Old Kensington Part 33

'Too bad,' said the Colonel, sitting heavily down in Lady Sarah's chair.

'A conspiracy, depend upon it. They don't wish for too much counter-attraction in a certain quarter.'

'One never knows what to think,' said Mrs. Palmer, thoughtfully; 'I have left a card this afternoon, Robert, upon which I wrote a few words in pencil, to explain my connection with Sarah. I wished to show that I at least was not unacquainted with the usages of civilised society. Kindly hand me that _Peerage_.'

'My dear Aunt Philippa,' cried Robert, walking up and down in a state of the greatest perturbation, 'what induced you to do such a preposterous thing? What will the d.u.c.h.ess think of us all?'

Mrs. Palmer, greatly offended, replied that she could not allow Robert to speak to her in such disrespectful tones. The d.u.c.h.ess might think what she chose; Dolly should not go without her.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

WHITE ROSES.

If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only.

Some one sent Dolly a great bunch of white roses that afternoon; they came in with a late breath of summer--shining white with dark leaves and stems--and, as Dolly bent her head over the soft zones, breathing their sweet breath, it seemed to carry her away into cool depths of fragrance.

The roses seemed to come straight from some summer garden, from some tranquil place where all was peace and silence. As she stood, holding them in her two hands, the old garden at All Saints' came before her, and the day when Robert first told her that he loved her. How different things seemed already--the roses only were as sweet as she remembered them. Every one seemed changed since then--Robert himself most of all; and if she was herself disappointed, was she not as changed as the rest?

But these kind, dear roses had come to cheer her, and to remind her to be herself, of all that had gone before. How good of Robert to think of them! She wished they had come before he left, that she might have thanked him. She now remembered telling him, as they were driving down to the river, that no roses were left in their garden.

'Very pretty,' said her mother. 'Take them away, Dolly; they are quite overpowering. You know, Colonel Witherington, how much better people understand these things at Trincomalee: and what quant.i.ties of flowers I used to receive there. Even the Admiral once ordered in six dozen lemon-shrubs in tubs for my fete. As for the people in this country, they don't do things by halves, but by quarters, my dear Colonel.'

Mrs. Palmer was still agitated, nor did she regain her usual serenity until about six o'clock, when, in answer to a second note from Lady Sarah, the persecuted d.u.c.h.ess sent a blank card for Mrs. Palmer to fill up herself if she chose.

When Dolly came to say good-night to Lady Sarah she held her roses in her hand: some of the leaves shook down upon her full white skirts; it was late in the summer, and the sweet heads hung languid on their stalks. They were the last roses that Dolly wore for many and many a day.

'So you are going,' said Lady Sarah.

'Yes,' said Dolly, waiting for one word, one sign to show that she was forgiven: she stood with sun-gilt hair in the light of the western window. 'Dear Aunt Sarah, you are not well. You must not be left all alone,' she went on timidly.

'I am quite well--I shall not be alone,' said Lady Sarah. 'Mr. Tapeall is coming, and I am going to sign my will, Dolly,' and she looked her niece hard in the face. 'I shall not change it again whatever may happen. You will have no need in future to conceal anything from me, for the money is yours.' And Lady Sarah sighed, deeply hurt.

Dolly blushed up. 'Dear Aunt Sarah, I do not want your money,' she said.

'You could never have thought----'

'I can only judge people by their deeds,' said Lady Sarah, coldly still.

'You and George shall judge me by mine, whether or not I have loved you;' and the poor old voice failed a little, and the lips quivered as she held up her cheek for Dolly to kiss.

'Dear, dearest,' said Dolly, 'only forgive me too. If you mean that you are going to leave me money, I shall not be grateful. I have enough.

What do I want? Only that you should love us always. Do you think I would marry Robert if he did not think so too?'

'Mademoiselle! Madame is ready,' cried Julie, coming to the door, and tapping.

'George, too, would say the same, you know he would,' Dolly went on, unheeding Julie's call. 'But if you give him what you meant for me, dear Aunt Sarah; indeed that would make me happiest, and then I should know you forgive me.'

The door creaked, opened, and Mrs. Palmer stood there impatient in her evening dress.

'My dear Dolly, what have you got to say to Aunt Sarah? We shall be dreadfully late, and Robert is fuming. _Do_ pray come. Good-night, Sarah--so sorry to leave you.'

