CHAPTER VIII
"I thought I'd perhaps better let you know--I'm--well, I'm going to havea talk with Diana this morning!"
The voice was determined. Muriel Colwood--startled anddismayed--surveyed the speaker. She had been waylaid on the threshold ofher room. The morning was half-way through. Visitors, including Mr. FredBirch, were expected to lunch, and Miss Merton, who had been latelyinvisible, had already, she saw, changed her dress. At breakfast, itseemed to Mrs. Colwood, she had been barely presentable: untidy hair, adress with various hooks missing, and ruffles much in need of washing.Muriel could only suppose that the carelessness of her attire was meantto mark the completeness of her conquest of Beechcote. But now her gownof scarlet velveteen, her arms bare to the elbow, her frizzled andcurled hair, the powder which gave a bluish white to her complexion, thebangles and beads which adorned her, showed her armed to the last pinfor the encounters of the luncheon-table.
Mrs. Colwood, however, after a first dazzled look at what she wore,thought only of what she said. She hurriedly drew the girl into her ownroom, and shut the door. When, after some conversation, Fanny emerged,Mrs. Colwood was left in a state of agitation that was partly fear,partly helpless indignation. During the fortnight since Miss Merton'sarrival all the energies of the house had been devoted to her amusement.A little whirlwind of dissipation had blown through the days. Two meets,a hockey-match, a concert at the neighboring town, a dinner-party andvarious "drums," besides a luncheon-party and afternoon tea at Beechcoteitself in honor of the guest--Mrs. Colwood thought the girl might havebeen content! But she had examined everything presented to her with avery critical eye, and all through it had been plain that she wasimpatient and dissatisfied; for, inevitably, her social success was notgreat. Diana, on the other hand, was still a new sensation, andsomething of a queen wherever she went. Her welcoming eyes, herimpetuous smile drew a natural homage; and Fanny followed sulkily in herwake, accepted--not without surprise--as Miss Mallory's kinswoman, butdistinguished by no special attentions.
In any case, she would have rebelled against the situation. Her vanitywas amazing, her temper violent. At home she had been treated as abeauty, and had ruled the family with a firm view to her own interests.What in Alicia Drake was disguised by a thousand subleties of class andtraining was here seen in its crudest form. But there was morebesides--miserably plain now to this trembling spectator. The resentmentof Diana's place in life, as of something robbed, not earned--thescarcely concealed claim either to share it or attack it--these thingswere no longer riddles to Muriel Colwood. Rather they were thestorm-signs of a coming tempest, already darkening above aninnocent head.
What could she do? The little lady gave her days and nights to thequestion, and saw no way out. Sometimes she hoped that Diana'spersonality had made an impression on this sinister guest; she traced agrudging consciousness in Fanny of her cousin's generosity and charm.But this perception only led to fresh despondency. Whenever Fannysoftened, it showed itself in a claim to intimacy, as sudden and asviolent as her ill-temper. She must be Diana's first and dearest--beadmitted to all Diana's secrets and friendships. Then on Diana's side,inevitable withdrawal, shrinking, self-defence--and on Fanny's a hotterand more acrid jealousy.
Meanwhile, as Mrs. Colwood knew, Diana had been engaged incorrespondence with her solicitors, who had been giving her some prudentand rather stringent advice on the subject of income and expenditure.This morning, so Mrs. Colwood believed, a letter had arrived.
Presently she stole out of her room to the head of the stairs. There sheremained, pale and irresolute, for a little while, listening to thesounds in the house. But the striking of the hall clock, the sighing ofa stormy wind round the house, and, occasionally, a sound of talking inthe drawing-room, was all she heard.
* * * * *
Diana had been busy in the hanging of some last pictures in thedrawing-room--photographs from Italian pictures and monuments. They hadbelonged to her father, and had been the dear companions of herchildhood. Each, as she handled it, breathed its own memory; of thelittle villa on the Portofino road, with its green shutters, and roomsclosed against the sun; or of the two short visits to Lucca and Florenceshe had made with her father.
Among the photographs was one of the "Annunciation" by Donatello, whichglorifies the southern wall of Santa Croce. Diana had just hung it in apanelled corner, where its silvery brilliance on dark wood made a pointof pleasure for the eye. She lingered before it, wondering whether itwould please _him_ when he came. Unconsciously her life had slipped intothis habit of referring all its pains and pleasures to the unseenfriend--holding with him that constant dialogue of the heart withoutwhich love neither begins nor grows.
Yet she no longer dreamed of discussing Fanny, and the perplexitiesFanny had let loose on Beechcote, with the living Marsham. Money affairsmust be kept to one's self; and somehow Fanny's visit had become neithermore nor less than a money affair.
