CHAPTER III
That afternoon Gilbert Eversleigh went over, as he had intended, toIvydene, his father's residence in Surbiton, a large and commodiousvilla standing among trees and shrubs in its own grounds on the roadfrom Kingston to Thames Ditton, about three-quarters of a mile from themarket-place of the former. From its upper windows there were to be gotpleasant glimpses of the river and of the Home Park beyond. TheEversleighs were very fond of their house, and, in an unassertive way,proud of it. Certainly it was the centre of as sweet and well-ordered ahome-life as any in England.
Gilbert's telegram to his mother had prepared her for his coming, andwhen he arrived he was warmly greeted by her and his sister Helen, afair girl with the family good-looks, who inquired if he was going tospend the rest of the day with them. Gilbert replied that he did notpurpose returning to town till the last train, and suggested it would be"very nice on the river."
While he was speaking, Miss Kitty Thornton made her appearance, and asshe shook hands with him his eyes sparkled with admiration--and smallwonder!
For Miss Kitty was a splendid piece of flesh and blood, full of life andthe joy and the spirit of youth. A little over twenty-one, she was oldenough to be a woman and young enough to be a girl. She was not too tallnor too slim. She belonged to the dark type. She had black hair andplenty of it, and big black expressive eyes which often spoke herthoughts when her tongue was silent; on each cheek glowed a spot ofbright colour as large as a half-opened wild rose, but of a deepershade; her lips were of a deeper shade still; her skin was of a warmdusky tint.
It was a strikingly brilliant face, but it had a delicacy of feature, afineness of line not common in dark women. When it was in repose it wasbeautiful, yet somehow it hinted sorrow, melancholy, unhappy love,tragedy; but it was seldom in repose, and when it was lit up withanimation, with feeling or laughter, as it usually was, it was asradiantly lovely as mortal man could wish to see.
There was a great heart in her too, but it had not yet been tried andproved. Hitherto she had moved in a sheltered world; of evil, and theunending struggle and strife of men and women outside, she had only afaint conception; the din of life had never clashed upon her ears.
Her father, on the death of her mother, had brought her over from Canadato Mrs. Eversleigh, begging the wife of his old friend to take care ofher for him. And Mrs. Eversleigh, a gracious woman, had gladly assentedto his request. Kitty thus became a member of the family, and waseducated along with Helen both in England and on the continent. Thegirls were like sisters. Kitty was deeply attached to Mrs. Eversleigh,and, in a less degree, to Francis Eversleigh. She was very happy withthe Eversleighs.
"Have they told you the good news, Gilbert?" asked Kitty, a note ofrejoicing in her voice.
"Not yet," interposed Helen Eversleigh; "there hasn't been time."
"Tell me," said Gilbert, with a smile. "What is it?"
"I got a letter from my father this morning, and he says that he isreturning to England very soon," said Kitty, gleefully.
"That is indeed good news for you," Gilbert agreed. "I thought youlooked very much pleased about something," he added.
"Pleased! I should say I am!"
"And when is he coming?" asked Gilbert.
"He says he will be here very soon," answered Kitty--"in a few daysafter his letter. He does not say quite when, but he writes, 'I will popin and surprise you some day in the week next after that in which youreceive this.' The very uncertainty as to the date," remarked the girl,brightly, "gives a keener edge to one's pleasure."
"I dare say that is what he intended," said Mrs. Eversleigh.
The three ladies looked delighted--as indeed they were. Gilbert seemeddelighted also, but inwardly the news made him feel downcast.
Passionately as he loved Kitty Thornton, the thought of the largefortune she would inherit, which Morris Thornton's approaching visitbrought home to him afresh, had been a check upon him; so, too, was thefact that she was the ward, in a measure, of his father. Theseconsiderations had imposed upon him silence and a certain self-control;still he had an idea that Kitty could not be altogether unconscious ofhis love for her. He knew she liked him, and it was his fond hope thathe might "drive this liking to the name of love." But so far he had notventured to voice his hope in words. And now he wondered if her father'sreturn would make a difference, and what her father would think of himand his suit.
"He will think I am not good enough for her," he said to himself, "andof course I'm not. Besides, as she's a great heiress, he will expect herto make some splendid match--and I am only a young barrister with mycareer just beginning."
All this passed through his mind on hearing Kitty's "good news," whichhe felt might not be equally good news so far as he was concerned, buthe strove to look as happy over it as she was.
"We shall all be very glad to see him," said he to the girl,mendaciously.
"What shall we do with ourselves this afternoon?" asked Kitty, changingthe topic. "Now you are here, Gilbert, we must make some use of you."
"He was talking of going on the river," remarked Helen.
"Yes, yes," said Kitty, eagerly. "I never tire of the river."
"Will you come, mother?" inquired Gilbert of Mrs. Eversleigh.
But Mrs. Eversleigh declined on the plea of having some householdmatters to attend to.
"I can't go with you," she said, "but I'll tell you what to do. You twogirls can take your cycles, and Gilbert can borrow his brother Ernest'swheel, and ride to Molesey."
"And get a punt there. The very thing," said Gilbert, in the mood towelcome hard exercise, and so to work off his trouble. "I suppose," hesaid to his mother, "I'll find some of Ernie's boating things in hisroom?"
"Oh yes," said Mrs. Eversleigh, and he went off to change his clothes.
Presently the three young people were cycling to Molesey, which theysoon reached. A punt was quickly procured, and, in a few seconds more,Gilbert was poling it up-stream with remarkable vigour considering theheat of the day.
