Red Rowans Part 32

"I shouldn't have thought it necessary to impress that on the girls of the present day," remarked Paul, rather hastily, and Marjory flushed up at once.

"It is never safe to generalise from a single experience, Captain Macleod," she retorted, "and yours may have been exceptionally fortunate--hitherto."

"Perhaps it has--hitherto," he replied, and, after delivering his message, went off in a huff. Yet he felt himself more on a plane with Marjory than he had ever done before, slightly to his discomfiture; for this atmosphere of quick give and take, this suspicion of jealous anger, was familiar to him, and he could not mistake its possibilities. So he devoted himself more than usual to his duty, and though, of course, he made up his tiff a trifle sentimentally with Marjory, he chose to be rather lordly over her relations with Dr.

Kennedy, and even went so far as to mention to his sister that he suspected her _protege_, Mr. Gillespie, was forestalled.

"My dear Paul!" said Lady George, distractedly, "I really don't care at the present moment who marries who. I might be in a better world for that matter, if I weren't in Purgatory."

"Wherefore?" asked Paul, kindly.

"Oh! the supper, and the servants, and the general civility," replied Blanche, who was in reality enjoying the bustle, but, at the same time, liked to pose as a victim. "Really, in these out-of-the-way places one has to be a virtuous woman, and bring one's food from afar; and then there is always Blasius. I suppose it is the name, as you say, George, but, really, I don't believe that child _can_ do what is right."

"Nonsense, my dear," retorted her spouse, who ever since he undertook to interpret the laws of nature to his youngest born had been a trifle jealous of his pupil's reputation. "Blasius won the Derby in '73. What has the child been doing now?"

"Oh! nothing much; only he wouldn't eat his dinner just now because it was only an egg, and the others had mutton. He really is too young to have meat every day; so, as I was busy, I told nurse to put him to bed, and he is sitting up in it making the most unearthly noises, as if the whole farmyard were in the top landing. Listen! you can hear him down here."

There could be no doubt of it, and as they stood in the hall, looking up involuntarily, a perfect babel of cluckings and cacklings, crowings and quackings, seemed to come down the stairs with Mary, the nursemaid, who was bearing the dirty dishes from the nursery dinner; among them Blazes' despised egg.

"The worst of it is," went on Lady George, in her high, plaintive voice, "you never really know what the child means. Why, for instance, should he cackle, as if he had laid an egg himself?"

'"Um!" grumbled her husband. "More to the purpose why he refused his dinner? Here, let me look at that tray, will you? By Jove, Blanche!"

he went on, holding out the egg-cup excitedly, "it's bad--no child could be expected to eat that--what a fool!"

He was half-way up the stairs impetuously when his wife begged him to be discreet, and wait for her.

"It is just what I said," she confided to Paul, who followed full of laughter. "You never can tell what he means till afterwards; now, of course, I can guess that--that----" She paused, feeling that words were unnecessary before the spectacle of Blasius, standing beside the round, white pillow of his cot, and cackling vehemently. But Lord George was too angry for amus.e.m.e.nt, and after an elaborate apology to Blazes for the mistake, handed him over to the nurse with a sharp order to re-dress him and take more care in future, which enabled that functionary to veil her real regret under a show of indignation until Blasius, who was sitting on her knee, and could presumably see more of the truths than others, said consolingly:

"Never mind, nursie! c.o.c.ky eat his own egg next time." Whereupon, she burst into tears and hugged him for a darling, and a treasure, and the one comfort of her life.

"I don't think his meaning was obscure that time, Blanche," said her husband, as they went downstairs. "If c.o.c.ky had committed the indiscretion of laying a bad egg, why then--G.o.d bless the boy, he is a little trump!"

"And has a wisdom beyond his years," added Paul, rather cynically; "for he lays the blame where it should be given--on the Creator."

"My dear Paul! what a dreadful thing to say; please remember he is your G.o.d-son."

"Well, if he doesn't hear it from me he will from others, my dear girl," replied her brother, with a shrug of the shoulders. "It is the teaching of to-day. We are none of us responsible beings."

"And upon my soul," growled Lord George, "I'm inclined to agree with it in one sense--think of that fool of a nurse!--you should dismiss her, Blanche."

"But, my dear Paul," persisted Lady George, disregarding her husband's suggestion, "the question of heredity does not exclude the forces of education. We can be altered----"

"I've heard you say a dozen times, Blanche, that an altered body is never satisfactory, even with the best of dressmakers," interrupted Paul, as he turned off to the smoking-room. "So why should you think it would answer with a soul?"

"There is something the matter with Paul," remarked his sister, who disliked above all things to have the logical sequence of her own theories flung in her face; "but that is only to be expected. When one is busy troubles come crowding in on every side. However, I have written to Lady Hooker, and begged her as a personal favour not to bring the piper to-morrow night; for, though I have warned the servants about Highland flings, you cannot expect people to overcome their natural instincts nowadays, and of course we shall be enjoying ourselves, in a way, upstairs."

"I hope so," a.s.sented her husband, gloomily; "and I suppose, my dear, I shall get my towel-horse back when it is all over."

"Now, George! isn't that like a man?" cried his wife, triumphantly, as if appealing to him for verification of a new and interesting fact about himself. "As if you didn't know that tableaux in the drawing-room and towel-horses in the bedrooms were quite incompatible when scenery is required--especially rustic scenery. And Mrs. Vane requires so many rocks! You may be thankful it wasn't _boulders_, for then the pillows would have gone, and what would you have said to that?"