That morning Diana had received a letter from old Mr. Riley, the head ofthe firm of Riley & Bonner--a letter which was almost a lecture. If thecase were indeed urgent, said Mr. Riley, if the money must be found, shecould, of course, borrow on her securities, and the firm would arrangeit for her. But Mr. Riley, excusing himself as her father's old friend,wrote with his own hand to beg her to consider the matter further. Herexpenses had lately been many, and some of her property might possiblydecline in value during the next few years. A prudent management of heraffairs was really essential. Could not the money be gradually saved outof income?
Diana colored uncomfortably as she thought of the letter. What did thedear old man suppose she wanted the money for? It hurt her pride thatshe must appear in this spendthrift light to eyes so honest andscrupulous.
But what could she do? Fanny poured out ugly reports of her mother'sfinancial necessities to Muriel Colwood; Mrs. Colwood repeated them toDiana. And the Mertons were Diana's only kinsfolk. The claim of bloodpressed her hard.
Meanwhile, with a shrinking distaste, she had tried to avoid thepersonal discussion of the matter with Fanny. The task of curbing thegirl's impatience, day after day, had fallen to Mrs. Colwood.
Diana was still standing in a reverie before the "Annunciation" when thedrawing-room door opened. As she looked round her, she drew herselfsharply together with the movement of a sudden and instinctiveantipathy.
"That's all right," said Fanny Merton, surveying the room withsatisfaction, and closing the door behind her. "I thought I'd findyou alone."
Diana remained nervously standing before the picture, awaiting hercousin, her eyes wider than usual, one hand at her throat.
"Look here," said Fanny, approaching her, "I want to talk to you."
Diana braced herself. "All right." She threw a look at the clock. "Justgive me time to get tidy before lunch."
"Oh, there's an hour--time enough!"
Diana drew forward an arm-chair for Fanny, and settled herself into thecorner of a sofa. Her dog jumped up beside her, and laid his nose onher lap.
Fanny held herself straight. Her color under the powder had heightened alittle. The two girls confronted each other, and, vaguely, perhaps, eachfelt the strangeness of the situation. Fanny was twenty, Dianatwenty-three. They were of an age when girls are generally under theguidance or authority of their elders; comparatively little accustomed,in the normal family, to discuss affairs or take independent decisions.Yet here they met, alone and untrammelled; as hostess and guest in thefirst place; as kinswomen, yet comparative strangers to each other, andconscious of a secret dislike, each for the other. On the one side, anexultant and partly cruel consciousness of power; on the other, feelingsof repugnance and revolt, only held in check by the forces of a tenderand scrupulous nature.
Fanny cleared her throat.
"Well, of course, Mrs. Colwood's told me all you've been saying to her.And I don't say I'm surprised."
Diana opened her large eyes.
"Surprised at what?"
"Surprised--well
!--surprised you didn't see your way all at once, andthat kind of thing. I know I'd want to ask a lot of questions--shouldn'tI, just! Why, that's what I expected. But, you see, my time in England'sgetting on. I've nothing to say to my people, and they bother my lifeout every mail."
"What did you really come to England for?" said Diana, in a low voice.Her attitude, curled up among the cushions of the sofa, gave her analmost childish air. Fanny, on the other hand, resplendent in herscarlet dress and high coiffure, might have been years older than hercousin. And any stranger watching the face in which the hardness of an"old campaigner" already strove with youth, would have thought her, andnot Diana, the mistress of the house.
At Diana's question, Fanny's eyes flickered a moment.
"Oh, well, I had lots of things in my mind. But it was the money thatmattered most."
"I see," murmured Diana.
Fanny fidgeted a little with one of the three bead necklaces whichadorned her. Then she broke out:
"Look here, Diana, you've never been poor in your life, so you don'tknow what it's like being awfully hard up. But ever since father died,mother's had a frightful lot of trouble--all of us to keep, and theboys' schooling to pay, and next to nothing to do it on. Father lefteverything in a dreadful muddle. He never had a bit of sense--"
Diana made a sudden movement. Fanny looked at her astonished, expectingher to speak. Diana, however, said nothing, and the girl resumed:
"I mean, in business. He'd got everything into a shocking state, andinstead of six hundred a year for us--as we'd always been led on toexpect--well, there wasn't three! Then, you know, Uncle Mallory used tosend us money. Well" (she cleared her throat again and looked away fromDiana), "about a year before he died he and father fell out aboutsomething--so _that_ didn't come in any more. Then we thought perhapshe'd remember us in his will. And that was another disappointment. So,you see, really mother didn't know where to turn."
"I suppose papa thought he had done all he could," said Diana, in avoice which tried to keep quite steady. "He never denied any claim hefelt just. I feel I must say that, because you seem to blame papa. But,of course, I am very sorry for Aunt Bertha."
