Uncle Max Part 49

'She is such a dear old thing!' burst out Jill, as we left the schoolroom and proceeded downstairs arm in arm. 'I never think of her as my governess; she is just a kind friend who helps me with my lessons and walks with me. We do have such cosy times together. Does not the schoolroom look nice, Ursie?'

'Very nice indeed, my dear.'

'So I think; but Sara says it is horrid: she has made mother promise to give me her room directly she is married. Sara has a beautiful piano there, and a book-case, and all sorts of pretty things. It is a lovely room, you know, and looks out over the Park. Mother thinks it too nice and pretty for a schoolroom; but I am to call it my study and keep it tidy. And Gypsy is to have the old schoolroom for herself: so we are both pleased. It is nice for her to have a room of her own, where she can be alone.'

'Your mother is very kind to you, Jill.'

'Awfully kind--I mean very kind: Gypsy does so dislike that expression.

Do you know, I think you two are rather alike in that? Gypsy is very unhappy sometimes, though. I have found her crying more than once when I have left her long alone; only mother does not know, and I don't mean to tell her, because she thinks people ought always to be cheerful. It was so sad that clergyman dying,--the one she was to marry; his name was Maurice Compton. I saw the name in one of her books: "Lilian Gillespie, from her devoted friend, Maurice Compton."'

'My dear Jill, how long are you going to keep me standing in the hall?

Clayton will find us here directly.'

'Yes, I know'; but Jill showed no intention of moving; the prospect of cold tea did not trouble her; 'but I want to tell you something before you go in. Mother is certainly kinder to me than she ever has been; she says I am to drive with her very often, and that she shall take me to see picture-galleries. And father is going to buy a horse for me, because he says I ride so well that I may go out with him, as a rule, instead of with a master; and--'

'You shall tell me all that presently,' I returned, 'for I am too tired to stand on this mat any longer. Are you coming, Jill? or shall I go in without you?' but of course I knew she would follow me.

The room seemed full when we entered. Aunt Philippa was at the tea-table; Sara was flitting about the room from one guest to another. Uncle Brian, who was standing on the hearth-rug, put out his hand to me.

'I am glad to see you back again, Ursula,' looking at me with his cool, penetrating glance. Uncle Brian was never demonstrative. 'I think the work suits you, to judge by your looks. Take that chair by your aunt, child, and she will give you some tea.' And accordingly I placed myself under Aunt Philippa's wing, while Jill and a boy-officer with a budding moustache waited on me.

The rest of the evening pa.s.sed very pleasantly. I had a long conversation with Miss Gillespie in the inner drawing-room while Sara and Jill played duets: of course our subject was Jill. Miss Gillespie spoke most warmly of her excellent abilities and fine development of character. 'She will be a very striking woman,' she finished, when the last chords were played and a soft clapping of hands succeeded. 'Whether she will be a happy one is more doubtful: she must not be thwarted too much, and she must have room to expand. Jocelyn wants s.p.a.ce and sunshine.'

I thought these remarks very sensible; they taught me that Miss Gillespie had grasped the true idea of Jill's character. There was nothing little about Jill: she never did things by halves: she either loved or hated.

She was truthful to a fault. There was a ma.s.sive freedom and simplicity about her that would guide her safely through the world's pitfalls.

's.p.a.ce and sunshine,' that was all Jill needed to bring her to maturity and fruition. Some girls may be trusted to educate themselves. Jill was one of these.

The next morning Sara took possession of me. A great honour was to be vouchsafed me: I was to be treated to a private view of the trousseau and wedding-presents.

I had exhausted my vocabulary of admiring epithets, and sat in eloquent silence, long before Sara had finished her display. It was like the picture of Pandora opening her box, to see the pretty creature opening the big, carved wardrobe to show me the layers of delicate embroidered raiment, muslin and laces and jewels, curious trinkets and wonderful gifts worthy of the Arabian Nights. There were two rooms full of treasures that had been laid at her feet, and no doubt, like Pandora, Sara had the rainbow-tinted hope lying amid the bridal gifts.

'This is Donald's present,' she said, smiling, showing me a diamond spray. 'I am to wear it on Thursday: it is the loveliest present of all,--though mother has given me that beautiful pearl necklace.'

'Wait a moment, Sara,' I said, detaining her as she closed the morocco case: 'tell me, do you not feel like a princess in fairy-land, with all this glitter round you? Does it all seem real, somehow?'

'Donald is real, anyhow,' she returned, with a charming blush. 'Nothing would be real without him. Oh, Ursula, it is nice to be so happy! I always have been happier than other girls.' And something like a tear stole to her pretty eyes.

'Now you must see your own dress,' she continued, brushing off the tiny tear-drop, with a laugh at her own sentimentality. 'What do you think of that? Is that not charming taste?'

'It is far too good for me,' I returned seriously. 'How could Uncle Brain buy that for me? It is beautiful; it is perfect, and just my taste.' And then I could say no more, for Sara had placed her hands across my lips to silence me.

'Then you must wear it, dear. Father and mother wanted to give you something nice, because you were so good to Jocelyn, and I knew you had a fancy for a velvet gown. Is not that yellowish lace charming, Ursula? and the bonnet harmonises so well! Your bouquet is to be cream-coloured, too, with just a tea-rose or so. You will look quite pretty in it, Ursula dear. Do you know Donald liked the look of you so yesterday? he said you looked so strong and sensible; he called you an interesting woman.'

I hastened to change the subject, for it recalled certain words that I vainly tried to forget. It was a relief when visitors were announced and Sara left me to go down to the drawing-room. I was glad to be alone for a few minutes. Aunt Philippa came up soon afterwards with a bevy of friends, and I escaped to my own room until luncheon-time.