"You are working hard," said Kitty, noting his extraordinary exertions.
"Oh, never mind him," sweetly remarked his sister. "It's good for him."
"But won't you over-heat yourself, Gilbert?" asked Kitty. And though hereplied with thanks that he was all right, she insisted after a shortwhile that he must take an easy, and moor the punt under a shady bank.
He obeyed her, and then Kitty, to his secret discomfiture, must needstalk about the coming of her father, her heart being full of thesubject. And as she talked his trouble seemed to melt away, for shespoke of the happy times they all would have when Morris Thornton was inEngland, and obviously included Gilbert in her notion of these happytimes. The three chatted gaily for an hour, and then they set offdown-stream.
They had gone several hundred yards, perhaps, when they met, moving attop speed, a racing-skiff, the occupant of which bowed to them with arapid inclination of his head, but did not stop.
"It's Harry Bennet," said Helen Eversleigh, gazing after him, and wavingher hand.
"How are you, Harry?" Gilbert had shouted, as the boat went past.
Bennet, now some distance away, rested on his oars, and waved his handto Helen, who was still regarding him, as was also Kitty; but it was thelatter at whom he looked. However, he did not seek to talk, but watchedthe punt until it disappeared round a bend of the stream. His facethereupon expressed mingled feelings--a tremendous admiration of KittyThornton, and an intense hatred of Gilbert Eversleigh, whom he proceededto curse aloud when out of sight, being the chief.
"He's a fine oarsman, a fine athlete," observed Helen, as the punt wenton down-stream. She referred to Harry Bennet, whom she had known all herlife, and for whom she had a liking. "I can't believe he is the bad lotthey say he is. If only he was not so keen on racing and betting! It'ssaid that he is losing all his money and ruining himself. It seems sucha pity!" And she sighed.
"Yes," said Kitty, glancing at her friend; but she did not continue theconversation. She knew of
Helen's feeling for Bennet, but it was afeeling she herself did not share.
As for Gilbert, he said nothing at all either good or bad about the manwhom he understood very well was his rival. But he had heard what wasbeing said about Bennet quite openly, the sum and substance of which wasthat Harry had become a reckless and inveterate gambler.
The girls had heard something of this too, but only in the most generalway. All three, however, were cognisant of the main facts of Bennet'slife: how his father had died when he was a child, and how he had beenpetted, spoiled, and indulged by a foolish doting mother; how he hadconsequently grown into a wilful, headstrong, intractable boy; how, ashe neared man-hood, he showed a gift of marvellous physical strength, inthe development of which there for a time lay an illusory hope of hisimprovement; how, in his first year at the university, he had been amember of the crew which, after a long series of Oxford triumphs, had atlast given a victory to the light blues; and how, on coming into hisproperty a few months later, he had forthwith left Cambridge and takento racing with frantic zest.
"It is such a pity," Helen went on; "but I think that so long as hekeeps up his rowing there is a chance for him."
But now they were back at Molesey, and nothing more was said of Bennetat the time. At dinner in the evening, however, Helen spoke of theirhaving seen him on the river, and repeated what she had said about itbeing a hopeful sign that he kept up his rowing.
"I think he doesn't row very much now," said her brother Ernest, who wasa solicitor like his father, and expected soon to be a partner in theLincoln's Inn firm. "He simply can't have the time. His stable and hishorses and his betting-book absorb him entirely. I wonder what that newhorse of his--he calls it 'Go Nap'--will do for him. He's sure to backit heavily."
"'Go Nap'!" said Gilbert. "That's rather suggestive of a plunge."
"Isn't it? Harry is a terrific plunger anyway."
"Oh, don't let us talk about Harry Bennet," said Francis Eversleigh,from the head of the table, where he had been sitting in moody silence.He was so utterly unlike himself, indeed, that his wife was alarmed, butwhen she asked what ailed him he said he had "a rather bad headache"--astatement which scarcely reassured her, as she knew he never hadheadaches; and when she pressed him further, he replied sharply andirritably. But the wretched man hardly knew what he was saying or doing.
One part of Silwood's advice he had made up his mind to accept and actupon, and this was that he would do nothing to forestall the fate whichmust over-take the firm, but to let things drift till the crash came.And, having come to this conclusion, the unfortunate solicitor toldhimself that he must try to behave as usual in his family circle. But hefound it impossible. The tragic swiftness and completeness of the strokedealt him by Silwood was too much for him. Now, as he thought of hishome, and of his wife and children, and of the frightful secret hecarried in his breast of the ruin hanging over them, a bitterness worsethan that of death possessed him. Generally full of easy agreeablesmall-talk, that night he was gloomy and dumb.
He made one effort only to talk.
Kitty mentioned having had a letter from her father, whereupon he statedthat the firm had also had one from Mr. Thornton.
"By the way," he said, striving to speak in his ordinary tones, "yourfather made a curious omission in his letter to us; he does not specifywhen he is coming--gives no precise date. I dare say it was anoversight. I suppose he tells you in your letter just when to expecthim, Kitty?"
"No, he doesn't, Mr. Eversleigh--at least, not very precisely. He sayshe'll come soon after his letter, but he does not fix any date, as hewants to give me a little surprise. Still, I think he'll be here someday next week."
"Next week!" said Eversleigh, slowly and painfully. To him it was thevoice of doom, and he relapsed into silence again.