Wild Heather Part 17

"But why is it broken off?" I asked. "I thought when people were engaged that, if they were nice people, they considered it sacred, and--and _kept_ engaged until they married."

"Oh, you dear little innocent!" he replied. "How little you know! Well, at any rate, I am not going to enlighten you with regard to the ways of this wicked world. The engagement is broken off, and I am glad of it. I didn't do it; she did. She has engaged herself now to another man, with five or six times my money. She is all right, and so am I."

Then I said slowly, "You puzzle me very much, Captain Carbury. I thought you were very, very fond of her."

He dug his stick into the gravel walk near; then he glanced round at me impatiently.

"You can put all that sort of thing into the past tense," he said. "Now tell me about yourself. How are you getting on?"

"I am not getting on," I answered.

"You surprise me! I hear quite the contrary I hear that dear little Miss Heather, who was so kind to me, and did me such immense honour as to put me into her gallery of heroes, is making quite a stir in society.

When society begins to appreciate you, Miss Heather, you ought to consider yourself in luck. They say--and by 'they' I mean the people who live in this wicked world, the people who are 'in the know,' you understand--that if you are not engaged to be married before this time next year, you will be the height of the fashion."

I found myself colouring very deeply.

"I don't intend to be either engaged or married," I said; "and to make a stir in society is about the very last thing I should wish."

"I wonder what you would wish?" he asked, looking at me attentively.

I looked back at him. Then I said, in a low, quiet voice:

"I can't quite understand why it is, but I find it very easy to tell you things. Perhaps it is because you are in my gallery and I am in yours."

"Yes, of course, that is the reason," he replied, with one of his quick, beautiful smiles.

"I will tell you what I really want."

"Do, Miss Heather--I really can't call you Miss Dalrymple, so it must be Miss Heather."

"I don't mind," I answered.

"Well, now then, out with your greatest wish!"

"I should like," I said, speaking deliberately, "to leave London, and to go into the heart of the country, to find there a pretty cottage, with woodbine and monthly roses climbing about the walls, and dear little low-ceiled rooms, and little lattice windows, and no sign of any other house anywhere near at all. And I should like beyond words to take father and live with him, all by our two selves, in that cottage. I should not want fine dresses there, and society would matter less than nothing to me."

Captain Carbury looked somewhat surprised, then he said, quietly:

"About your father; well, of course, I--I _can't_ speak about him, you know, but there's--there's Lady Helen. How would she enjoy your programme?"

"There would be no programme at all, no dream to be fulfilled, no happiness to be secured, if she went with us," I answered.

"Oh, I see," he answered; "poor little Miss Heather!" And he whistled softly under his breath.

I looked full at him.

"You don't like her either," I said, and it seemed to me that a new and very strong chord of sympathy sprang up between us as I uttered the words.

"No," he answered. "I won't say why--I won't give any reasons; she may mean all right, but she's a worldly woman, and I don't care a bit about worldly women. I am afraid you won't have your dream, Miss Heather, so I must tell you what is the next best thing for you to do."

"But there is no next best," I replied.

"Yes, there is. Now listen to me attentively. The very best thing, all circ.u.mstances considered, for you to do is to get engaged right away to the sort of fellow who understands you and whom you understand--the sort of man who would put you into his gallery, you know, and whom you would put into your gallery. Oh, yes, you comprehend what I mean. The best thing for you, Miss Heather, is to get engaged to that man, and when once you are engaged not on any account to break off your engagement, but to have it speedily followed by marriage. You'd be as happy as the day is long with the man who understands you, and whom you understood.

And, for that matter, you _could_ have your cottage in the country, only it would not be shared by your father but by--well, by the other man--the man who understands you so well, you know."

"I don't know," I said; "and I certainly won't marry any man unless I love him."

"But you must love him," he said, giving me a long and most earnest glance, "if you put him into your gallery of heroes."

"Oh, I don't know," I replied to that. "I can admire immensely without--without loving. Why, Captain Carbury, I have put you in, and----"

But then he gave me another glance, and it was so very earnest, and his dark blue eyes looked so very pleading, that suddenly the colour leaped into my cheeks, and I lowered my own eyes and began to tremble all over.

"It is the best thing for you, Miss Heather," he said, dropping his voice almost to a whisper. "Oh! yes, I know what I am talking about.

Lots of girls do dreadful things; they mar their lives fearfully. I'll tell you how they mar them. They--they marry, and not for love."

"But I am not one of those girls," I replied.

"Are you not, really?" he said. "Now, I have heard rumours, oh, yes!--and while the rumours are being circulated, everything sounds very nice and very golden, but----" He bent a little closer, until his arm touched mine.

Morris was coming back. I saw her trailing her dress over the gra.s.s, and carrying a great basket of violets, white and different shades of blue, in her hand.

"Listen," he said. "Even if you did not love with all your heart and soul and strength, don't you think that you might just try the man you put into your gallery of heroes? Don't you think you might begin"--he dropped his voice, and it became quite hoa.r.s.e--"to love him a little?"

"Oh! oh! oh!" I said; "I could not! You were engaged only a few days ago to Lady Dorothy Vinguard! Why, Captain Carbury, I never even thought of you. I don't love anybody at all, except father--that is--yet."

"There's a great deal in the little word 'yet,' Miss Heather. We should not be rich, neither would we be exactly poor, but I am quite sure I could make you happy. Truly, I never really cared for Dorothy. She was thought a good match for me, and all that sort of thing, you know; but she was too statuesque. I want life, I want warmth, I want soul, I want--oh! all the things you could give. I would make you as happy as the day is long; I could, and I would. Then--let me whisper. You need never see _her_ any more. Think of it, dear little Heather! Heather, Morris is quite close, and I must whisper a secret to you. It was from the day I first met you that I began to find out what sort of girl Lady Dorothy really was--I discovered then that there was a better girl in the world than Lady Dorothy. I want a wife like you; I want you, your very self; you, before you learn to love the world and the ways of the world; you--just because you are so young and so pure and sweet. Think of it, think of it, Heather, and don't say no! Wait at least until to-morrow. I will be in this very place at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, waiting to get your answer."

CHAPTER XI

I do not know how I parted with Vernon Carbury. I cannot recall even to this day whether I shook hands with him or not, or even whether he walked with me as far as the gates of the Park. What I do remember vividly is this: that I went home to Hanbury Square like one walking in a dream. The whole world seemed to me to be filled with a wonderful new light. In the midst of this radiance was one figure, one face; out of the brightness one voice seemed to speak, and one pair of eyes to shine.

I was certain I did not in the least love Captain Carbury, but I did know that our meeting had been full of keen excitement, and that I was altogether lifted out of myself into a new and wonderful world. I wanted to be quite alone, to think over what had happened. I was puzzled, too, at the fact that I was trembling, and that my cheeks were hot one minute and that I felt cold all over the next.

Morris walked discreetly behind me, and the beautiful smell of the violets came in wafts now and then to my nostrils. During our walk home Morris had not spoken to me. When I reached the house I went straight to my pretty bedroom; I wanted more badly than ever to be quite by myself, but Morris annoyed me. She followed me into my bedroom, carrying the violets.

"Shall I arrange these in your sitting-room for you, miss?" she asked.

"Please do," I answered; "and Morris, do not come near me for a time, for I wish to be quite alone."

"Certainly, miss. I was to say, please, that the Major and her ladyship have gone on the river, but that lunch will be ready for you whenever you wish for it in the smaller dining-room."

"I am not hungry, and I don't wish for lunch," I replied.

"Shall I bring you up some tea and a lightly boiled egg, miss?"