A Question of Marriage Part 5

"What does it mean?" he asked at once. "Is it serious?" And when she queried blankly, "Her headache?" he replied, with such a transparency of distress, that she was ashamed to confess the unreality of the excuse.

"Oh, no--no. Nothing serious. A very pa.s.sing thing."

"Then why is she leaving town so suddenly?"

Vanna looked at him, and the impulse came to speak the unvarnished truth, unconventional though it might be.

"To avoid you! You should not be so precipitate. It is disconcerting, to put it mildly, to have a man make violent love to one at a first meeting."

"I did not make love."

"Not in so many words, perhaps."

Gloucester blushed, remembering the rosebud at that moment pressed between the leaves of his pocket-book. For a few moments he was silent, gazing before him in puzzled fashion, then suddenly the shadow pa.s.sed, he turned towards her with a smile, his eyes clear and untroubled.

"And so she is going to run away, a make-believe little journey of two or three hours? Does she imagine that she can hide herself so easily?

There is no corner of the earth where I would not follow to find her at the end. She belongs to me. Do you imagine I shall give her up?"

Vanna was silent. In her heart of hearts she had no doubt on the point, and believed Jean's fate already settled; but she saw Edith's eyes fixed upon her from across the room, and felt a keen sympathy with the disappointment in store. Edith was no longer young; Edith had waited; for Edith the chances of life might be few and far between, while Jean held the open sesame of charm and beauty.

"May I give you some advice?" she said quickly. "You will probably refuse to take it, but it's on my mind to give it all the same. Don't be in a hurry. Let Jean go; don't try to see her. Stay behind, and think things over. She is beautiful, and your meeting was dramatic.

Even I felt carried away. But marriage!--that is terribly serious. One ought to be so sure. You have her happiness to remember, as well as your own. Jean is impetuous and romantic. If she knew what we know, she would feel that all was settled, and that she had no choice. You don't want that. If she is to be your wife, it ought to be because she chooses you of her own deliberate will. Wait quietly for a few weeks and--drift! You may find in a few weeks' time that the impression fades--that there are other possibilities, other attractions."

Gloucester looked her in the face, and laughed, a full-throated, derisive laugh.

"You don't believe one word that you are saying. You are talking because you think you _ought_. Don't! What is the use of keeping up pretences--you and I? We have seen behind the scenes. Can't we stick to the truth?"

"You won't take my advice?"

"No, I won't."

"You refuse to be prudent in regard to the most important happening of your life?"

"I do. It's not a matter for prudence. It belongs to another sphere.

I am thirty-five. I have waited long enough. Why should I squander more weeks to satisfy a convention? She shan't be hurried--she shall feel no obligation. I will not breathe a word about that old prophecy unless, _until_ she consents of her own will; but she must know what I want. I would tell her to-day if I had the chance."

"Which you shall not, if I can prevent it. It's not fair; it's not kind. What is Jean to think? That you are attracted by her face, and her face alone? That's a poor compliment. If she is worth winning she is worth knowing; and she has plenty of character. So far as I can judge, her nature and yours are quite unlike. Are you quite sure that you can make her happy? In fairness to her, you ought to give her a chance of knowing you before she takes the plunge."

"I can make her happy. I have no shadow of doubt about that. I'll tell you something more, if you like, Miss Strangeways--I am the only man who _can_! She belongs to me, and I am not going to stand aside for any man--or woman--on the face of the earth!"

Vanna shrugged her shoulders, half laughing, half annoyed.

"Very well, then, now we know where we are. For the moment please understand that I have joined the opposition. I shall run off with Jean and hide her, and instil principles of prudence and caution into her ear, coupled with a due suspicion of men who make up their minds in a hurry. Don't count upon my good offices."

"I shan't need them, thank you," he returned calmly.

Vanna reflected that it would be as easy to attempt to depress an india-rubber ball.

CHAPTER SIX.

ENTER MIGGLES.

Three days later the two girls were ensconced in their country quarters, and Jean was beginning to suffer from the effects of reaction. Her impressionable nature was capable of generous impulses, which found vent in such actions of self-abnegation as the present flight from town, but long-continued effort was too heavy a trial. Once settled down in the quiet house by the sea, and past the excitement of the first arrival, she began to droop and to fret, and to demand of herself and every one with whom she came in contact why she had been so foolish as to abandon her last weeks in town.