Lord George said nothing, but as he followed his brother-in-law's example and turned off to the smoking-room, some connection of ideas made him hum to himself:--

"Out of my stony grief Bethels I'll raise."

"Really, George!" called his wife, indignantly; "you and Paul are _impayable_. It is a wonder Adam and Eve are so good."

CHAPTER XVII.

Private theatricals as a rule need no description, but these in the barn at Gleneira House merit at least so much attention, in that, for the major part of the audience, they were the first attempt at play-acting it had ever seen; since even in the British Isles culture and civilisation have not harried the glens which are hidden away in the hearts of the hills. To tell truth, not a few of the audience came doubtfully with a fear lest they might be backsliders; but, as luck would have it, the Free Church section, being in process of choosing a new minister, felt it could afford, for once, to test the iniquity of the stage by actual experience. Besides, if the laird led the way, there were still sufficient of the clan to follow him even to the jaws of h.e.l.l. So they came and waited for the curtain to rise, with a quaint trepidation lest they should really enjoy themselves, and so give place to the devil.

But there was someone else besides the "_unco guid_" who felt vaguely as if it would have been better she had not been there, as if she wished that both the immediate past and the present had never come to pa.s.s. And that was Marjory, as she stood at the far corner by the door, whence she could escape easily when she was wanted behind the scenes. Perhaps her face showed something of this, for Paul Macleod, pausing beside her for a moment, said in a low tone:

"I've seen Mrs. Vane act in 'Her Bitterest Foe' before, and she alone would carry it off. Then Bertie is splendid at the heavy parts, and Dr. Kennedy, by all accounts, is almost professional. There is no fear, I'm sure."

She turned to him quickly. "Do I look nervous? I think I am, chiefly from the novelty. It is the first play I've ever seen, remember."

He knew that, and yet the idea struck him again with a certain regret for her and for himself. For her that she should see one at all, for himself that he should have seen so many. "After all," he parodied lightly, "it is better sometimes never to have lived than to have lived it all! There goes the prompter's bell, so keep your eyes open, Miss Carmichael."

There was no need for the advice, since the first look filled the girl with astonishment at the almost ridiculous reality which the glare of the footlights gave to the shreds and patches of scenery she had helped to put together. No wonder, therefore, if Mrs. Vane, in her simple black dress, looked the _ingenue_ to perfection, and Major Bertie's honest English face had quite a German cut about it. And how well they acted! The ring of rough tenderness in the General's voice was all that could be desired, while Mrs. Vane was faultlessly simple and girlish. It could scarcely, Marjory told herself, be better; and oh, how dreadful--how unbearable it would be if Tom fell below that high standard! Another minute and his cue would come; so much she knew, and a really hot regret rose up in her that she had not insisted on invading the privacy of the rehearsals; then she would have known what to expect. Yet what could he do with such a part? A part which had always sounded to her so unreal, so unlike the man himself, so unlike---- Then who was this hasty, hot-headed, imperious, impetuous boy who burst upon the stage? She gave quite a little gasp of dismay, and then forgot everything save that figure kneeling at its mistress's feet, and pouring out its love, its grief, its remorse.

"Bravo!" said Paul, under his breath, then added, in a different tone, "You see there is no need to be nervous--he does it _con amore_."

A sudden jealousy had leapt up in him at the thought that Marjory might listen to such wooing, and as he moved away to the vacant place left for him by Alice Woodward, he told himself, with resentful cynicism, that it was not the first time Dr. Kennedy had played the lover's part, and that even Marjory should be satisfied by the plaudits which were sure to follow.

But she was not thinking of applause. She was too startled, too dazed to think at all, for something new and hitherto undreamt of in her was responding pa.s.sionately to the pa.s.sionate appeal to which she listened, and her clasp on the chair behind which she stood slackened in relief as the kiss of forgiveness was given. Oh, that was right!

Who, loving the man, would not forgive? Who could help it in such case? And this--yes! this was love!

It seemed to her as if the play pa.s.sed in a moment, and yet that it had stolen the reality from all the rest of her life; nor did she realise who the actors were until, amid the applause with which the curtain came down, she heard two familiar voices from the row of chairs in front of her.

"Bravo! Bravissimo!" said one. "That was well done. He has my compliments."

"And mine," quoth the other, solemnly jocose. "But to think of it? Oh, Thomas, my lad, _quod medicorum est promettant medice_, but this is no healing o' hearts, man! Eh! Father Macdonald, but we will have at the learned impostor; we will!"

"_Amor al cor gentil ralto s'apprende_," put in the gentler voice, in the same jocose strain; and then they both laughed.

Marjory stepped back involuntarily as if to avoid hearing more; but she had heard enough, for there, as she raised her eyes, stood Dr.

Kennedy and Mrs. Vane, bowing their acknowledgments of the recall. The old life had come back again, but with a strange new thrill in it which made her heart beat, yet left her dazed and weary.

"If I could always act with Tom Kennedy," said Mrs. Vane, jubilant over the success, when Marjory went behind the scenes to aid in the coming tableaux, "I should make my fortune. He is the only amateur I ever saw who knows how to make love!"

"He did it very well," a.s.sented Marjory, coldly. She felt glad that he was too busy with the scenery for her to have speech with him; she would not have known what to say--for she had liked it--she had understood--and yet!---- It was bad enough to listen for a moment to Paul's approval when he came round, escorting Alice Woodward, who was wanted for the statue in "Winter's Tale."

"You should be satisfied," he said with intent. "Personally I never saw it better done, on--or off the stage."