CHAPTER VII
GARTH FINDS HIS ROSARY
Jane spent but a very few minutes in the drawing-room that evening.
The fun in progress there was not to her taste, and the praises
heaped upon herself annoyed her. Also she wanted the quiet of her
own room in order to think over that closing episode of the concert,
which had taken place between herself and Garth, behind the scenes.
She did not feel certain how to take it. She was conscious that it
held an element which she could not fathom, and Garth's last act had
awakened in herself feelings which she did not understand. She
extremely disliked the way in which he had kissed her hands; and yet
he had put into the action such a passion of reverent worship that
it gave her a sense of consecration--of being, as it were, set apart
to minister always to the hearts of men in that perfect gift of
melody which should uplift and ennoble. She could not lose the
sensation of the impress of his lips upon the palms of her hands. It
was as if he had left behind something tangible and abiding. She
caught herself looking at them anxiously once or twice, and the
third time this happened she determined to go to her room.
The duchess was at the piano, completely hidden from view by nearly
the whole of her house party, crowding round in fits of delighted
laughter. Ronnie had just broken through from the inmost circle to
fetch an antimacassar; and Billy, to dash to the writing-table for a
sheet of note-paper. Jane knew the note-paper meant a clerical dog
collar, and she concluded something had been worn which resembled an
antimacassar.
She turned rather wearily and moved towards the door. Quiet and
unobserved though her retreat had been, Garth was at the door before
her. She did not know how he got there; for, as she turned to leave
the room, she had seen his sleek head close to Myra Ingleby's on the
further side of the duchess's crowd. He opened the door and Jane
passed out. She felt equally desirous of saying two things to him,--
either: "How dared you behave in so unconventional a way?" or: "Tell
me just what you want me to do, and I will do it."
She said neither.
Garth followed her into the hall, lighted a candle, and threw the
match at Tommy; then handed her the silver candlestick. He was
looking absurdly happy. Jane felt annoyed with him for parading this
gladness, which she had unwittingly caused and in which she had no
share. Also she felt she must break this intimate silence. It was
saying so much which ought not to be said, since it could not be
spoken. She took her candle rather aggressively and turned upon the
second step.
"Good-night, Dal," she said. "And do you know that you are missing
the curate?"
He looked up at her. His eyes shone in the light of her candle.
"No," he said. "I am neither missing nor missed. I was only waiting
in there until you went up. I shall not go back. I am going out into
the park now to breathe in the refreshing coolness of the night
breeze. And I am going to stand under the oaks and tell my beads. I
did not know I had a rosary, until to-night, but I have--I have!"
"I should say you have a dozen," remarked Jane, dryly.
"Then you would be wrong," replied Garth. "I have just one. But it
has many hours. I shall be able to call them all to mind when I get
out there alone. I am going to 'count each pearl.'"
"How about the cross?" asked Jane.
"I have not reached that yet," answered Garth. "There is no cross to
my rosary."
"I fear there is a cross to every true rosary, Dal," said Jane
gently, "and I also fear it will go hard with you when you find
yours."
But Garth was confident and unafraid.
"When I find mine," he said, "I hope I shall be able to"--
Involuntarily Jane looked at her hands. He saw the look and smiled,
though he had the grace to colour beneath his tan,--"to FACE the
cross," he said.
Jane turned and began to mount the stairs; but Garth arrested her
with an eager question.
"Just one moment, Miss Champion! There is something I want to ask
you. May I? Will you think me impertinent, presuming, inquisitive?"
"I have no doubt I shall," said Jane. "But I am thinking you all
sorts of unusual things to-night; so three adjectives more or less
will not matter much. You may ask."
"Miss Champion, have YOU a rosary?"
Jane looked at him blankly; then suddenly understood the drift of
his question.
"My dear boy, NO!" she said. "Thank goodness, I have kept clear of
'memories that bless and burn.' None of these things enter into my
rational and well-ordered life, and I have no wish that they
should."
