The Case of Richard Meynell Part 53

Meanwhile Hester in her most reckless mood was alternately flouting and caressing Catharine Elsmere. She was not in the least afraid of Catharine, and it was that perhaps which had originally drawn Catharine's heart to her. Elsmere's widow was accustomed to feel herself avoided by young people who discussed a wild literature, and appeared to be without awe toward G.o.d, or reverence toward man. Yet all the time, through her often bewildered reprobation of them, she hungered for their affection, and knew that she carried in herself treasures of love to give--though no doubt, on terms.

But Hester had always divined these treasures, and was, besides, as a rule, far too arrogant and self-centred to restrain herself in anything she wished to say or do for fear of hurting or shocking her elders.

At this moment she had declared herself tired out with packing, and was lounging in an armchair in the little drawing-room. A j.a.panese dressing-gown of some pale pink stuff sprayed with almond blossom floated about her, disclosing a skimpy silk petticoat and a slender foot from which she had kicked its shoe. Her pearly arms and neck were almost bare; her hair tumbled on her shoulders; her eyes shone with excitement provoked by a dozen hidden and conflicting thoughts. In her beauty, her ardent and provocative youth, she seemed to be bursting out of the little room, with its artistic restraint of colour and furnishing.

"Don't please do any more fussing," she said imploringly to Catharine.

"It's all done--only Aunt Alice thinks it's never done. Do sit down and talk."

And she put out an impatient hand, and drew the stately Catharine toward a chair beside her.

"You ought to be in bed," said Catharine, retaining her hand. The girl's ignorance of all that others knew affected her strangely--produced a great softness and compunction.

"I shouldn't sleep. I wonder when I shall get a decent amount of sleep again!" said Hester, pressing back the hair from her cheeks. Then she turned sharply on her visitor:

"Of course you know, Mrs. Elsmere, that I am simply being sent away--in disgrace."

"I know"--Catharine smiled, though her tone was grave--"that those who love you think there ought to be a change."

"That's a nice way of putting it--a real gentlemanly way," said Hester, swaying backward and forward, her hands round her knees. "But all the same it's true. They're sending me away because they don't know what I'll do next. They think I'll do something abominable."

The girl's eyes sparkled.

"Why will you give your guardians this anxiety?" asked Catharine, not without severity. "They are never at rest about you. My dear--they only wish your good."

Hester laughed. She threw out a careless hand and laid it on Catharine's knee.

"Isn't it odd, Mrs. Elsmere, that you don't know anything about me, though--you won't mind, will you?--though you're so kind to me, and I do like you so. But you can't know anything, can you, about girls--like me?"

And looking up from where she lay deep in the armchair, she turned half-mocking eyes on her companion.

"I don't know--perhaps--about girls like you," said Catharine, smiling, and shyly touching the hand on her knee. "But I live half my life--with girls."

"Oh--poor girls? Girls in factories--girls that wear fringes, and sham pearl beads, and six ostrich feathers in their hats on Sundays? No, I don't think I'm like them. If I were they, I shouldn't care about feathers or the sham pearls. I should be more likely to try and steal some real ones! No, but I mean really girls like me--rich girls, though of course I'm not rich--but you understand? Do you know any girls who gamble and paint--their faces I mean--and let men lend them money, and pay for their dresses?"

Hester sat up defiantly, looking at her companion.

"No, I don't know any of that kind," said Catharine quietly. "I'm old-fashioned, you see--they wouldn't want to know me."

Hester's mouth twitched.

"Well, I'm not that kind exactly! I don't paint because--well, I suppose I needn't! And I don't play for money, because I've n.o.body to play with.

As for letting men lend you money--"

"That you would never disgrace yourself by doing!" said Catharine sharply.

Hester's look was enigmatic.

"Well, I never did it. But I knew a girl in London--very pretty--and as mad as you like. She was an orphan and her relatives didn't care twopence about her. She got into debt, and a horrid old man offered to lend her a couple of hundred pounds if she'd give him a kiss. She said no, and then she told an older woman who was supposed to look after her. And what do you suppose she said?"

Catharine was silent.

"'Well, you _are_ a little fool!' That was all she got for her pains. Men are villains--_I_ think! But they're exciting!" And Hester clasped her hands behind her head, and looked at the ceiling, smiling to herself, while the dressing-gown sleeves fell back from her rounded arms.

Catharine frowned. She suddenly rose, and kneeling down by Hester's chair, she took the girl in her arms.

"Hester, dear!--if you want a friend--whenever you want a friend--come to me! If you are ever in trouble send for me. I would always come--always!"

She felt the flutter of the girl's heart as she enfolded her. Then Hester lightly freed herself, though her voice shook--

"You're the kindest person, Mrs. Elsmere--you're awfully, awfully, kind.

But I'm going to have a jolly good time in Paris. I shall read all kinds of things--I shall go to the theatre--I shall enjoy myself famously."

"And you'll have Aunt Alice all to yourself."

Hester was silent. The lovely corners of her mouth stiffened.

"You must be very good to her, Hester," said Catharine, with entreaty in her voice. "She's not well--and very tired."

"Why doesn't she _trust_ me?" said Hester, almost between her teeth.

"What do you mean?"

After a hesitating pause, the girl broke out with the story of the miniature.

"How can I love her when she won't trust me?" she cried again, with stormy breath.

Catharine's heart melted within her.

"But you _must_ love her, Hester! Why, she has watched over you all your life. Can't you see--that she's had trouble--and she's not strong!"

And she looked down with emotion on the girl thus blindly marching to a veiled future, unable, by no fault of her own, to distinguish her lovers from her foes. Had a lie, ever yet, in human history, justified itself?

So this pure moralist!--to whom morals had come, silently, easily, irresistibly, as the sun slips into the sky.

"Oh, I'll look after her," said Hester shortly; "why, of course I will.

I'm very glad she's going to Paris--it'll be good for her. And as for you"--she bent forward like a queen, and lightly kissed Catharine on the cheek--"I daresay I'll remember what you've said--you're a great, great dear! It was luck for Mary to have got you for a mother. But I'm all right--I'm all right!"

When the Elsmeres were gone, Hester still sat on alone in the drawing-room. The lamp had burnt dim, and the little room was cold.

Presently she slipped her hand into the white bodice she wore. A letter lay there, and her fingers caressed it. "I don't know whether I love him or not--perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't. I don't know whether I believe Uncle Richard--or this letter. But--I'm going to find out! I'm not going to be stopped from finding out."

And as she lay there, she was conscious of bonds she was half determined to escape, half willing to bear; of a fluttering excitement and dread.

Step by step, and with a childish bravado, she had come within the influences of s.e.x; and her fate was upon her.

CHAPTER XVIII