Lady Cassandra Part 10

Miss Bruce's gratification was merged in stunned surprise.

"Chin--beard?"

"They always have. Haven't you noticed? If your father hadn't, that makes him more wonderful still. And where is your house, Miss--"

"Bruce. In Rose Lane. Near the Men's Inst.i.tute. A little house with a green porch. You wouldn't have noticed--"

"I've just come, you see," Grizel apologised, "and I've been busy about my own little house. I'll show it to you, and you must show me yours.

When will you come to tea?"

Miss Bruce stood silent, struggling between a longing to name a date, clinch the invitation, and wave a flag of triumph in the eyes of her enemies, and some softer feeling which forebade taking advantage of the ignorance of a new-comer. She looked down at the young happy face, at the slim young body in its dainty trappings, and a rare impulse of tenderness stirred in her dried heart. People said that Mrs Beverley had been born to a great fortune, had lived in luxury among the highest in the land, but she gave herself fewer airs than many upstarts in semi-detached villas. One good turn deserved another. Miss Bruce rose to unexampled heights of sacrifice.

"It is very kind of you--I appreciate it, but I'd better not! The gentlefolk don't know me, don't want to. If they met me sitting in your drawing-room it would be awkward for everybody concerned."

Grizel elevated expressive eyebrows.

"I choose my own friends. No one has a right to dictate. I'll drive over for you some day, and carry you off whether you want to or not.

You could help me so much! There are thousands of things I want to know about the place, and the workpeople, and where to send, and what to do when things happen--they always _are_ happening in a house, and I've a sort of conviction that you could tell me! I'm rather a lazy person, but I get things done. Providence is kind in sending along people to do them for me."

Such was the magnetism of the dimpling smile that Miss Bruce entirely forgot that this was the person who in the present instance had volunteered to help herself, and stammered ardent promises. Anything she could do! Everything she could do. Only too pleased and proud--

"_That's_ all right, then. And about those daffodils! _Don't_ you think they'd look better ma.s.sed together into little groups? They do look so plaintive fading away all on their own little lones. You'd get more effect from good-sized bunches!"

"Well, I can try!" Miss Bruce conceded amiably, and for the next ten minutes she worked diligently, carrying out the instructions given by a soft voice, and a waving hand in an exquisitely fitting glove. The result was distinctly to the good, and Grizel had no hesitation in taking her due share of praise.

"We _have_ done them well!" she said graciously at parting, and Miss Bruce magnanimously agreed.

"Thank you so much for your help!"

Grizel made another short cut through a pew, and was intercepted by the Vicar's wife, who had been watching the _tete-a-tete_ with wondering eyes. Mrs Martin Beverley, and poor Miss Bruce! What on earth had they found to talk about all that time? Her keen eyes were alight with curiosity, but Grizel vouchsafed no information; she knew without hearing what the good lady would have to say, and was in no mind to hear it. Perhaps of all sins, pride is the most universal, and the most varied in the manner of its presentment. It hides itself under many disguises, obtrudes its head in the most unexpected situations. The socialist railing at society, and calling upon mankind to follow his example, is often more inflated with pride than the aristocrats against whom he inveighs: an ardent philanthropist living happily among East End roughs, will display unexpected bristles to a fellow-worker who has not known the advantages of a public school; so Grizel Beverley, looking down on the small folk of Chumley from the alt.i.tude of her past experiences, failed to grasp Infinitesimal distinctions, and saw no reason why she should be hindered thereby. She had no mind to obey instructions from the Vicar's wife! She floated past with a nod and a smile, and joined the little group of three who were standing outside the Cancel rails, surveying the effect of the completed vases. The girl Teresa looked paler and more set in expression; tired, no doubt, with her morning's _work_. Ca.s.sandra, on the contrary, looked refreshed, the interest of having work to do, and doing it well, lighting her eyes into a girlish brightness. Her face was almost as happy as Grizel's own, as she turned to greet her.

"Here you are! I hope I've not kept you too long. It must be nearly time for lunch." She cast a quick glance at the two by her side, and added tentatively; "I'm going straight back in the car; won't you both come, too, and let me feed you after your labours? Do! I'd be so pleased."

Without a flicker of hesitation came Teresa's refusal.

"Thank you; I couldn't possibly. I've not finished. There is always a cold lunch at the Vicarage. Mrs Evans asks anyone who likes to go.

It's so near."

"Yes, of course." Ca.s.sandra held out her hand in placid acceptance of the fact, spoke a few words of farewell, and turned to Peignton, taking for granted a like excuse on his part, but he was hesitating, and displaying an obvious wish to accept.

"Is there anything more that I can do to help you, Miss Teresa?--If my work is finished, there's no need for me to stay. Of course, if there's anything I can do--"

"No, thank you. Only a few odds and ends. Nothing serious. I can manage quite well," said Teresa staunchly. Her heart was cramped with pain, but she made no sign. As calmly as a martyr of old, she smiled through the fire, shook hands with each of the three in turn, and accompanied them a few steps down the aisle.

Ca.s.sandra walked ahead, her head in the air. "Now why did he do that?"

she asked herself uneasily. "I asked them together. I never dreamed he would come alone. Perhaps Bernard was mistaken, and there's nothing between them, after all. She seemed absolutely detached!" The possibility brought with it a sense of relief, and her thoughts flew ahead to the afternoon. "I'll take him to my summer-house to tea, and we can talk. There are quite a number of things I want to say..."