At the words "claim" and "just" there was a quick change of expressionin Fanny's eyes. She broke out angrily: "Well, you really don't knowabout it, Diana, so it's no good talking. And I'm not going to rake upold things--"
"But if I don't know," said Diana, interrupting, "hadn't you better tellme? Why did papa and Uncle Merton disagree? And why did you think papaought to have left you money?" She bent forward insistently. There was adignity--perhaps also a touch of haughtiness--in her bearing whichexasperated the girl beside her. The haughtiness was that of one whoprotects the dead. But Fanny's mind was not one that perceived thefiner shades.
"Well, I'm not going to say!" said Fanny, with vehemence. "But I cantell you, mother _has_ a claim!--and Uncle Mallory _ought_ to have leftus something!"
The instant the words were out she regretted them. Diana abandoned herchildish attitude. She drew herself together, and sat upright on theedge of the sofa. The color had come flooding back hotly into hercheeks, and the slightly frowning look produced by the effort to see theface before her distinctly gave a peculiar intensity to the eyes.
"Fanny, please!--you must tell me why!"
The tone, resolute, yet appealing, put Fanny in an evidentembarrassment.
"Well, I can't," she said, after a moment--"so it's no good asking me."Then suddenly, she hesitated--"or--at least--"
"At least what? Please go on."
Fanny wriggled again, then said, with a burst:
"Well, my mother was Aunt Sparling's younger sister--you knowthat--don't you?--"
"Of course."
"And our grandfather died a year before Aunt Sparling. She was mother'strustee. Oh, the money's all right--the trust money, I mean," said thegirl, hastily. "But it was a lot of other things--that mother saysgrandpapa always meant to divide between her and Aunt Sparling--and shenever had them--nor a farthing out of them!"
"What other things? I don't understand."
"Jewels!--there!--jewels--and a lot of plate. Mother says she had aright to half the things that belonged to her mother. Grandpapa alwaystold her she should have them. And there wasn't a word about them inthe will."
"_I_ haven't any diamonds," said Diana, quietly, "or any jewels at all,except a string of pearls papa gave me when I was nineteen, and two orthree little things we bought in Florence."
Fanny Merton grew still redder; she stared aggressively at her cousin:
"Well--that was because--Aunt Sparling sold all the things!"
Diana started and recoiled.
"You mean," she said--her breath fluttering--"that--mamma sold thingsshe had no right to--and never gave Aunt Bertha the money!"
The restrained passion of her look had an odd effect upon her companion.Fanny first wavered under it, then laughed--a laugh that was partlyperplexity, partly something else, indecipherable.
"Well, as I wasn't born then, I don't know. You needn't be cross withme, Diana; I didn't mean to say any harm of anybody. But--mothersays"--she laid an obstinate stress on each word--"that she remembersquite well--grandpapa meant her to have: a diamond necklace; a_riviere_" (she began to check the items off on her fingers)--"therewere two, and of course Aunt Sparling had the best; two bracelets, onewith turquoises and one with pearls; a diamond brooch; an opal pendant;a little watch set with diamonds grandma used to wear; and then a lot ofplate! Mother wrote me out a list--I've got it here."
She opened a beaded bag on her wrist, took out half a sheet of paper,and handed it to Diana.
Diana looked at it in silence. Even her lips were white, and her fingersshook.
"Did you ever send this to papa?" she asked, after a minute.
Fanny fidgeted again.
"Yes."
"And what did he say? Have you got his letter?"
"No; I haven't got his letter."
"Did he admit that--that mamma had done this?"
Fanny hesitated: but her intelligence, which was of a simple kind, didnot suggest to her an ingenious line of reply.
"Well, I dare say he didn't. But that doesn't make any difference."
"Was that what he and Uncle Merton quarrelled about?"
Fanny hesitated again; then broke out: "Father only did what heought--he asked for what was owed mother!"
"And papa wouldn't give it!" cried Diana, in a strange note of scorn;"papa, who never could rest if he owed a farthing to anybody--who alwaysoverpaid everybody--whom everybody--"
"YOU NEEDN'T BE CROSS WITH ME, DIANA"]
She rose suddenly with a bitten lip. Her eyes blazed--and her cheeks.She walked to the window and stood looking out, in a whirlwind offeeling and memory, hiding her face as best she could from the girlwho sat watching her with an expression half sulky, half insolent. Dianawas thinking of moments--recalling forgotten fragments of dialogue--inthe past, which showed her father's opinion of his Barbadoesbrother-in-law: "A grasping, ill-bred fellow"--"neither gratitude, nordelicacy"--"has been the evil genius of his wife, and will be the ruinof his children." She did not believe a word of Fanny's story--not aword of it!
