CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
MRS. WOLFF.
The next morning Mr Farrell was reported better, though unable to leavehis bed. His old friend, the doctor, had stayed with him for thegreater part of the night, and had now taken his departure, pronouncingall immediate danger to be over. A few days' rest would no doubt makethe patient much as he had been before, to outward seeming, though tothe professional eye, a little weaker, a little nearer the end.
At breakfast Mrs Wolff fussed in a feeble, self-injured manner becauseshe was not admitted to the sick-room.
"It is so dreadful for him to be left without a woman! I can't thinkhow he will be nursed without a woman!" she repeated monotonously, whileher hearers breathed an earnest wish that, when their turn came to benursed, it might not be by a woman of her calibre. Mr Farrell was ahundred times better off with his quiet, capable James.
A shadow of depression rested upon all the young people, though Ruthcould not help feeling thankful for a reasonable excuse for a sadnesswhich had nothing to do with Uncle Bernard or his health. Now, no onewould wonder if she were sad or silent, and she would escape thequestioning she had so much dreaded. Immediately breakfast was over sheannounced her intention of devoting the morning to photography, anddisappeared indoors, while Victor took his accustomed path to thestables.
Mollie would have followed her sister, but Jack detained her with anappeal which could not be denied.
"Stay and talk to me a little while; do! or I shall think you areoffended by my stupidity yesterday. I have to thank you for yourreminder last night. If you had not stopped me I should have spokeneven more strongly than I did, and have been filled with remorse. As itis, I don't think anything I said could have been responsible for thisattack. Considering all things I kept pretty cool, didn't I now?"
"I think you did," conceded Mollie, smiling. "No; I expect it has beencoming on for some days, and that was why he was so cross. Yougenerally find people are ill if they are more than usually snappy.Poor Uncle Bernard! I wish one could help; but I am glad he has notMrs Wolff to fidget him. Do you know," said Mollie, fixing her candideyes upon Jack's face, and inwardly rejoicing at having hit on animpersonal topic of conversation,--"do you know Mrs Wolff is anunending problem to one! I think about her for hours at a time, and tryto puzzle her out, but I never get one step further."
"Really!" Jack searched in his pockets for materials, and began rollingup one of the everlasting cigarettes. "I'm surprised to hear that. Ishould not have thought she could have occupied more than two minutes.For my own part I find it impossible to think of her at all. She wasborn; she exists; she will probably die! Having said so much, you haveexhausted the subject."
"Not at all," contradicted Mollie frankly. "There's lots more toconsider. What is she really, and what is the real life that she livesinside that funny little shell? And was she ever a child who laughedand danced, and raced about, and was good and naughty, and played withtoys, and lived among giants and fairies? We _lived_ fairy tales, Ruthand I, and had giants to tea in a nursery four yards square. And wehunted ferocious lions and tigers, who either turned out kind andharmless, or were slain by imaginary swords. Did Mrs Wolff always knowexactly that two and two make four, and never by any chance made adelicious pretence that it was five? And when she went to school hadshe a chum whom she adored, and wrote letters to every other day filledwith `dears' and `darlings,' and did she ever shirk `prep,' or playtricks on the teachers, or sit up to a dormitory supper?"
"Certainly not! She was a good little girl who never soiled herpinafore, nor dreamt of anything she could not see, and she worked hardat school and remained persistently in the middle of the class, andgained high marks for neatness and decorum. She never had a chumbecause she is incapable of caring for one person more than another."
"But what about `poor Mr Wolff'? Surely she must have had, at least, apreference for him! That's another problem--how did anyone come to fallin love with her, and what did he fall in love with, and why, and when,and where? I long to know all about it, for it seems soincomprehensible."
Jack laughed with masculine amusement at her curiosity.