"Then," deliberated Garth, "how came you to sing THE ROSARY as if
each line were your own experience; each joy or pain a thing--long
passed, perhaps--but your own?"
"Because," explained Jane, "I always live in a song when I sing it.
Did I not tell you the lesson I learned over the CHANT HINDOU?
Therefore I had a rosary undoubtedly when I was singing that song
to-night. But, apart from that, in the sense you mean, no, thank
goodness, I have none."
Garth mounted two steps, bringing his eyes on a level with the
candlestick.
"But IF you cared," he said, speaking very low, "that is how you
would care? that is as you would feel?"
Jane considered. "Yes," she said, "IF I cared, I suppose I should
care just so, and feel as I felt during those few minutes."
"Then it was YOU in the song, although the circumstances are not
yours?"
"Yes, I suppose so," Jane replied, "if we can consider ourselves
apart from our circumstances. But surely this is rather an
unprofitable 'air-ball.' Goodnight, 'Master Garthie!'"
"I say, Miss Champion! Just one thing more. Will you sing for me to-
morrow? Will you come to the music-room and sing all the lovely
things I want to hear? And will you let me play a few of your
accompaniments? Ah, promise you will come. And promise to sing
whatever I ask, and I won't bother you any more now."
He stood looking up at her, waiting for her promise, with such
adoration shining in his eyes that Jane was startled and more than a
little troubled. Then suddenly it seemed to her that she had found
the key, and she hastened to explain it to herself and to him.
"Oh, you dear boy!" she said. "What an artist you are! And how
difficult it is for us commonplace, matter-of-fact people to
understand the artistic temperament. Here you go, almost turning my
steady old head by your rapture over what seemed to you perfection
of sound which has reached you through the ear; just as, again and
again, you worship at the shrine of perfection of form, which
reaches you through the eye. I begin to understand how it is you
turn the heads of women when you paint them. However, you are very
delightful in your delight, and I want to go up to bed. So I promise
to sing all you want and as much as you wish to-morrow. Now keep
your promise and don't bother me any more to-night. Don't spend the
whole night in the park, and try not to frighten the deer. No, I do
not need any assistance with my candle, and I am quite used to going
upstairs by myself, thank you. Can't you hear what personal and
appropriate remarks Tommy is making down there? Now do run away,
Master Garthie, and count your pearls. And if you suddenly come upon
a cross--remember, the cross can, in all probability, be persuaded
to return to Chicago!"
Jane was still smiling as she entered her room and placed her
candlestick on the dressing-table.
Overdene was lighted solely by lamps and candles. The duchess
refused to modernise it by the installation of electric light. But
candles abounded, and Jane, who liked a brilliant illumination,
proceeded to light both candles in the branches on either side of
the dressing-table mirror, and in the sconces on the wall beside the
mantelpiece, and in the tall silver candlesticks upon the writing-
table. Then she seated herself in a comfortable arm-chair, reached
for her writing-case, took out her diary and a fountain pen, and
prepared to finish the day's entry. She wrote, "SANG 'THE ROSARY' AT
AUNT 'GINA'S CONCERT IN PLACE OF VELMA, FAILED (LARYNGITIS)," and
came to a full stop.
Somehow the scene with Garth was difficult to record, and the
sensations which still remained therefrom, absolutely unwritable.
Jane sat and pondered the situation, content to allow the page to
remain blank.