She turned impetuously. Then, as her eyes met Fanny's, a shock ranthrough her--the same sudden, inexplicable fear which had seized on Mrs.Colwood, only more sickening, more paralyzing. And it was a fear whichran back to and linked itself with the hour of heart-searching in thewood. What was Fanny thinking of?--what was in her mind--on her lips?Impulses she could not have defined, terrors to which she could give noname, crept over Diana's will and disabled it. She trembled from head tofoot--and gave way.
She walked up to her cousin.
"Fanny, is there any letter--anything of grandpapa's--or of mymother's--that you could show me?"
"No! It was a promise, I tell you--there was no writing. But my mothercould swear to it."
The girl faced her cousin without flinching. Diana sat down again, whiteand tremulous, the moment of ene
rgy, of resistance, gone. In a waveringvoice she began to explain that she had, in fact, been inquiring intoher affairs, that the money was not actually at her disposal, that toprovide it would require an arrangement with her bankers, and thedepositing of some securities; but that, before long, it should beavailable.
Fanny drew a long breath. She had not expected the surrender. Her eyessparkled, and she began to stammer thanks.
"Don't!" said Diana, putting out a hand. "If I owe it you--and I take iton your word--the money shall be paid--that's all. Only--only, I wishyou had not written to me like that; and I ask that--that--you willnever, please, speak to me about it again!"
She had risen, and was standing, very tall and rigid, her hands pressingagainst each other.
Fanny's face clouded.
"Very well," she said, as she rose from her seat, "I'm sure I don't wantto talk about it. I didn't like the job a bit--nor did mother. But ifyou are poor--and somebody owes you something--you can't help trying toget it--that's all!"
Diana said nothing. She went to the writing-table and began to arrangesome letters. Fanny looked at her.
"I say, Diana!--perhaps you won't want me to stay here after--You seemto have taken against me."
Diana turned.
"No," she said, faintly. Then, with a little sob: "I thought of nothingbut your coming."
Fanny flushed.
"Well, of course you've been very kind to me--and all that sort ofthing. I wasn't saying you hadn't been. Except--Well, no, there's onething I _do_ think you've been rather nasty about!"
The girl threw back her head defiantly.
Diana's pale face questioned her.
"I was talking to your maid yesterday," said Fanny, slowly, "and shesays you're going to stay at some smart place next week, and you've beengetting a new dress for it. And you've never said a _word_ to me aboutit--let alone ask me to go with you!"
Diana looked at her amazed.
"You mean--I'm going to Tallyn!"
"That's it," said Fanny, reproachfully. "And you know I don't get a lotof fun at home--and I might as well be seeing people--and going aboutwith you--though I do have to play second fiddle. You're rich, ofcourse--everybody's nice to you--"
She paused. Diana, struck dumb, could find, for the moment, nothing tosay. The red named in Fanny's cheeks, and she turned away witha flounce.
"Oh, well, you'd better say it at once--you're ashamed of me! I haven'thad your blessed advantages! Do you think I don't know that!"
In the girl's heightened voice and frowning brow there was a touch offury, of goaded pride, that touched Diana with a sudden remorse. She rantoward her cousin--appealing:
"I'm _very_ sorry, Fanny. I--I don't like to leave you--but they are mygreat friends--and Lady Lucy, though she's very kind, is veryold-fashioned. One couldn't take the smallest liberty with her. I don'tthink I could ask to take you--when they are quite by themselves--andthe house is only half mounted. But Mrs. Colwood and I had been thinkingof several things that might amuse you--and I shall only be twonights away."
"I don't want any amusing--thanks!" said Fanny, walking to the door.
She closed it behind her. Diana clasped her hands overhead in a gestureof amazement.
"To quarrel with me about that--after--the other thing!"
No!--not Tallyn!--not Tallyn!--anywhere, anything, but that!
Was she proud?--snobbish? Her eyes filled with tears, but her willhardened. What was to be gained? Fanny would not like them, northey her.
* * * * *
The luncheon-party had been arranged for Mr. Birch, Fanny's trainacquaintance. Diana had asked the Roughsedges, explaining the matter,with a half-deprecating, half-humorous face, to the comfortable ear ofMrs. Roughsedge. Explanation was necessary, for this particular youngman was only welcome in those houses of the neighborhood which were notsocially dainty. Mrs. Roughsedge understood at once--laughedheartily--accepted with equal heartiness--and then, taking Diana's hand,she said, with a shining of her gray eye:
"My dear, if you want Henry and me to stand on our heads we will attemptit with pleasure. You are an angel!--and angels are not to be worried bysolicitors."