"Not incomprehensible at all. I can give a very good guess how ithappened. She was a timid, shrinking, little thing, rather pretty--herfeatures are not at all bad--and `poor Mr Wolff' was a big burly fellowwho took a fancy to her because she was a contrast to himself. Shedidn't say much, so he credited her with thinking the more. She agreedwith everything he said, so he considered her the cleverest woman heknew. He discovered his error, no doubt, in sackcloth and ashes, poorfellow; but mercifully he had not to endure many years ofdisenchantment. I can't imagine a worse fate than being tied for lifeto an automaton!"
"Humph!" Mollie pondered, pinching her soft chin between thumb andfinger. "He might not be so particular as you... Did you ever... Haveyou ever,--I mean, did you ever meet..."
Jack blew a cloud of smoke from between his lips with a half-embarrassedsmile.
"Did I ever meet a girl whom I imagined might be my Mrs Wolff! Is thatwhat you want to ask? Yes--once!--for a passing moment. We met, and Icaught a glimpse of her face, and recognised it as the fulfilment of adream. Then she disappeared. Romantic, isn't it, and disappointinginto the bargain? I am not a sentimental fellow, I suppose, for I havenever even imagined myself in love, though I have known scores ofcharming girls; but at that moment I realised possibilities!"
"But, oh, how disappointing! Did she really disappear? Couldn't youfind her? Is there no chance that you may meet again?"
"Sometimes I think there is; at other times it seems impossible. In anycase, I am powerless to help, or to hinder."
"I should not say that if I were a man! I would search the world overtill I found her!" Mollie sat silently, with bent head and thoughtfulair, then suddenly lifted her eyes to his with a sweet, grave glance."I hope you _will_ meet! I hope you will be very happy together someday,--you, and your Lady of Dreams!"
Jack looked at her, and his face changed strangely. He said nothing,not even a word of thanks for her good wishes, and presently got up fromhis seat, and limped into the house, leaving Mollie depressed and self-reproachful.
"I suppose I should not have said it. He thinks it `gush,' and won'tcondescend to answer. I wonder what she was like? Dark, I suppose, andstately, and serious; the very opposite from me. She will appear againsome day, and they will be married and look so handsome together. I'mawfully, awfully glad; at least, I should be if Uncle Bernard were notill. That makes one feel so dull and wretched that one can't be gladabout anything," said poor Mollie to herself.
Jack did not appear again; and she was not in the mood to take anyinterest in Ruth's photographic efforts, so she strolled through thegrounds and gathered an armful of flowers to send home to the littlemother. This was always a pleasant undertaking, and just now there wasa special reason for choosing the freshest and most fragrant blossoms,for the last few letters had hinted at a recurrence of the old moneytroubles.
"Something is up!" wrote Trix, in school-girl parlance. "Father andmother are talking in his den all the evening, and she comes down tobreakfast with her eyes swollen with crying, and he looks like a sheet,and doesn't eat a bite. Horrid old business again, of course. How Ihate it! We shall have to scrape a little more, I suppose; and where weare to scrape from, I'm blest if I know! My blue serge is green, andthe boys' Etons shine like the rising sun. It was a fine day on Sunday,and they fairly glittered going to church. I don't want to give you theblues, but thought I'd better tell you, so that you could write to cheerthem up, and also be more assiduous in your attentions to the old man.You must and shall get that fortune between you, or we shall bebivouacking in the workhouse before you can say Jack Robinson! My hearttoo truly knows the signs full well!"
Mollie recalled these expressive sentences, and sighed in sympathy.
"Poor old Trix! too bad that she should be left at home to bear thebrunt, while we are living
in the lap of luxury. I expect it is justone of the old crises, and we shall worry through as usual, but it isdepressing while it lasts. I can't endure to see mother with red eyes.She will smile when she sees these roses, bless her! I defy anyone notto enjoy opening a box of flowers; and when we go home we will cheerthem up again,--fortune or no fortune. Dear old Trix shall have some ofmy fineries made down, as a change from the green serge."
