a wom an's name is breathed upon." She looked up as his voice grew tender. He saw that her gray eyes swam in tears, and the one glance quenched the fire of his anger. " I have hurt youóI, who would give my life to keep every shadow of trouble away from you. Winnie, forgive me! Don't cry; I can't bear it. For pity's sake forget all that I have said; my very bitterness showed my love for you. I was a brute to think hardly of you for a minute. You will never find a man who loves you better. Haven't you a word for me? " He held one of her clawed hands, and the arm he put around her was hindered by the black wings. The swaying, circling measure of a waltz floated out to themóa stream of music with a surface of gaiety and an undercurrent of piercing pathos. He recognised it as a fitting accompani ment to his wooing. " I ought not to have allowed you to speak like this," she whispered; " you are saying more than you mean. Let me go. We will forget these last few minutes and be good friends again to morrow." " I shall not forget, and I will never be merely your ' good friend ' as long as I live. It must be all or nothing for me now. Will you be my wife?" For a moment she allowed herself to realize the delight of his words, the happiness of his touch, then she drew her hand away with a thin echo of her usual laugh. " You are a rash and reckless creature. You know nothing about me, and yet you ask me to marry you." " Don't make a jest of it. I know that I iove you as I never imagined that I could love a wom an, and that is enough for me."
" Whether I am worthy of your love or not? " "Darling, don't play with me; I 'am abso lutely in earnest." " And I was never more so, Major Gilmour." " I have guessed, of course, that your mar riage was not a happy one," he said slowly; " and you don't know how sorry I have been that you never felt yourself able to tell me one word of your past. But all that is over, and the present is our own. For God's sake, don't let a memory overshadow the rest of your life! " " Please say no more." She rose and faced him. " What you ask is impossible, and I blame myself bitterly for having listened so long. I ought to have spared you the pain." " Tell me one thing," he said slowly: " is there any difficultyóany man who has the faintest right to stand between you and me? " The truth leaped to her lips. " Oh no, no! it's not that." "What is it, then? Tell me, Winnieótell me!" "I can't; I wanted to spare you this," she repeated. " It would have been kinder of you, certainly, since you care nothing for me," he said, watching her intently. She flung out her hands with a little cry. "Care nothing for you! It would be easy enough if I did not." She was in his arms before she realized the extent of her confession. " You own it ? Ah, darling ! And you think I can let you go after that? " For the moment Winnie yielded; her head was on his shoulder, and one of the dreadful little horns nearly went into his eye; then she wrenched herself away. " I am trying to do what is right," she said; " don't make it harder for me." " But I refuse to acknowledge this invisible barrier." " I can say no more, and, oh! I am so tired. Let me go home." " Will you promise first to see me to-morrow, and tell me what you mean? " " Believe me, it would be better for you to take my answer now." " I cannot take that answer. May I come to-morrow at ten o'clock? will you promise to see me then? " " Yes, I promise; let me go home now." She spoke with half-closed eyes. " You are almost fainting; I'll go and find Miss Rosslyn." " Indeed you shan't," said Winnie, struggling to return to her usual manner. " You may get me my rickshaw, and after you have put me in it, tell Miss Rosslyn that I have gone, and that I particularly don't wish her to leave early."
CHAPTER XIX.
" SO THOU BUT LOVE ME WITH A PERFECT HEART."
" Not blind, but full of god-like eyes,
That pierce through" shows of good and ill,
To the true spirit's mysteries." Fulford.