The first part of which remark referred to a certain morning afterHugh's announcement of his appointment to the Nigerian expedition, whenDiana had shown the old people a sweet and daughter-like sympathy, whichhad entirely won whatever portion of their hearts remained still tobe captured.
Hugh, meanwhile, was not yet gone, though he was within a fortnight ofdeparture. He was coming to luncheon, with his parents, in order tosupport Diana. The family had seen Miss Merton some two or three times,and were all strongly of opinion that Diana very much wanted supporting."Why should one be civil to one's cousin?" Dr. Roughsedge inquired ofhis wife. "If they are nice, let them stand on their own merits. Ifnot, they are disagreeable people who know a deal too much about you.Miss Diana should have consulted me!"
The Roughsedges arrived early, and found Diana alone in thedrawing-room. Again Captain Roughsedge thought her pale, and was evensure that she had lost flesh. This time it was hardly possible to putthese symptoms down to Marsham's account. He chafed under the thoughtthat he should be no longer there in case a league, offensive anddefensive, had in the end to be made with Mrs. Colwood for the handlingof cousins. It was quite clear that Miss Fanny was a vulgar little minx,and that Beechcote would have no peace till it was rid of her.Meanwhile, the indefinable change which had come over his mother's face,during the preceding week, had escaped even the quick eyes of anaffectionate son. Alas! for mothers--when Lalage appears!
Mr. Birch arrived to the minute, and when he was engaged in affableconversation with Diana, Fanny, last of the party--the door beingceremoniously thrown open by the butler--entered, with an air. Mr. Birchsprang effusively to his feet, and there was a noisy greeting betweenhim and his travelling companion. The young man was slim, andeffeminately good-looking. His frock-coat and gray trousers were new andimmaculate; his small feet were encased in shining patent-leather boots,and his blue eyes gave the impression of having been carefully matchedwith his tie. He was evidently delighted to find himself at Beechcote,and it might have been divined that there was a spice of malice in hispleasure. The Vavasours had always snubbed him; Miss Mallory herself hadnot been over-polite to him on one or two occasions; but her cousin wasa "stunner," and, secure in Fanny's exuberant favor, he made himselfquite at home. Placed on Diana's left at table, he gave her much volubleinformation about her neighbors, mostly ill-natured; he spoke familiarlyof "that clever chap Marsham," as of a politician who owed his electionfor the division entirely to the good offices of Mr. Fred Birch's firm,and described Lady Lucy as "an old dear," though very "frowsty" in herideas. He was strongly of opinion that Marsham should find an heiress assoon as possible, for there was no saying how "long the old lady wouldsee him out of his money," and everybody knew that at present "she kepthim beastly short." "As for me," the speaker wound up, with an engagingand pensive _naivete_, "I've talked to him till I'm tired."
At last he was headed away from Tallyn and its owners, only to fall intoa rapturous debate with Fanny over a racing bet which seemed to havebeen offered and taken on the journey which first made them acquainted.Fanny had lost, but the young man gallantly excused her.
"No--no, couldn't think of it! Not till next time. Then--my word!--I'llcome down upon you--won't I? Teach you to know your way about--eh?"
Loud laughter from Fanny, who professed to know her way about already.They exchanged "tips"--until at last Mr. Birch, lost in admiration ofhis companion, pronounced her a "ripper"--he had never yet met a lady sowell up--"why, you know as much as a man!"
Dr. Roughsedge meanwhile observed the type. The father, an old-fashionedsteady-going solicitor, had sent the son to expensive schools, andallowed him two years at Oxford, until the College had politelyrequested the youth's withdrawal. The business was long established,and had been sound. This young man had now been a partner in it for tw
oyears, and the same period had seen the rise to eminence of another andhitherto obscure firm in the county town. Mr. Fred Birch spokecontemptuously of the rival firm as "smugs"; but the district wasbeginning to intrust its wills and mortgages to the "smugs" with a sadand increasing alacrity.
There were, indeed, some secret discomforts in the young man's soul; andwhile he sported with Fanny he did not forget business. The tenant ofBeechcote was, _ipso facto_, of some social importance, and Diana wasreported to be rich; the Roughsedges also, though negligiblefinancially, were not without influence in high places; and the doctorwas governor of an important grammar-school recently revived andreorganized, wherewith the Birches would have been glad to be officiallyconnected. He therefore made himself agreeable.
"You read, sir, a great deal?" he said to the doctor, with aprofessional change of voice.
The doctor, who, like most great men, was a trifle greedy, was silentlyenjoying a dish of oysters delicately rolled in bacon. He looked up athis questioner.
"A great deal, Mr. Birch."
"Everything, in fact?"
"Everything--except, of course, what is indispensable."
Mr. Birch looked puzzled.
"I heard of you from the Duchess, doctor. She says you are one of themost learned men in England."