I grew a little weary of the bustle by and by, and yet I was pleased and interested too; the excitement was infectious; one smiled to see so many happy faces; and then there was so much to do, every one was pressed into the service. Jill shut up her books with a bang; her piano remained closed. She and Miss Gillespie were answering notes, unpacking presents, running to and fro with messages; people came all day long; they talked in corners on the balcony, in Uncle Brian's study; no room was held sacred.

A cargo of flowers arrived presently; the hall and drawing-room were to be transformed into bowers. It must rain roses as well as sunshine on the young princess. Sara's bright face appeared every now and then among the workers; a little court surrounded her; sometimes Colonel Ferguson's bronzed face looked over her shoulders.

'That is very pretty, Ursula. I see you have caught the right idea.

Jocelyn dear, you are overfilling that basket, and some of the stalks are showing. Miss Gillespie will put it right for you. Come, Grace, shall we go upstairs?'

Sara nodded and smiled at us as she led the way to the upper regions.

Pandora was for ever opening her box in those days: she was never weary of fingering her silks and satins.

'Now she has gone, let us rest a little,' Jill exclaimed, letting her arms fall to her side. 'Are you not tired of it all, Ursie dear? I get so giddy that I keep rubbing my eyes. I never knew weddings meant all this fuss. Why cannot people do things more quietly? If I ever get married I shall just put on my bonnet and walk to the nearest church with father.

What is the use of all this nonsense? It is like decking the victim for the sacrifice, to see all these roses and green leaves. Supposing we have a band of music to drown her groans while she is dressing,' finished Jill rebelliously, as she contemplated her flower-basket with dissatisfied eyes.

Jill's speech recalled Mr. Hamilton's words most vividly: 'Because two people elect to join hands for the journey of life, is there any adequate reason why all their idle acquaintances should accompany them with cymbals and prancings, and all sorts of fooleries, just at the most solemn moment of life?' and again, '"Till death us do part,"--can any one, man or woman, say those words lightly and not bring down a doom upon himself?'

Could I ever forget how solemnly he had said this? After all, Mr.

Hamilton was right, and I think Jill was right too.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

WEDDING-CHIMES

When we had finished the flowers and brought in Aunt Philippa to see the effect, I left the others and went up to my room. I had been busy since the early morning, and felt I had fairly earned a little rest.

The room that was still called mine had a side-window looking over the Park. Down below carriages were pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing; a detachment of hussars trotted past; people were pouring out from the Albert Hall,--some afternoon concert was just over; the children were playing as usual on the gra.s.s; the soft evening shadows were creeping up between the trees; the sky was blue and cloudless. May was wearing her choicest smiles on the eve of Sara's wedding-day.

Martha, the schoolroom maid, had brought me a cup of tea; the rest of the family were crowded in Uncle Brian's study; the dining-room was already in the hands of Gunter's a.s.sistants; the long drawing-room and inner drawing-room were sweet with roses and baskets of costly hot-house flowers; a bank of rhododendrons was under the hall window; the house was full of sunshine, flowers, and the ripple of laughter. I could hear the laughter through the closed door. Sara's musical tinkle rang out whenever the door opened. I had fallen into a sort of waking dream, when something white and golden pa.s.sed between me and the sunlight; a light kiss was dropped on my drowsy eyelids, and there was Lesbia smiling at me.

She looked so cool and fair in her white gown, with a tiny bouquet of delicious tea-roses in her hand, her golden hair shining under her little lace bonnet. I thought she looked more than ever like Charlie's white lily, only now there was a touch of colour on her face.

'Oh, Ursie dear, I am so pleased to see you!' she said gently, laying the flowers on my lap. 'Clayton told me that every one else was in Mr.

Garston's study, so I begged to run up here. We only came up from Rutherford this morning, and we have been so busy ever since. I was afraid you were asleep, for I knocked at the door without getting any answer; but no, your eyes were wide open; so you were only dreaming.'

'I believe I was very tired, they have kept me running about all day.

Take this low chair by the window, dear, and tell me all about yourself.

Do you know it is six months since we met? There must be so much to say on both sides. But, first, how is Mrs. Fullerton? and is it Rutherford that has given you those pretty roses, Lesbia?' But the roses I meant were certainly not on my lap.

She answered literally and seriously, in her usual way: 'Yes, they are from Rutherford: I cut them myself, in spite of Patrick's grumbling.

Mother is very well, Ursula; I am sure the country agrees with her. We have been there since March, and these two months have been the happiest to me since dear Charlie died.'

'You need not tell me that,' I returned, with a satisfied look at the sweet face. 'Health has returned to you; you are no longer languid and weary; your eyes are bright, your voice has a stronger tone in it.'

'Is it wrong?' she answered quickly. 'I do not forget, I shall never forget, but the pain seems soothed somehow. When I wake up in the bed where I slept as a child, I hear the birds singing, and I do not say to myself, "Here is another long weary day to get through." On the contrary, I jump up and dress myself as quickly as I can, for I love to be out among the dews; everything is so sweet and still in the early morning; there is such freshness in the air.'

'And these early walks are good for you.'

'Oh, I never leave the grounds. I just saunter about with Flo and Rover.

When breakfast is ready I have a bouquet to lay beside mother's plate.

Dear, good mother! do you know she cannot say enough in praise of Rutherford, now she sees the breakfasts I eat? I think she would be reconciled to any place if she saw me enjoy my food: at the Albert Hall Mansions I never felt hungry; I was always too tired to eat.'