Before she rose, locked her book, and prepared for rest, she had, to
her own satisfaction, clearly explained the whole thing. Garth's
artistic temperament was the basis of the argument; and, alas, the
artistic temperament is not a very firm foundation, either for a
theory, or for the fabric of a destiny. However, FAUTE DE MIEUX,
Jane had to accept it as main factor in her mental adjustment, thus:
This vibrant emotion in Garth, so strangely disturbing to her own
solid calm, was in no sense personal to herself, excepting in so far
as her voice and musical gifts were concerned. Just as the sight of
paintable beauty crazed him with delight, making him wild with
alternate hope and despair until he obtained his wish and had his
canvas and his sitter arranged to his liking; so now, his passion
for the beautiful had been awakened, this time through the medium,
not of sight, but of sound. When she had given him his fill of song,
and allowed him to play some of her accompaniments, he would be
content, and that disquieting look of adoration would pass from
those beautiful brown eyes. Meanwhile it was pleasant to look
forward to to-morrow, though it behooved her to remember that all
this admiration had in it nothing personal to herself. He would have
gone into even greater raptures over Madame Blanche, for instance,
who had the same timbre of voice and method of singing, combined
with a beauty of person which delighted the eye the while her voice
enchanted the ear. Certainly Garth must see and hear her,
as music appeared to mean so much to him. Jane began planning this,
and then her mind turned to Pauline Lister, the lovely American
girl, whose name had been coupled with Garth Dalmain's all the
season. Jane felt certain she was just the wife he needed. Her
loveliness would content him, her shrewd common-sense and
straightforward, practical ways would counterbalance his somewhat
erratic temperament, and her adaptability would enable her to suit
herself to his surroundings, both in his northern home and amongst
his large circle of friends down south. Once married, he would give
up raving about Flower and Myra, and kissing people's hands in that-
-"absurd way," Jane was going to say, but she was invariably
truthful, even in her thoughts, and substituted "extraordinary" as
the more correct adjective--in that extraordinary way.
She sat forward in her chair with her elbows on her knees, and held
her large hands before her, palms upward, realising again the
sensations of that moment. Then she pulled herself up sharply. "Jane
Champion, don't be a fool! You would wrong that dear, beauty-loving
boy, more than you would wrong yourself, if you took him for one
moment seriously. His homage to-night was no more personal to you
than his appreciation of the excellent dinner was personal to Aunt
Georgina's chef. In his enjoyment of the production, the producer
was included; but that was all. Be gratified at the success of your
art, and do not spoil that success by any absurd sentimentality. Now
wash your very ungainly hands and go to bed." Thus Jane to herself.
* * * * * * *
And under the oaks, with soft turf beneath his feet, stood Garth
Dalmain, the shy deer sleeping around unconscious of his presence;
the planets above, hanging like lamps in the deep purple of the sky.
And he, also, soliloquised.
"I have found her," he said, in low tones of rapture, "the ideal
woman, the crown of womanhood, the perfect mate for the spirit,
soul, and body of the man who can win her.--Jane! Jane! Ah, how
blind I have been! To have known her for years, and yet not realised
her to be this. But she lifted the veil, and I passed in. Ah grand,
noble heart! She will never be able to draw the veil again between
her soul and mine. And she has no rosary. I thank God for that. No
other man possesses, or has ever possessed, that which I desire more
than I ever desired anything upon this earth, Jane's love, Jane's
tenderness. Ah, what will it mean? 'I count each pearl.' She WILL
count them some day--her pearls and mine. God spare us the cross.
Must there be a cross to every true rosary? Then God give me the
heavy end, and may the mutual bearing of it bind us together. Ah,
those dear hands! Ah, those true steadfast eyes! . . . Jane!--Jane!
Surely it has always been Jane, though I did not know it, blind fool
that I have been! But one thing I know: whereas I was blind, now I
see. And it will always be Jane from this night onward through time
and-please God--into eternity."
The night breeze stirred his thick dark hair, and his eyes, as he
raised them, shone in the starlight.
* * * * * * *
And Jane, almost asleep, was roused by the tapping of her blind
against the casement, and murmured "Anything you wish, Garth, just
tell me, and I will do it." Then awakening suddenly to the
consciousness of what she had said, she sat up in the darkness and
scolded herself furiously. "Oh, you middle-aged donkey! You call
yourself staid and sensible, and a little flattery from a boy of
whom you are fond turns your head completely. Come to your senses at
once; or leave Overdene by the first train in the morning."