"To-night is the Listers' ball. I was going to wear the new white. At this very moment I should have been preening before the gla.s.s. I feel a horrid conviction that it would have suited me to distraction, that I should have had the night of my life. I can't think what you were dreaming about, Vanna, to let me rush off in that undignified way. I'm impulsive; but a word from you would have kept me straight. And you never spoke it. I don't think I can ever forgive you. If you hadn't any consideration for me, you might have thought of Edith. For _her_ sake I should have stayed in town and been as nice as possible to Robert Gloucester. If a man can't run the gauntlet of other women, he would make a poor sort of husband. When I fall in love, I shall make a point of introducing the man to the most charming women of my acquaintance, and if he shows any sign of being attracted by a special one, I'll throw them together. I will! You see if I don't! If he didn't like me better than them all put together, I should be glad, thankful, delighted to let him go. Any girl would, who had a spirit. I feel that I have behaved very meanly and unkindly to poor dear Edith. Why don't you speak? What's the good of sitting there like a mummy? Can't you hear?"

"Perfectly, thank you. I am listening with great interest and attention. Being of a generous nature, I refrain from repeating the remarks which you made when I _did_ venture to expostulate, but if you will cast back your thoughts--"

"Oh, well," interrupted Jean naughtily, "I shall just flirt with Piers.

I deserve some distraction after being such a monument of virtue, and I'll have it, or know the reason why. I wrote to tell him we were here, so he'll come over this afternoon, and we'll go for a walk by the sad sea waves. You might twist your ankle on the pebbles, a little innocent twist, you know, just enough to make it wise to sit down and rest while we have our _tete-a-tete_. Since you've brought me here against my will, it's the least you can do. Piers shall have tea with us before we start. Miggles adores Piers."

"Miggles," formally known as Miss Miggs, was a well-known character in the Goring _menage_, having been in succession, governess to Jean, housekeeper during the period of Mr Goring's widowerhood, and afterwards governess to the two sons of the second marriage. After so many years of faithful service it seemed impossible to dispense with Miggles's services, and in truth no one wished to do so, for she was one of the cheery souls who carry sunshine as an atmosphere. According to ordinary ideas, Miggles might have grumbled with the best, and demanded a universal toll of sympathy, for she was the most solitary of units--a woman who could not claim relationship with a angle soul in her own hemisphere. She had pa.s.sed her sixtieth birthday, and despite rigid economies, possessed only a few hundred pounds between herself and want; her health, never strong, showed signs of growing more precarious, and an affection of the eyes shut her off from her loved pastimes of reading and needlework. Nevertheless, Miggles was so far from being depressed by such circ.u.mstances, that it had not even occurred to her that she deserved to be pitied. This blessed state of mind had been achieved by no conflict and struggle of the soul--no n.o.ble effort of will; religion itself had contributed little towards it. Miggles's disposition was a birthright for which she was seemingly as little responsible as for the colour of her hair. As a child, when circ.u.mstances had offered a choice between smiles and tears, she had instinctively elected to smile; as a girl, the mere facts of life and movement had seemed sufficient to ensure complete happiness; while later on she had been so much occupied with being thankful for silver linings that the clouds themselves flitted by attracting but scanty attention. In cheery, non-consequent fashion, _she_ would discourse of her blessings by the hour together.

"Now, would you believe it, my dear, not a soul belonging to me nearer than Australia--my nephew Henry, dear boy, but rash--such a pity! always was, from a child. Thomas now--the elder brother--he would always save.

My mother was so particular about bringing us up to save. '_Instil_ good principles from the beginning' she would say. But however--what was I talking about? Ah, yes! not a soul nearer than Australia, and _three_ letters by this morning's post. Isn't it wonderful? People are so kind. Really, except Monday, when there was a fashion-book from a shop--I do like seeing the fashions--there's been something on my plate every morning. That's so cheering to begin the day. You know some one has been thinking of you, and caring enough to sit down and write."

Jean cast a twinkling glance across the table at Vanna.

"What did they want this time, Miggles? I bet anything you like, that every second letter was to beg for something that you have no business to give, and that you were weak enough to say yes all round. Can you deny it?"