"The Duchess?" The doctor screwed up his eyes and looked round thetable.
Mr. Birch, with complacency, named the wife of a neighboring potentatewho owned half the county.
"Don't know her," said the doctor--"don't know her; and--excuse thebarbarity--don't wish to know her."
"Oh, but so charming!" cried Mr. Birch--"and so kind!"
The doctor shook his head, and declared that great ladies were not tohis taste. "Poodles, sir, poodles! 'fed on cream and muffins!'--there isno trusting them."
"Poodles!" said Fanny, in astonishment. "Why are duchesses likepoodles?"
The doctor bowed to her.
"I give it up, Miss Merton. Ask Sydney Smith."
Fanny was mystified, and the sulky look appeared.
"Well, I know I should like to be a duchess. Why shouldn't one want tobe a duchess?"
"Why not indeed?" said the doctor, helping himself to another oyster."That's why they exist."
"I suppose you're teasing," said Fanny, rather crossly.
"I am quite incapable of it," protested the doctor. "Shall we not allagree that duchesses exist for the envy and jealousy of mankind?"
"Womankind?" put in Diana. The doctor smiled at her, and finished hisoyster. Brave child! Had that odious young woman been behaving incharacter that morning? He would like to have the dealing with her! Asfor Diana, her face reminded him of Cowper's rose "just washed by ashower"--delicately fresh--yet eloquent of some past storm.--GoodHeavens! Where was that fellow Marsham? Philandering withpolitics?--when there was this flower for the gathering!
* * * * *
Luncheon was half-way through when a rattling sound of horses' hoofsoutside drew the attention of the table.
"Somebody else coming to lunch," said Mr. Birch. "Sorry for 'em, MissMallory. We haven't left 'em much. You've done us so uncommon well."
Diana herself looked in some alarm round the table.
"Plenty, my dear lady, plenty!" said the doctor, on her other hand."Cold beef, and bread and cheese--what does any mortal want more? Don'tdisturb yourself."
Diana wondered who the visitors might be. The butler entered.
"Sir James Chide, ma'am, and Miss Drake. They have ridden over fromOverton Park, and didn't think it was so far. They told me to say theydidn't wish to disturb you at luncheon, and might they have a cupof coffee?"
Diana excused herself, and hurried out. Mr. Birch explained at length toMrs. Colwood and Fanny that Overton Park belonged to the Judge, SirWilliam Felton; that Sir James Chide was often there; and no doubt MissDrake had been invited for the ball of the night before; awfully smartaffair!--the coming-out ball of the youngest daughter.
"Who is Miss Drake?" asked Fanny, thinking enviously of the ball, towhich she had not been invited. Mr. Birch turned to her withconfidential jocosity.
"Lady Lucy Marsham's cousin; and it is generally supposed that she mightby now have been something else but for--"
He nodded toward the chair at the head of the table which Diana had leftvacant.
"Whatever do you mean?" said Fanny. The Marshams to her were, so far,mere shadows. They represented rich people on the horizon whom Dianaselfishly wished to keep to herself.
"I'm telling tales, I declare I am!" said Mr. Birch. "Haven't you seenMr. Oliver Marsham yet, Miss Merton?"
"No. I don't know anything about him."
"Ah!" said Mr. Birch, smiling, and peeling an apple with deliberation.
Fanny flushed.
"Is there anything up--between him and Diana?" she said in his ear.
Mr. Birch smiled again.
"I saw old Mr. Vavasour the other day--clients of ours, you understand.A close-fisted old boy, Miss Merton. They imagined they'd get a gooddeal out of your cousin. But not a bit of it. Oliver Marsham does allher business for her. The Vavasours don't like it, I can tell you."
"I haven't seen either him or Lady Lucy--is that her name?--since Icame."
"Let me see. You came about a fortnight ago--just when Parliamentreassembled. Mr. Marsham is our member. He and Lady Lucy went up to townthe day before Parliament met."
"And what about Miss Drake?"
"Ah!--poor Miss Drake!" Mr. Birch raised a humorous eyebrow. "Thoselittle things will happen, won't they? It was just at Christmas, Iunderstand, that your cousin paid her first visit to Tallyn. A man whowas shooting there told me all about it."
"And Miss Drake was there too?"
Mr. Birch nodded.
"And Diana cut her out?" said Fanny, bending toward him eagerly.
Mr. Birch smiled again. Voices were heard in the hall, but before thenew guests entered, the young man put up a finger to his lips:
"Don't you quote me, please, Miss Merton. But, I can tell you, yourcousin's very high up in the running just now. And Oliver Marsham willhave twenty thousand a year some day if he has a penny. Miss Malloryhasn't told you anything--hasn't she? Ha--ha! Still waters, youknow--still waters!"