It was five o'clock before Teresa Mallison returned home that afternoon, for the "few odd things" stretched out to unexpected length. The day had turned out very differently from what she expected, but there was no anger in her heart against the two who had disturbed her peace. With unusual fairness of mind she realised their unconsciousness, their unwillingness to offend. Things had just happened. No one was to blame. This philosophic att.i.tude did not prevent her from being exceedingly short and snappy with her family for the rest of the evening, or from refusing coldly to partake of the fowl which had been provided for her delectation. To some natures a scapegoat is necessary, and in nine cases out of ten they are conveniently discovered in the home circle.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

STOLEN HOURS.

Driving home in the car Ca.s.sandra was conscious of contending emotions which carried her back to nursery days; pleasure, excitement, an underlying gnawing of guilt. So had she felt, stealthily playing in a corner with a toy purloined from a sister's store, and yet, as she a.s.sured herself, there was no need for compunction. She had invited both Teresa and Dane; it was not her fault if the girl chose to refuse; not her fault if the man was ungallant enough to accept. Yet the feeling of guilt persisted. She looked curiously at Peignton to see if he shared her discomfort, but never did a man look more serene and unperturbed. Happy too! The thrill of pleasurable excitement which in her case was a real, though secondary sensation, was, to judge by appearance, all-pervading in his case. His eyes shone, the tired-out look had disappeared; his lips smiled.

"What a good thing a good car is! I used to swear by walking, but the time has come when I find it very agreeable to slip into a cushioned seat, and be whirled where I would go. There's something mysteriously fatiguing about decorating churches; haven't you found it so? Perhaps it is the necessity of keeping quiet and forbearing from expressing oneself as one otherwise would, when one is unexpectedly scratched or bruised. In any case, I _am_ tired. And hungry! It is good of you to offer to feed me."

Ca.s.sandra smiled with the comfortable a.s.surance of one who takes perfect meals as a matter of course. There was no consciousness of cold mutton, no fear of a heavy pudding, to mar her enjoyment of an unexpected guest, but having never experienced a housekeeper's anxiety, she failed to appreciate the relief.

"I hope they will give you something fit to eat!"

"And afterwards... Will you show me your garden?"

"I have no special garden. I do nothing myself. I'm always making up my mind to take over a little corner, but it takes a long time to make up my mind. I don't want to dig and delve. I enjoy the flowers better when I get them without any trouble. It would be simply an effort to try to find an interest.--Do you believe in troubling to find an interest, when it doesn't come naturally?"

"Yes," Dane said simply, and Ca.s.sandra stared at him with a feeling of check. She had not expected that quiet "yes"; it carried with it a finality which put an end to argument.

"I have had to do it, you see!" he added. "The thing which _did_ interest me became impossible, so I was obliged to find something else to fill the gap."

Ca.s.sandra lay back against the cushions with an exaggerated sigh of resignation.

"Oh, dear! here we are back at our Second Bests! I hate Second Bests, and makeshifts of every description, and I don't recognise any obligation to adopt them. If I can gain an interest only at the cost of something it doesn't interest me to do, how can it be an interest at all? I'm talking nonsense, but it's your fault... You are so painfully philosophic... Does a land agency _really_ fill the gap left by the old regiment, and its a.s.sociations?"

"Nothing near it. But it helps. It is several degrees better than nothing." Peignton spoke resolutely, but his face twitched, and Ca.s.sandra was smitten with compunction.

"Ah! I shouldn't have said it. It was mean of me. When you are so brave..." Her voice sank to a tenderness of which she was unaware, as she asked the next question: "What was it? I never heard more than just that you had a breakdown!"

"Lungs," he said simply. "I had a cough, and it stuck to me, and I lost weight, but I never dreamt of anything serious. It was a bit of a--jar!

I was packed off home to a sanatorium, and came out at the end of six months with a clean bill of health. I've been up to be vetted every few months since. The last time it was a new fellow, and he could not spot the weak place, so I'm all right, you see; it has just made me physically a few years older than I really am. Given care, and an outdoor life, I have as good a chance as another man."

"Oh, of course. So many people... It's _nothing_ now, compared with what it used to be," Ca.s.sandra a.s.sented hurriedly. _That_ was the reason of the subtly appealing look which had puzzled her from her first meeting with this man! He had looked death in the face; had left the mimic playing at arms, to fight a hand-to-hand battle with that grim spectre through weary weeks and months. Such an experience could not fail to leave its mark, however resolutely it might be ignored. She was silent for some minutes, staring dreamily out of the window, while Dane in his turn studied her face, and wondered in masculine innocence why every woman did not wear chinchilla.

"How do you take it when such blows come?" she asked slowly at last.

"Do you rage or sulk? I suppose with ordinary human creatures it comes down to one of the two. Only the saints are resigned, and I don't fancy you--"

"No, indeed. Very far from it!" He laughed, then sobered quickly. "I suppose I,--sulked! I got the credit for taking it uncommonly well, but that was because I was too proud to fuss. Pity hurt. For my own selfish sake it was easier to bluff it out, and pretend to be hopeful.

But inside--I went through a pretty fair imitation of h.e.l.l in those first few weeks!"

In Ca.s.sandra's low croon of sympathy sounded all the warmth of her Irish heart; her eyes were liquid with sympathy.

"And then? Afterwards... How soon did you--"

"Pull myself together? Oh, I dunno! As soon as I--began to pull round, I suppose!" He shrugged his shoulders. "Not much credit in that, was there? I _sulked_, as you put it, so long as everything seemed over, but when I saw I was going to live on, I was obliged to rouse myself to see what could be done. That's natural! The more one has lost, the more important it is to make the most of what remains. I couldn't enjoy my life in the way I intended, but I was determined to enjoy it all the same."

"And have you?"

"Rather! Look at me now. Having a rattling time. I've never enjoyed things more in my life than during the last few weeks."