"Why should I, dear child? Such a privilege. Most kind of them to have given me the opportunity. Old clothes! I don't suppose you ever _have_ old clothes, Miss Vanna--they always look so fresh and new. I like to see a girl in pretty clothes. When I was young, shallis were in fashion. I don't suppose you ever saw shallis--very stiff, not nearly so graceful as your delaines. A dear lady gave me a brown shalli, trimmed with pipings. Brown was never my colour, but it wore for years--so very kind. Nowadays I have to wear wool for my poor bones.

Wool always did irritate my skin. It took me weeks to get accustomed to sleep in blankets. I used to lie awake at nights tossing from side to side, and thinking of all the poor creatures who had no warm coverings-- and mine the very best Whitney, the ones from the spare room, Jean, with the blue stripes. Mrs Goring said I was to have them. I'm sure if I'd been the Queen--"

"Oh, it's wonderful to think of. Real Whitney blankets with blue stripes, on which to toss about and groan! What luck you have, Miggles, and how thankful you ought to be that you have bones to _ache_. If you hadn't had that bad feverish attack, you might have been left stranded with your own bedding. It is piteous to think of."

Miggles shook her large, ugly head with elephantine playfulness.

"Naughty child! naughty child! You are laughing at me, I can see. It is very painful, especially during the night, and I used to be so proud of my hands. I've had to give up wearing my turquoise ring, the knuckles are so enlarged. That really was a trial; but when you think what other people have to bear... There's that poor man at Oxford Circus, who wheels about on a board. I always wonder if there are any legs inside his trousers, they lie so very flat; but of course one couldn't ask. How monotonous it would be, my dear, to sit on a board from morning till night. When I thought of that, it seemed so foolish to fret about a ring... Your dear mother gave it to me one Christmas, because I had such a desire to possess a ring. It was the only one I ever had."

"Dear Miggles," cried Jean fondly, "I wonder you didn't have a dozen. I wonder that every man you met didn't press one upon you. They would have done so, if they had known what was good for them. You would have made the dearest wife!"

Miggles smiled appreciatively.

"Well, dear, I _should_, though I say it myself. I should have made him very comfortable. I have such a sympathy with men, poor dears, working all day long, and banks failing, and upsetting their plans, and all the bills to pay. They do deserve a little comfort at home. My nephew's wife--Henry's--I can't help feeling she's been a little to blame. Of course there's no denying that Henry _is_ rash, but he could have been _guided_, and Florence is hasty. A nice girl, too--very nice. I wouldn't say a word against her, but you can't help thinking sometimes, and I'm sorry for Henry. Yes! I've always regretted that I never had an offer. I was never pretty, like you, my dears; but personable, quite personable. A gentleman once pa.s.sed the remark that if he had been young he would have wished nothing better than that nice, wholesome-looking girl; but he was quite old--a colonel, home from India, with a liver. When they are like that they admire a fresh complexion. And of course he had a wife already. It would have been pleasant to look back and remember that some one had wished to make me his wife." Miggles gazed at the coffeepot with an air of placid regret, which quickly melted into smiles. "But, however--he mightn't have turned out well. One never knows, and I read a sweet little poem in a magazine which might have been written to meet my case. She said (a lady wrote it; I should think she had had a disappointment), 'If I never have a child of my own, with its little hands, and pattering feet, still all the children of the world are mine, to love and to mother.' Such a beautiful thought, was it not?"

"Beautiful, indeed, and so original. She was a great poet, my Miggles.

Talking of suitors, Piers Rendall is coming to tea. We'll have it here, please. Piers likes a nursery tea set out on the table, with plenty of apricot jam, and thick sensible bread-and-b.u.t.ter; no shavings.

Plum-cake; not plain--he detests caraway seeds, and two lumps of sugar in his tea."

"I know. I've poured out tea for him since he was so high," cried Miggles, waving her hand indefinitely in the air. "He had it with me here two days before you came. It's not many young men who would care to walk three miles to see an old woman, but I can't say he looks well.

Thin--worried! A man ought to be full of life at that age."

"Fretting for me, dear! He'll be all right this afternoon. You'll see," announced Miss Jean confidently. She would have said the same of any other young man of her acquaintance, nevertheless Vanna waited with some anxiety for the events of the afternoon. Strive as she might, she could not divest her mind of a feeling of responsibility towards Robert Gloucester; of the conviction that Jean was his by right, and that separation could end only in disaster.

At three o'clock that afternoon Piers Rendall walked up the garden path, and Jean rushed out to meet him. Vanna, from her seat in the hall, could hear the merry exchange of greetings.

"Halloa, Princess!"