Janet received the message with the docile surprise that was her usual attitude of mind on any matter that concerned Winnie, and applied herself conscientiously to the evening's amuse ment. She was enjoying a little triumph, and, simple and sober young woman though she was, she found it sweet. Never before had she so nearly attained to beauty, and people told her so in prettier phrases than those employed by Mrs. Tykes. She danced steadily through the programme for the first time in her life; and it was with a sense of worldly wisdom and added experience that she came home, under the guard ianship of Mrs. Tykes, at the wee small hours. Mr. Roseway had evinced a desire to walk be side her rickshaw, but this she forbade absolutely, from a conviction that Will would not approve of it. Winnie's voice called her as she went stealth ily upstairs. Every trace of the demon costume had vanished. Winnie wore a white woollen dress ing-gown, and her face was ravaged by tears. " Oh, my dear, I hoped you would be asleep. You will make yourself quite ill." " It was no good trying to sleep; I am calm ing down now. Janet, what am I to do? He has asked me to marry him." Janet had no need to ask who " he " might be. "Winnie darling, I am so delighted! He is not half good enough for youónobody isóbut, still " " Fancy his taking me seriously ! Why, I am an Elle-woman, all front and no back, or the original hollow heart that wore a mask 'twill break your own to see! " "Winnie, don't laugh so; you frighten me. Let me get you some sal volatile; I know you are tired out." " Nonsense! I want nothing but good advice. Counsel me, comfort me! He is coming to-mor row for his refusal; he would not take it to night." " But why must you refuse him? " " Do you wish me to carry on the fraud permanently? It would be a little difficult. How am I to obtain a Daisy, for instance? On the hire-purchase system? " " Listen, dear," said Janet, holding the rest less hands; " when he comes to-morrow, tell him the whole plain, simple truth, and I do believe it will all end happily."
" End happily, you ridiculous girl ! How am I to tell him? Am I to meet him to-morrow, and say, ' Please, sir, I'm not a widow; I'm a spinster in a wig, who has been making fools of you all '? No, no! Let me play out the farce to the bitter end." " I call that cruel; he loves you, and there fore he has the right to know the truth and judge for himself. I believe he will be glad that you are not a widow," said Janet resolutely. " He will be too disgusted with me ever to speak to me again," said Winnie, hiding her face. " No, he won'tóindeed he won't; I've seen the way he looks at you." " But how am I to tell him? how am I to open the subject? Once upon a time there was a little girl called Madeline Norton. I shall have to begin from the time when I was ten years old. It will be like an old-fashioned play: two chairs front; the heroine relates the story of her life in one speech of three pages and a half. I can'tó I can't!" " Tell him at the first glance, by simply being yourself, and not ' Mrs. Edwards ' at all," cried Janet, with a sudden inspiration. " You know I always think you look ever so much prettier with your own hair." There was a long silence. Winnie sat looking into the fire. " It would have the merit of getting it over quickly," she said at last; " and I know I can trust him to keep my secret. Janet, I believe you are right, and that will be the best way, though I wish I was ten feet under ground." " It will be so nice if we are both married on the same day," said Janet cosily. " My dear, what madness! " said Winnie, her pale cheeks suddenly flaming. " But why is it madness? for I can't help thinking that youówell, that you feel for him as I do for Will." " Don't think anything about my feelings, and I mustn't, either. If he forgives my decep tion and keeps my secret, it is the best I can hope for. Oh, my poor little mystery! how I hate the thought of confessing it, and to him of all people! Well, I am being punished for my folly, and I will be a pattern of dull prudence all the rest of my gray days. Good-night, dear; no, I'm not going to cry any more, but I feel exactly like that American road, which began with triumphal arches and ended up a tree." Gilmour meanwhile, rich in the possession of one slender black glove with golden claws, was happily certain that he should conquer any fanci ful fears and scruples with which she might op pose him. His own doubts had vanished after her confession, and he looked back on his bygone vacillation with wondering pity. He loved her and she loved himóah, the sweetness of that thought!óand the world was all before them to be happy in. She would probably prefer to be married in England. He could take six months' leave in the spring, and they would come out together in the autumn. His Indian tour of service would be over in four yearsóit was fortunate that she liked the countryóand they would return to England for good before Daisy was ten years old. Con foundóbless the child! She was doubtless a sweet and winsome little creature, very like her mother, and when he knew her he should be very fond of her; but, still Perhaps her father's people would claim a great deal of her company; but, still Then a memory of Winnie's eyes came as a good-night blessing. He woke late, and his first thought was of Daisy. He owned that he was becoming ridicu lously morbid about the poor child; but only time could reconcile him to the thought of her, and perhaps even time would fail. But meanwhile he was going to see Winnie, and that was a joy to drive out every fancied trouble. Her drawing-room seemed to be empty, but as the bearer shut the door, a dark-haired girl came out of the pink muslin room. She was sim ply dressed in gray, with a white Puritan cape; her wavy hair was drawn