The Career of Katherine Bush Part 57

"When a man feels as Mordryn feels, no cla.s.s prejudice in the world will keep him from the woman in the end! Only let him suffer enough and then give them an opportunity to meet, and all will be well!"

Thus she mused--And what a weight off her mind it would be to see them happily married! So that her conscience might be at rest, and she could feel that she had more than made up for her action of long ago.

Yes--Katherine Bush was a peerless creature, and would be the brightest jewel in any crown. Not a trace of the jealousy or antagonism, which once or twice for the fraction of a second had sprung up from natural hereditary instinct and cla.s.s prejudice, remained in her heart. Her clear and wise judgment had sifted and weighed all the pros and cons. No two human beings on earth were more suited to one another than her humble secretary from Bindon's Green and this great n.o.bleman. And she could launch Katherine successfully, and make her accepted without question. And after the marriage, she could safely leave to the girl's own superb tact and common sense the task of maintaining the position of d.u.c.h.ess with ill.u.s.trious distinction. So that the only barrier left to be overcome was Mordryn's tiresome prejudice about cla.s.s. That most annoyingly obstinate sense of duty, and _n.o.blesse oblige_--duty to his rank and to his race. But his mind was not narrow, and once he could have time freely to think out what real n.o.bility meant, he would realise that highness of birth was not essential at all.

Lady Garribardine knew the Duke's nature so well; she was aware that if she spoke to him upon this subject and sought to influence him more than her speech at the picnic had already done, his desire being so forcibly upon her side, he would then still more determinedly make up his mind not to be convinced from the fear that he was allowing inclination to weaken his sense of duty.

To leave fate to manage matters was the best plan, and to be ready to give a helping hand at the critical moment.

Mordryn was certainly suffering deeply or he would have returned to London, instead of staying on at Valfreyne.

Not by word or insinuation did she ever indicate to Katherine that she had remarked the Duke's interest in her, or the apparent cooling of it.

Indeed, since that day at the Easter party when she had lightly spoken of his coming to the schoolroom, she had never mentioned him to her secretary in connection with herself at all. So on the surface everything was calm and peaceful, and life flowed in its accustomed stream.

Mordryn must be made to come to Berkeley Square again as of old, and he must not be allowed to see Katherine for some time. He must get into the way of dropping in as usual without fear.

And in the third week after Whitsuntide, the Duke returned to town and did dine there, and Miss Bush was nowhere to be seen. He had spent very miserable days down in his beautiful home. He had not reached the stage of reason yet, he was merely fighting desire with all his might--while daily it grew stronger.

How cold her hand had been when they had said a polite good-bye on the Tuesday morning; he could feel it through the glove! How pale her face had looked, too! He hoped to G.o.d she was not suffering; that would be too cruel, and he could not feel guiltless if it were so. He had certainly played upon her feelings, although in the most subtle manner, which made his conduct the more cowardly and inexcusable. This thought brought extreme discomfort, and plunged him into frantic work. He filled all his hours with the business of his estate, in order to banish memory, but with no great success, so at last he came up to London, determined to crush out every weakness. But when he went to Berkeley Square to dine he felt agitated, and he knew that he was fearing and yet hoping to see Katherine.

But he caught no glimpse of her, nor was she even mentioned, it was as though she had never been. He grew anxious--had she left Seraphim's service? This must be ascertained immediately, before he left the house.

"Miss Bush is not dining to-night, Seraphim?" he said, after dinner, when he had a moment with his hostess. "I hope she is well?"

"Yes, thanks," and Her Ladyship turned the conversation at once, so that he was left with this meagre information.

As he drove away to St. James's, he found himself thinking incessantly of the girl.

She had understood. She was so fine, she had grasped the situation completely--had she not herself explained to him the duty he owed to his race?

But a woman who could take such an abstract view must surely have a very wonderful soul! Every one of her ideas had shown the highest sense of duty, the most profound grasp of what was meant by _n.o.blesse oblige_. He remembered even her remark about his attending the House of Lords, how she had said it was cowardly of him to shirk his work there just because he so despised modern views. In what high esteem, too, she was held by Seraphim--a woman not to be imposed upon by any mere charm, and one who would bring the most critical judgment to bear upon every question before she would accord her friendship.--And that Katherine had Lady Garribardine's friendship in full, he knew.

He went into his library which looked out on the Green Park, and he opened the window side and walked on to the terrace. In the distance the roar of Piccadilly thundered by, but his immediate neighbourhood was quiet and he could think.

He reviewed every minute incident from the beginning of his acquaintance with Katherine that night not so very long ago at the house of Gerard Strobridge. She had admitted that it was she herself who had desired this meeting after she had heard him speak. That proved that she had been drawn to him even then. And how attractive she had appeared, how cultivated and polished, how clever and refined! And to think that such achievement was the result of steadfastness of purpose! A will to compa.s.s an ideal against extraordinary odds. An intelligence great enough to realise that facts alone count, and that no a.s.sumption of the rights of ladyhood, or demonstration in words, would convince anyone, but only the inward reality of fineness of soul directing outward action. How much more meritorious and to be respected was her achievement then than if these things had been her natural heritage! She had obtained a state of perfection through deliberate intention in a far greater degree than anyone he knew but Seraphim. Her every idea, thought, expression and point of view, accorded exactly with his own.

