The Mating of Lydia Part 48

"Oh, Harry!--we've broken the spell."

Tatham recovered himself with difficulty.

"Can't you--can't you ever care for me?" The voice was low, the eyes still hidden.

"We oughtn't to have been writing and meeting!" cried Lydia, in despair.

"It was foolish, wrong! I see it now. I ask your pardon. We must say good-bye, Harry--and--oh!--oh!--I'm so sorry I let you--"

Her voice died away.

In the distance of the lane, a labourer emerged whistling from a gate, with his dog. Tatham's hands dropped to his sides; they walked on together as before. The man pa.s.sed them with a cheerful good-night.

Tatham spoke slowly.

"Yes--perhaps--we'd better not meet. I can't--control myself. And I should go on offending you."

A chasm seemed to have opened between them. They turned and walked back to the gate of the cottage. When they reached it, Tatham crushed her hand again in his.

"Good-bye! If ever I can do anything to serve you--let me know!

Good-bye!--dearest--_dearest_ Lydia." His voice sank and lingered on the name. The lamp at the gate showed him that her eyes were swimming in tears.

"You'll forgive me?" she said, imploringly.

He attempted a laugh, which ended in a sound of pain. Then he lifted her hand again, kissed it, and was gone; running--head down--through the dimness of the lane.

Meanwhile, wrapped in the warm furs of the motor, Felicia and Lady Tatham sped toward Duddon.

Felicia was impenetrably silent at first; and Victoria, who never found it easy to adapt herself to the young, made no effort to rouse her. Occasionally some pa.s.sing light showed her the girl's pallid profile--slightly frowning brow, and pinched lips--against the dark lining of the car. And once or twice as she saw her thus, she was startled by the likeness to Melrose.

When they were halfway home, a thin, high voice struck into the silence, deliberately clear:

"Who is the Signorina Penfold?"

"Her mother is a widow. They have lived here about two years."

"She is not pretty. She is too pale. I do not like that hair," said Felicia, viciously.

Victoria could not help an unseen smile.

"Everybody here thinks her pretty. She is very clever, and a beautiful artist," she said, with slight severity.

The gesture beside her was scarcely discernible. But Victoria thought it was a toss of the head.

"Everybody in Italy can paint. It is as common--as common as lizards! There are dozens of people in Lucca who can paint--a whole villa--ceilings, walls--what you like. n.o.body thinks anything at all about them. But Italian girls are very clever also! There were two girls in Lucca--Marchesine--the best family in Lucca. They got all the prizes at the Liceo, and then they went to Pisa to the University; and one of them was a Doctor of Law; and when they came home, all the street in which they lived and their _palazzo_ were lit up. And they were very pretty too!"

"And you--did you go to the Liceo, Felicia?"

"No! I had never any education--none, none, _none_! But I could get it, if I wanted," said the voice, defiantly.

"Of course you could. I have asked your mother to stay with us till Christmas. You might get some lessons in Carlisle. We could send you in."

Felicia, however, made no response to this at all, and Victoria felt that her proposal had fallen flat. But, after a minute or two, she heard:

"I should like--to learn--to _ride_!"

Much emphasis on the last word; accompanied by nodding of the fantastic little head.

"Well, we shall see!" laughed Victoria, indulgently.

"And then--I would go out--with Lord Tatham!" said Felicia. "Oh, but he is too _divine_ on horseback! There were some Italian cavalry officers at Lucca. I used to run to the window every time to see them pa.s.s by. But he is n.o.bler--he is handsomer!"

Victoria, taken by surprise, wondered if it would not be well to administer a little snubbing to compliments so unabashed. She tried. But Felicia interrupted her:

"Do you not admire him--your son?" she said eagerly, slipping up close to Victoria. "Can he jump and swim rivers--on his horse--and come down mountains--on his haunches--like our _cavalleria_? I am certain he can!"

"He can do most things on a horse. When the hunting begins, you will see," said Victoria, smiling in spite of herself.

"Tell me, please, what is the hunting? And about the shooting, too. Lord Tatham told me--this afternoon--some ladies shoot. Oh, but I will learn to shoot! I swear it--yes! Now tell me!"

Thus attacked, the formidable Victoria capitulated. She was soon in the midst of stories of her Harry, from his first pony upward. And she had not gone far before a tiny hand slipped itself into hers and nestled there; moving and quivering occasionally, like a wild bird voluntarily tame. And when the drive ended, Victoria was quite sorry to lose its lithe softness.

XVI

Victoria very soon perceived that a crisis had come and gone. She had been accustomed for a while before they went to Scotland to send about once a week a basket of flowers and fruit from the famous gardens of Duddon, with her "kind regards" to Mrs. Penfold. The basket was generally brought into the hall, and Tatham would slip into it the new books or magazines that seemed to him likely to attract the cottage party. He had always taken a particular pleasure in the dispatch of the basket, and in the contrivance of some new offering of which it might be the bearer.

Victoria, on the other hand, though usually a lavish giver, had taken but a grudging part in the business, and merely to please her son.

On the day following the visit to the cottage, the basket, in obedience to a standing order, lay in the hall as usual, heaped with a gorgeous ma.s.s of the earliest chrysanthemums. Victoria observed it--with an unfriendly eye--as she pa.s.sed through the hall on her way to breakfast.

Harry came up behind her, and she turned to give him her morning kiss.

"Please don't send it," he said abruptly, pointing to the basket. "It wouldn't be welcome."

She started, but made no reply. They went into breakfast. Victoria gave the butler directions that the flowers should be sent to the Rectory.

After breakfast she followed Tatham into the library. He stood silent a while by the window, looking out, his hands in his pockets; she beside him, leaning her head against his arm.

"It's all over," he said at last; "we decided it last night."

"What's over, dear old boy?"

"I broke our compact--I couldn't help it--and we saw it couldn't go on."

"You--asked her again?"