Rather than keep dinner waiting people break off their talk, their loves, their prayers. The Middletons' dinner was waiting, and Dolly had to come away. Some of the rose-leaves were lying on the floor after she had left, and the caressing fragrance still seemed to linger in the room.

Dolly left home unforgiven, so she thought. Aunt Sarah had not smiled nor spoken to her in her old voice once since that wretched morning scene.

But, in truth, Lady Sarah was clearer-sighted than people gave her credit for; she was bitterly hurt by Dolly's want of confidence, but she began to understand the struggle which had been going on in the girl's mind, and so far, things were not so sad as she had imagined at first.

They were dismal enough.

When Marker came to tell Lady Sarah that Mr. Tapeall and his clerks were below, she got up from her chair wearily, and went down to meet the lawyer. What did she care now? She had saved, and pinched, and laid by (more of late than any one suspected), and Dolly was to benefit, and Dolly did not care; Robert only seemed to count upon the money. It is often the most cautious people who betray themselves most unexpectedly.

Something in Henley's manner had annoyed Lady Sarah of late. He had spoken of George with constant disparagement. More than once Robert had let slip a word that showed how confidently he looked for Dolly's inheritance.

One day Mrs. Palmer had noticed Lady Sarah's eyes upon him, and immediately tried to cover his mistake. Not so Dolly, who said, 'Robert!

what are you thinking of? How should we ever be able to afford a country-house if you go into Parliament?'

'Robert thinks he is marrying an heiress, I suppose,' said Lady Sarah.

'No, he doesn't,' Dolly answered; 'that would spoil it all.'

This was all the grat.i.tude poor Lady Sarah had saved and pinched herself to win.

Lady Sarah, as I have said, might have been a money-lover, if her warm heart had not saved her. But she was human, and she could not help guessing at Robert's comfortable calculations, and she resented them.

Did she not know what it was to be married, not for herself, but for what she could bring? Was _that_ to be her Dolly's fate? Never, never!

Who knows? Let her have her own way; it may be best after all, thought Lady Sarah, wearily. She was tired of battling. Let George inherit, if it so pleased them. To please them was all she had wished or hoped for, and now even the satisfaction of pleasing them in her own way was denied her. But her girl was true; this she felt. No sordid thoughts had ever come between them, and for this she thanked G.o.d in her heart.

'You may burn it, Mr. Tapeall,' said Lady Sarah, as the lawyer produced, a beautiful neatly-written parchment, where Miss Dorothea Vanborough's name was emblazoned many times. 'I want you to make me another. Yes, make it directly, and I will sign it at once, and old Sam can bear witness.'

'I shall be happy to receive any further instructions.' said the lawyer; 'I shall have to take the memorandum home with me to prepare----'

'I will sign the memorandum,' said Lady Sarah. 'You can have it copied, if you like, Mr. Tapeall; but I wish to have this business settled at once, and to hear no more of it. There is a pen and some ink on that table.'

'Where did you get your roses?' said Robert to Dolly. 'I thought you told me they were over.'

'Did not you send them?' said Dolly, disappointed. 'Who can have sent them? _Not_ Colonel Witherington?'

'Mr. Raban is more likely,' said Mrs. Palmer. 'Julie tells me he came to the door this afternoon.'

'How kind of him!' cried Miss Vanborough.

'It was quite unnecessary,' said Robert. 'n.o.body, in society, carries bouquets now.'

'Then I am not in society,' said Dolly, laughing; but although she laughed, she felt sad and depressed.

When the door opened and Mrs. Palmer, followed by her beautiful daughter and Henley, came into the room at Mrs. Middleton's, Colonel Witherington declared, upon his honour, they quite brightened up the party. White and gracious with many laces and twinklings, Mrs. Palmer advances, taking to society as a duck takes to the water, and not a little pleased with the sensation she is creating. Dolly follows, looking very handsome, but, it must be confessed, somewhat absent. Her mother had excellent taste, and had devised a most becoming costume, and if Dolly had only been herself she would certainly have done credit to it; but she had not responded to Mademoiselle Julie's efforts--a sudden fit of dull shyness seemed to overpower her. If Frank Raban had been there she would have liked to thank him for her flowers; but Mrs. Middleton began explaining to Robert how sorry she was that his friend Mr. Raban had been obliged to go off to Cambridge. Dolly was a little disappointed. The silvery folds of her dress fell each in juxtaposition; but Dolly sat silent and pale and far away, and for some time she scarcely spoke.

'That girl does not look happy,' said some one.