softly away from a pretty forehead, and her pale cheeks flushed as he looked at her. For a moment he was puzzled, and then he recognised the dear gray eyes, though only once before had he seen them so melancholy and so tear-tinged. " Winnieóit is Winnie? " he said. " My name is Madeline Norton," said the dark-haired girl, in the voice that was his music. " But it is you." And he grasped her hands as though he feared the changed woman would vanish out of his sight. " Tell me what this means." " It means that I am a cheat, a fraud, a hum bug," she said bluntly; and her fingers writhed in his strong clasp. " I thought your hair was dark, really," he said." Oh, my hair doesn't matter," she cried; " that's a mere detail of the disguise, the de ceit." " What deceit? " He was looking at her with a puzzled smile. " Mine; I've been deceiving you and every one else since the beginning of the season." " Tell me quickly, then. Do you mean that your husband is living, after all? " " Living! why, he never existed; he was a make-believe," she cried. He dropped her hands, and drew back, and though he only said, " Oh, child! " his face told his meaning too plainly. " Let me go! " she said. Her head swam, and she seemed to be groping in a darkness touched with points of fire. " Don't stop me! Let me go!""I can't; I will not. Winnie, forgive me; I was too bewildered to know what to think." He held her hands again. " Tell me one thing: Were you deceiving me last night? " She was silent, beating back the feeling of faintness that tingled in her every vein, and seek ing strength to tell this final lie. Things were not going as she had expected; she had missed her cue, and her carefully-prepared speeches were useless. She had been certain that the revelation of her disguise would disgust him absolutely, leav ing her nothing to do but to ask his pardon and to say good-bye; yet he seemed to think that her feelings for him still mattered. She had meant to be so dignified, so distant, and now he held her hands close against his breast, and she told herself that, whatever happened, she must re member not to hide her eyes on his shoulder. Only a minute before he had wounded her un speakably; she still quivered under the sting of that suspicion, but she could not summon up the slightest touch of anger to her aid. " Winnie, you must tell me," he repeated. " Do you love me? Is it ' Yes ' or ' No '? " " My name is Madeline Norton. Let me go; you don't understand." " I want to be sure of one thing before you tell me the rest. Is it ' Yes ' or ' No '? " " I've been playing a part, and deceiving you and tricking you," she said. " Were you playing a part last night? Tell me." " No, but " The sentence was not finished, for she had hidden her eyes at last. " I tried to prevent this," she said, moving away after a moment; " I did my best to show 19 you that I was outside the pale, that you were not to think seriously of me." " We seem not to be talking the same lan guage," he said impatiently. " Look at me. Do you mean to tell me that you have done anything disgraceful? " " Not disgraceful, exactly, but very foolish," she said slowly. "That's all right; and now I want the clue to the mystery." He took her left hand. " Win nie, where is your wedding-ring? " " I haven't got one. There is a broad gold ring upstairs which I bought for myself, but that is all." She looked at him with the eyes of pure inno cence. " Why did you pretend to be a widow, then? " he asked. " For fun," she said, with a little sob. " Winnie, tell me the whole story at once. How came you to be masquerading in this way? " " It's so long I don't know where to begin," she said helplessly. " Sit down and begin at the beginning. When did you first call yourself Mrs. Edwards? " " Only in the spring when I came out here." " And what made you come to India? " " Because I was here two years ago as an elderly, ugly girl, and I disliked everything, and made myself disagreeable to everyone. The lady I stayed with was very kind, but she wanted me to marry, and I made up my mind that no one should think I wanted to marry. Ask Mrs. Tykes what she remembers about Madeline Norton." " I'll take your word, not hers. What hap pened then? " " I went home at the end of the season; and, oh, Alan! if you had ever known Mrs. Cotesworthó Aunt Agatha, whom I used to live with óI think you would be able to forgive what you are sure now to think very wrong and heart less." " Am I very unforgiving, darling? But where does Mrs. Edwards come in? " " Quite soon. I was on my way home, when I heard of my aunt's death, and, strangely enough, she left me all she had. I was richóor, at least, I felt rich, for she had never allowed me more than five shillings a week for pocket-money." " How old are you? " he said suddenly. " I shall be thirty-one next (month." " And I am thirty-eight. But do explain the appearance of Mrs. Edwards." " It's very hard to explain, for it sounds ut terly heartless, and you can't understand how strong the temptation was. Suppose you had never had any real freedom or happiness in more than ten years! My good days were done when I left school. I had a perfectly happy childhood, but my parents died within five days of each other when I was quite small. My father had diphtheria, and mother caught it nursing him; and after that there was nothing in the world for me but school and Aunt Agatha. I rather liked school, but how I used to dread the holidays! " " Winnie, you are not to cry." " No, I won't, but I should like to. Well, I went home, and did nothing but think. One day I felt heart-broken with remorse for having left Aunt Agatha, and the next I almost hated her for having made my life a bitterness for so long. I could interest myself in nothing; I could settle to nothing. I hated the house, and I could not bear the walks and drives round it, and there was a doctor who had wanted to marry me be fore, and he " " Confound his impertinence! And what did he do? " " He was faithfulóat least, that is what he said he wasóI called him insolent; and it struck me one Sunday afternoon, when worldly thoughts are most rampant "óand a glimmer of her old smile shone through her wet eyesó" that if I came out here as a wealthy, tinselled somebody else, I might escape my unhappiness for a few months." " You were a little audacious." " I was indeed; I see it, looking back; but though I hardly expect you to believe me, I only realized a few minutes ago the full depths of misconstruction to which I was rendering myself liable." " Ah, darling, can't you forget what I only thought in a moment of utter bewilder ment? "