Mollie's spirits lightened perceptibly as she loitered about the garden,for to a town-bred girl it was luxury indeed, not only to look upon awealth of roses, but to be able to gather them lavishly as she pleased.When the basket was full of half-opened beauties, ranging in everyshade, from white to the bloomy crimson of "Prince Camille," she turnedto more shady corners for the sprays of ferns and foliage, which areeven more prized than flowers themselves by the unhappy dwellers incities, then returned to the house to find a box and pack it for thepost. The terrace was empty, but Mrs Wolff was sitting knitting justinside the drawing-room window.
"Your uncle is better," she announced, as Mollie approached. "He hashad a quiet sleep since breakfast, and James thinks he will be able tosit up for an hour or two to-morrow. I haven't seen anything of Ruth orMr Melland. Mr Druce came back from the stables to say that he wasnot going to ride to-day, but take a long walk, and he would be sure tobe home in time for lunch. He is always so kind and considerate!"
The poor little woman looked wan and dispirited, and Mollie reflectedwith a pang of remorse that she herself had shown little considerationfor her feelings. Even a nonentity, it appeared, could feel dull whenleft by herself in a big, empty house, and also could appreciate alittle act of thoughtfulness. Victor disappeared so regularly for themorning hours, that it seemed strange that he should have especiallyexplained his intentions this morning of all others; but perhaps he haddone so, just because to-day was distinguished by a special load ofanxiety which he was anxious not to increase. Mrs Wolff lived in aconstant state of fidget, and even so little a thing as the uncertaintywhether the household would assemble punctually to partake of theluncheon which she had ordered, might easily add to her distress.
"He is awfully considerate at times; much more than the rest of us,"Mollie admitted to herself. "He never forgets the least little thingthat Uncle Bernard says or does, or likes or dislikes, while I--silly,blundering thing!--always try to help him out of his chair at the wrongside, or stumble over his sticks."
She stood looking down at Mrs Wolff with a new impulse of sympathy.Hitherto, they had seemed divided by an impassable gulf, but thismorning the girl's usual radiant sense of well-being had died away, andleft a little rankling ache in its place. "Uncle Bernard's illness, andthis new bother at home," was Mollie's explanation even to her ownheart, but the result thereof was to fill her with pity for the life ofa woman whom nobody loved, and who was homeless in a land of homes.
She sat down beside Mrs Wolff, determined to make the hour beforeluncheon pass more cheerfully than its predecessor, and a few judiciousquestions soon set the good lady's tongue prattling over past andfuture. She said that as a girl she had always had a partiality forblue merino, and had owned a Dunstable bonnet, trimmed with roses, whichwas said to be particularly becoming. It was a pity that roses faded soin the sun; ribbons were more economical wear. Did Mrs Connor buy herfish wholesale from Whitby, or retail from a fishmonger? They did saythere was a great saving in the former way, only you got tired of cod,if it were a very big fish...
The worst of a large house was having to keep so many servants! Afriend of hers, who was "reduced," said she had never known what comfortmeant till she came down to two. That James really took too much uponhimself! Talking of black-currant jelly--how beautiful the peaches wereon the south wall! Her cousin's little boy--Eddie, not Tom--fell over agarden barrow the other day, and it might have been most serious, forthe shears were only a few yards away. Children were more trouble thanpleasure. Poor Mr Wolff always regretted having none, and she used toremind him of the school bills, and the breakages, and the dirt in thehouse...
Had Mollie ever knitted comforters for deep-sea fishermen? They saidtheir ears did get so cold. There was nothing like an onion boiledreally soft, and made into a poultice for ear-ache. Her cousin's littleboy--Tom, not Eddie--had it very badly. Dear, dear, to hear hisshrieks! They found onion much better than camphorated oil. When MrFarrell died, she supposed whoever came into possession would re-coverthe drawing-room furniture. It needed it, and you got lovely patternsfrom London...
On and on the stream flowed, until Mollie felt dazed and bewildered.Mrs Wolff evidently felt it such a treat to have a listener that shewas capable of continuing for hours at a time, and it was only thesounding of the gong for lunch which brought an end to the monologue.
In its passing it had seemed a quiet, uneventful morning; no one guessedwhat importance its coming and going would assume in the near future.