* * * * *
A few minutes later Sir James Chide was seated between Diana and FannyMerton, Mr. Birch having obligingly vacated his seat and passed to theother side of the table, where his attempts at conversation were coldlyreceived by Miss Drake. That young lady dazzled the eyes of Fanny, whosat opposite to her. The closely fitting habit and black riding-hat gaveto her fine figure and silky wealth of hair the maximum of effect. Fannyperfectly understood that only money and fashion could attain to MissDrake's costly simplicity. She envied her from the bottom of her heart;she would have given worlds to see the dress in which she had figured atthe ball. Miss Drake, no doubt, went to two or three balls a week, andcould spend anything she liked upon her clothes.
Yet Diana had cut her out--Diana was to carry off the prize! Twentythousand a year! Fanny's mind was in a ferment--the mind of a raw andenvious provincial, trained to small ambitions and hungry desires. Halfan hour before, she had been writing a letter home, in a whirl ofdelight and self-glorification. The money Diana had promised would setthe whole family on its legs, and Fanny had stipulated that after thedebts were paid she was to have a clear, cool hundred for her ownpocket, and no nonsense about it. It was she who had done it all, andif it hadn't been for her, they might all have gone to the workhouse.But now her success was to her as dross. The thought of Diana's futurewealth and glory produced in her a feeling which was an acute physicaldistress. So Diana was to be married!--and to the great _parti_ of theneighborhood! Fanny already saw her in the bridal white, surrounded byglittering bridesmaids; and a churchful of titled people, bowing beforeher as she passed in state, like poppies under a breeze.
And Diana had never said a word to her about it--to her own cousin!Nasty,
close, mean ways! Fanny was not good enough for Tallyn--oh no!_She_ was asked to Beechcote when there was nothing going on--or next tonothing--and one might yawn one's self to sleep with dulness frommorning till night. But as soon as she was safely packed off, then therewould be fine times, no doubt; the engagement would be announced; thepresents would begin to come in; the bridesmaids would be chosen. Butshe would get nothing out of it--not she; she would not be asked to bebridesmaid. She was not genteel enough for Diana.
Diana--_Diana_!--the daughter--
Fanny's whole nature gathered itself as though for a spring upon someprey, at once tempting and exasperating. In one short fortnight theinbred and fated antagonism between the two natures had developeditself--on Fanny's side--to the point of hatred. In the depths of herbeing she knew that Diana had yearned to love her, and had not beenable. That failure was not her crime, but Diana's.
Fanny looked haughtily round the table. How many of them knew what sheknew? Suddenly a name recurred to her!--the name announced by the butlerand repeated by Mr. Birch. At the moment she had been thinking of otherthings; it had roused no sleeping associations. But now the obscureunder-self sent it echoing through the brain. Fanny caught her breath.The sudden excitement made her head swim.--She turned and looked at thewhite-haired elderly man sitting between her and Diana.
Sir James Chide!
Memories of the common gossip in her home, of the talk of the people onthe steamer, of pages in that volume of _Famous Trials_ she had studiedon the voyage with such a close and unsavory curiosity danced throughthe girl's consciousness. Well, _he_ knew! No good pretending there. Andhe came to see Diana--and still Diana knew nothing! Mrs. Colwood mustsimply be telling lies--silly lies! Fanny glanced at her with contempt.
Yet so bewildered was she that when Sir James addressed her, she staredat him in what seemed a fit of shyness. And when she began to talk itwas at random, for her mind was in a tumult. But Sir James soon divinedher. Vulgarity, conceit, ill-breeding--the great lawyer detected them infive minutes' conversation. Nor were they unexpected; for he was wellacquainted with Miss Fanny's origins. Yet the perception of them madethe situation still more painfully interesting to him, and no lessmysterious than before. For he saw no substantial change in it; and hewas, in truth, no less perplexed than Fanny. If certain things hadhappened in consequence of Miss Merton's advent, neither he nor anyother guest would be sitting at Diana Mallory's table that day; of thathe was morally certain. Therefore, they had not happened.
He returned with a redoubled tenderness of feeling to his conversationwith Diana. He had come to Overton for the Sunday, at great professionalinconvenience, for nothing in the world but that he must pay this visitto Beechcote; and he had approached the house with dread--dread lest heshould find a face stricken with the truth. That dread was momentarilylifted, for in those beautiful dark eyes of Diana innocence andignorance were still written; but none the less he trembled for her; hesaw her as he had seen her at Tallyn, a creature doomed, and consecrateto pain. Why, in the name of justice and pity, had her father done thisthing? So it is that a man's love, for lack of a little simple courageand common-sense, turns to cruelty.