" You see, I did not thinkóI did not under stand." " But, Winnie, I cannot see how it was pos sible to keep your plan a secret." " It was not difficult. I had very few friends, thanks to Aunt Agatha, and I did nothing hastily: I thought out every detail for more than six months. I have a full account of my past life, and a description of Mr. Edwards' personal ap pearance and character, written out at great length. It is locked away upstairs; you shall see it if you like." " But it is impossible that no one here should have recognised you." " If they have, they have kindly kept it se cret. You don't know how quiet and retiring Madeline was; her fear of Mrs. Haymont's match making powers led her to efface herself very ef fectually." " It sounds absurd and impossible." " Yes, it is one of the many absurd and impos sible things that happen constantly. People here have changed almost entirely since Madeline's time, remember, and she knew very few." " But how did you persuade Miss Rosslyn to join you? She looks the very personification of simple directness." " So she is, but she has the habit of doing whatever I ask, and her health had nearly broken down from the strain of being nursery governess in a very large and very disagreeable family. She left them last December, and it took a whole month to shape her to my ends. Then we told all whom it least concerned that we were going on the Continent, and we spent two months in London making preparations; and a steamer from Brindisi in March did the rest." " I see; but a number of trifles puzzle me still: how did you hide all your pretty hair?" " Wigsóspecial wigs. They make them so cleverly now. It was a little uncomfortable at first to have my own hair tightly twisted up un derneath, but I could not dye it even for the sake of Mrs. Edwards. I was obliged to have just a touch of dye on each side, though. Do you see a wicked little red streak by my ear? " " Most unpardonable," he said, laughing. " Nobody knows except Janet," went on Winnie, " for Nugent came to me after the wigs and the rouge and the new name." " But your diamonds, Winnie," he said, stung by a sudden thought ; " did they belong to your aunt? They must have cost something fabu lous." " I have the bills somewhere; they were rather expensive, for I went to good places, and the settings are real. The stones are imitation, of course." " Thank goodness! It used to be as much as I could bear to see you in all those glittering things, and think that I could never afford to give you anything one-tenth part as valuable." " Do you remember the bangles you disliked so much the very first time we met? They happen to be the only bits of my jewellery that are real. I was pleased with the pretty silly things, and had some fanciful ones made." " Yes, indeed, I have not forgotten that night; and you are very much prettier without powder on your nose. How did you get hold of the picture you called Daisy's; it's very like you." " It is my portraitóme myself, many many years ago. I had it cleaned and put into a big modern frame, and the funny old frock passes muster as a new idea." " Dear little soul! " he said cheerfully; " how I used to hate her! " " Did you; why?" " Can't you guess? Oh, Winnie, you don't know how sweet you must be to me to make up for all the misery you've inflicted." "These be compliments!" " Yes, the thought of Daisy and old Edwards was like poison. What made you choose that name? " " Because it had nothing whatever to do with me, and it was neither distinguished nor common ómerely ordinary; no other reason." Her voice was bright again, though her eyes still told of last night's waking and weeping; her t face, freed from its unnatural colouring, looked very young and pure and winsome. " How did you mean your play to end, sweet heart?" " In the style of the modem drama; a slow curtain, and nothing explained. I meant to have a year of folly, and go home as Mrs. Edwards; then Mrs. Edwards would have left one lodging in London, and Miss Norton would have taken another; exactly what happened, contrariwise, when I came out." " What fools people must have been when you were here the first time! " he said tenderly. " They were not, indeed; I was a dour, sour creature then, and, oh, so badly dressed! Here is a photograph of that period which I got out to show you." " This can't be you; why, your hair is dragged back like Mrs. Tykes', and your figure looks ab solutely different." " ? This is her picture as she was ; It seems a thing to wonder on," said Winnie. " You see, Mrs. Edwards has taught me how to dress and how not to do my hair. You men seldom realize how these trifles change women." His mind was still filled with questions, though his heart was at rest. " How did you teach Miss Rosslyn to call you ' Winnie '? I should have thought that she would slip back to * Madeline ' twenty times a day." "She always calls me 'Winnie'; it's a pet name that dates from our very early days. We read a tender little story by Mrs. Molesworth about a Winnie who died, and I was re named."