Her sense of duty was paramount. Her level-headedness, and her common sense, and her balance were such as he had never before seen in woman.

And she was young and beautiful, and in perfect health. No nervous fancies beset that evenly poised brain.

Suddenly, as he stared up into the deep blue starlit sky, it seemed that the scales fell from his eyes, and fog was lifted from his inner vision of the soul.

This beloved creature--daughter of an auctioneer and granddaughter of a butcher--was truly and really an aristocrat in the purest and truest sense of the term. And just because he could trace his pedigree back for countless generations, who was he to stand aside and not give her her due when her spirit and character were so infinitely above him? (Thus love engenders humility in n.o.ble hearts!)

Where in the whole world could he find one so worthy to share his great name and great estate? He laughed aloud in glee! It would not be giving way to temptation for personal joy to think of her as his d.u.c.h.ess, but it would be conferring the greatest honour upon his house that it had ever known.

He marvelled at his blindness--marvelled at his pitifully conventional point of view. How had it ever weighed with him a second? How had he not realised at once the utter paltriness of the designation of aristocrat unless the inner being carries out what that word is intended to convey?

He thought of his wife Laura, with her stupid, mean little brain, developing into madness. He thought of Gerard's wife Beatrice--of what use was she to any man? He thought of his own cousin, Dulcie Dashington, with her vulgar barmaid's instincts, and her degradation of her great state, and he thought of all the crew of frivolous, soulless, mindless worldlings who had flung themselves at his head at Blissington, any one of whom society would call a well-bred lady suitable for him to marry and take to his home!

And then he thought of Katherine's simple dignity. She had not tried to entrap him. She had not been insulted at his holding back, she had understood. In her humility of greatness, she had _understood_ what would be likely to be his view--or rather the view of his cla.s.s.

But now he saw the truth, and the truth was that she stood out a star among womankind and none other was worthy to tie the latchet of her shoe.

He would not hesitate another second. He would telephone in the morning to Seraphim and propose himself for Sat.u.r.day, and then he should see her--this sweet Katherine--and talk to her and tell her the truth. And if she would so honour him then she should be his own.

The vision exalted him. He let his imagination, curbed and denied expression for so long, have full rein. She was not cold by nature, she would not have to simulate pa.s.sion like Julia Scarrisbrooke! Hers, if she felt it at all, would be real. She had experienced that part of love before. He even thought of this without a pang, for that was past--and something told him that she was not indifferent to him now. How enchanting to make her really love him--how divine to teach her all the shades of that "something beyond" which she had asked him about!

And then their life together there at Valfreyne! Yes, this was the true kind of strength which she had spoken of, the strength which breaks down all shams.

And to think how near he had been to allowing the stupid, blind, hypocritical ideas of his world to part them forever! He must have been mad, since he had known her worth always, from the first day. Seraphim would help him after all--had she not told him not to go against his conscience, but only against custom and tradition and any other man-made barrier? And now conscience was with him, and he would break every bar which divided him from his heart's delight!

Lady Garribardine's surprise was great on receiving the telephone message in the morning: Might His Grace speak to Her Ladyship personally?

Katherine repeated the message of the servant.

Certainly His Grace might.

Katherine handed the receiver and was preparing to leave the room, but Lady Garribardine made a sign for her to stay while she sat up in bed.

"Is that you, Mordryn--Oh!--Why, of course you may come down to-morrow!

Yes--London is hot. It will only be a dull party--Gwendoline and the Colvins and old Tom Hawthorne. I was merely going for rest myself. You don't mind, you would like that?--Oh! very well, come either by motor or the three o'clock train. All right--good-bye."

Then she looked at Katherine who met her eyes with a perfectly unmoved face.

"The Duke proposes himself to come to us to-morrow at Blissington, he is bored with London, and out of sorts."

But no joy appeared on the secretary's countenance; in fact she turned a shade paler, as she asked if she should transmit any orders to the housekeeper about his room.

"She feels things like the devil," Her Ladyship thought. "But Mordryn has evidently come to his senses, so they will presently settle the matter all right."

Katherine was glad that her duties now took her out shopping, she felt she must be in the open air and free to think.

What did this mean? Why was he coming to Blissington so suddenly? Would it produce a climax in her fate?

And as Mordryn had done the night before on his terrace overlooking the Green Park, so she too reviewed all their acquaintance and what it had grown to mean to her--something very bitter sweet.

Should she allow herself a fool's paradise for just a day? Should she let him make love to her, if that was his intention in coming to Blissington? But no, she must be firm with herself and act always as she thought right. But her mind was in a turmoil, and she felt tired and excited. The picture held out nothing but pain.

If he came and made love to her, she would have to cut his protestations short. And if he ignored her, that would hurt still more. She devoutly wished she might run away.

At luncheon the next day, after their arrival at Blissington, Her Ladyship said rather irrelevantly:

"You look thoroughly tired out, girl. I advise you to take a rug and a book and go out under the chestnut trees in the beautiful air, and have a nap--and don't come in for tea if you do not want to, there are so few of us I can manage by myself."

And Katherine, glad to escape, did as she was bid.

CHAPTER x.x.xII