Poor, poor child!--At first sight he, like the Roughsedges, had thoughther pale and depressed. Then he had given his message. "Marsham hasarrived!--turned up at Overton a couple of hours ago--and told us to sayhe would follow us here after luncheon. He wired to Lady Felton thismorning to ask if she would take him in for the Sunday. Some bigpolitical meeting he had for to-night is off. Lady Lucy stays intown--and Tallyn is shut up. But Lady Felton was, of course, delightedto get him. He arrived about noon. Civility to his hostess kept him toluncheon--then he pursues us!"
Since then!--no lack of sparkle in the eyes or color in the cheek! Yeteven so, to Sir James's keen sense, there was an increase, a sharpening,in Diana's personality, of the wistful, appealing note, which had beenalways touching, always perceptible, even through the radiant days ofher Tallyn visit.
Ah, well!--like Dr. Roughsedge, only with a far deeper urgency, he, too,for want of any better plan, invoked the coming lover. In God's name,let Marsham take the thing into his own hands!--stand on his ownfeet!--dissipate a nightmare which ought never to have arisen--andgather the girl to his heart.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Fanny's attention--and the surging anger of her thoughts--weremore and more directed upon the girl with the fair hair opposite. Anatural bond of sympathy seemed somehow to have arisen between her andthis Miss Drake--Diana's victim. Alicia Drake, looking up, wasastonished, time after time, to find herself stared at by thecommon-looking young woman across the table, who was, she understood,Miss Mallory's cousin. What dress, and what manners! One did not oftenmeet that kind of person in society. She wished Oliver joy of his futurerelations.
* * * * *
In the old panelled drawing-room the coffee was circulating. Sir Jameswas making friends with Mrs. Colwood, whose gentle looks and widow'sdress appealed to him. Fanny, Miss Drake, and Mr. Birch made a group bythe fireplace; Mr. Birch was posing as an authority on the drama; Fanny,her dark eyes fixed upon Alicia, was not paying much attention; andAlicia, with ill-concealed impatience, was yawning behind her glove.Hugh Roughsedge was examining the Donatello photograph.
"Do you like it?" said Diana, standing beside him. She was conscious ofhaving rather neglected him at lunch, and there was a dancing somethingin her own heart which impelled her to kindness and compunction. Was notthe good, inarticulate youth, too, going out into the wilds, his lifein his hands, in the typical English way? The soft look in her eyeswhich expressed this mingled feeling did not mislead the recipient. Hehad overheard Sir James Glide's message; he understood her.
Presently, Mrs. Roughsedge, seeing that it was a sunny day and thegarden looked tempting, asked to be allowed to inspect a new greenhousethat Diana was putting up. The door leading out of the drawing-room tothe moat and the formal garden was thrown open; cloaks and hats werebrought, and the guests streamed out.
"You are not coming?" said Hugh Roughsedge to Diana.
At this question he saw a delicate flush, beyond her control, creep overher cheek and throat.
"I--I am expecting Mr. Marsham," she said. "Perhaps I ought to stay."
Sir James Chide looked at his watch.
"He should be here any minute. We will overtake you, CaptainRoughsedge."
Hugh went off beside Mrs. Colwood. Well, well, it was all plain enough!It was only a fortnight since the Marshams had gone up to town for theParliamentary season. And here he was, again upon the scene. Impossible,evidently, to separate them longer. Let them only get engaged, and bedone with it! He stalked on beside Mrs. Colwood, tongue-tied andmiserable.
Meanwhile, Sir James lingered with Diana. "A charming old place!" hesaid, looking about him. "But Marsham tells me the Vavasours havebeen odious."
"We have got the better of them! Mr. Marsham helped me."
"He has an excellent head, has Oliver. This year he will have specialneed of it. It will be a critical time for him."
Diana gave a vague assent. She had, in truth, two recent letters fromMarsham in her pocket at that moment, giving a brilliant and minuteaccount of the Parliamentary situation. But she hid the fact, warm andclose, like a brooding bird; only drawing on her companion to talkpolitics, that she might hear Marsham's name sometimes, and realize thesituation Marsham had described to her, from another point of view.--Andall the time her ear listened for the sound of hoofs, and for the frontdoor bell.
At last! The peal echoed through the old house. Sir James rose, and,instinctively, Diana rose too. Was there a smile--humorous andtender--in the lawyer's blue eyes?
"I'll go and finish my cigarette out-of-doors. Such a temptingafternoon!"
And out he hurried, before Diana could stop him. She remained standing,with soft hurrying breath, looking out into the garden. On a lowerterrace she saw Fanny and Alicia Drake walking together, and could not
help a little laugh of amusement that seemed to come out of a heart ofcontent. Then the door opened, and Marsham was there.