" How simple your tangled web is when you come to explain it ! " " I am afraid you can hardly understand the temptation that made me weave it; it seems so trivial now, but it was a most urgent need then." "Yes, I do understand, darling; but when will you marry me? That's the most important thing to talk of now." Her face grew grave. " There is a great deal that is not changed," she said; " everyone here knows me as a painted person, whose hair is in strict accordance with the latest fashion, and I must keep up the disguise till I go home. I used to enjoy the idea that most people thought me much worse than I really was, but it stings now. That is not the sort of woman you ought to marry." " You are the one woman I have ever wanted to marry; I love you with all my heart, and I am not a boy, remember. Winnie, you mustn't be morbid." " It's the trail of Aunt Agatha, Alan. Yes, I own that I have thought of you as ' Alan ' for ages; see how naturally I use the name. It seems to me that between Winnie and Madeline you have a very sorry choice. You thought I was a rather vulgar widow, and I proved to be a soured old maid. I'm sorry for you." He answered without words. " But, Alan, I mean it ; you ought to marry a girl like Nancy." " Ought I? She is a pretty creature, but you are you, and there is no one like you. Winnie, you are never to talk like this againódo you hear? I won't have it." " How now? orders? I would have you to know that nobody has spoken authoritatively to me for nearly two years." " Then, the sooner I begin, the better. Shall you be very angry, I wonder, darling, if I ask you one thing? " . " I think not; try." " It's nothing; only Strath-Ingram was so much with you, and I've known him for years: used heódid heóI mean, did you ever let him kiss you? " For a moment Winnie bent silently beneath the lash of her punishment; then she raised her head and smiled. " No, never, but I kissed him onceóand it was like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought." " What do you mean? " Then she told a tale. " Poor old chap! " said Gilmour complacently. " That was it, then. Winnie, I wish to Heaven I'd been up here two seasons ago." "It would have made no difference; you would not have looked at me. No protesting; I'm sure you wouldn't! Say what you like, you were attracted at first by the tinsel and the span glesóthe Pinchbeck Goddess, in short." " I loved you in spite of the tinsel, darling." " Perhaps, but it attracted you at first." " No; the love came in spite of it."
" Believe me, it attracted you, to begin with." " Never! I hated it, but loved its wearer." " Scissors! " said Winnie. One of the doors into the veranda creaked, as a strong shoulder pushed it, and Cripps entered cannily through a narrow opening. He had been scratching and moaning unnoticed outside for some time, and he was naturally displeased. Standing in the middle of the room, he eyed Winnie and Gilmour severely; their past con duct and present position needed explanation. " It's all right, Cripps," said Gilmour; " come and congratulate me, old boy." Cripps was puzzled; it was a little difficult to express jealous affection and cordial good-fellow ship at the same moment. But Gilmour's voice was irresistible; jumping on Winnie's knee, he proffered a paw to her near neighbour. " The master of the house gives his consent," said Winnie.
THE END.
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- Literature of Colonial South Asia: A Digital Archive Amardeep Singh
- Literature of Colonial South Asia: A Digital Archive Amardeep Singh