CHAPTER IX
LADY INGLEBY'S HOUSE PARTY
As Jane took her seat and the train moved out of the London terminus
she leaned back in her corner with a sigh of satisfaction. Somehow
these days in town had seemed insufferably long. Jane reviewed them
thoughtfully, and sought the reason. They had been filled with
interests and engagements; and the very fact of being in town, as a
rule, contented her. Why had she felt so restless and dissatisfied
and lonely?
From force of habit she had just stopped at the railway book-stall
for her usual pile of literature. Her friends always said Jane could
not go even the shortest journey without at least half a dozen
papers. But now they lay unheeded on the seat in front of her. Jane
was considering her Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and wondering
why they had merely been weary stepping-stones to Friday. And here
was Friday at last, and once in the train en route for Shenstone,
she began to feel happy and exhilarated. What had been the matter
with these three days? Flower had been charming; Deryck, his own
friendly, interesting self; little Dicky, delightful; and Baby
Blossom, as sweet as only Baby Blossom could be. What was amiss?
"I know," said Jane. "Of course! Why did I not realise it before? I
had too much music during those last days at Overdene; and SUCH
music! I have been suffering from a surfeit of music, and the miss
of it has given me this blank feeling of loneliness. No doubt we
shall have plenty at Myra's, and Dal will be there to clamour for it
if Myra fails to suggest it."
With a happy little smile of pleasurable anticipation, Jane took up
the SPECTATOR, and was soon absorbed in an article on the South
African problem.
Myra met her at the station, driving ponies tandem. A light cart was
also there for the maid and baggage; and, without losing a moment,
Jane and her hostess were off along the country lane at a brisk
trot.
The fields and woods were an exquisite restful green in the
afternoon sunshine. Wild roses clustered in the hedges. The last
loads of hay were being carted in. There was an ecstasy in the songs
of the birds and a transporting sense of sweetness about all the
sights and scents of the country, such as Jane had never experienced
so vividly before. She drew a deep breath and exclaimed, almost
involuntarily: "Ah! it is good to be here!"
"You dear!" said Lady Ingleby, twirling her whip and nodding in
gracious response to respectful salutes from the hay-field. "It is a
comfort to have you! I always feel you are like the bass of a tune--
something so solid and satisfactory and beneath one in case of a
crisis. I hate crises. They are so tiring. As I say: Why can't
things always go on as they are? They are as they were, and they
were as they will be, if only people wouldn't bother. However, I am
certain nothing could go far wrong when YOU are anywhere near."
Myra flicked the leader, who was inclined to "sugar," and they flew
along between the high hedges, brushing lightly against overhanging
masses of honeysuckle and wild clematis. Jane snatched a spray of
the clematis, in passing. "'Traveller's joy,'" she said, with that
same quiet smile of glad anticipation, and put the white blossom in
her buttonhole.
"Well," continued Lady Ingleby, "my house party is going on quite
satisfactorily. Oh, and, Jane, there seems no doubt about Dal. How
pleased I shall be if it comes off under my wing! The American girl
is simply exquisite, and so vivacious and charming. And Dal has
quite given up being silly--not that _I_ ever thought him silly, but
I know YOU did--and is very quiet and pensive; really were it any
one but he, one would almost say 'dull.' And they roam about
together in the most approved fashion. I try to get the aunt to make
all her remarks to me. I am so afraid of her putting Dal off. He is
so fastidious. I have promised Billy anything, up to the half of my
kingdom, if he will sit at the feet of Mrs. Parker Bangs and listen
to her wisdom, answer her questions, and keep her away from Dal.
Billy is being so abjectly devoted in his attentions to Mrs. Parker
Bangs that I begin to have fears lest he intends asking me to kiss
him; in which case I shall hand him over to you to chastise. You
manage these boys so splendidly. I fully believe Dal will propose to
Pauline Lister tonight. I can't imagine why he didn't last night.
There was a most perfect moon, and they went on the lake. What more
COULD Dal want?--a lake, and a moon, and that lovely girl! Billy
took Mrs. Parker Bangs in a double canoe and nearly upset her
through laughing so much at the things she said about having to sit
flat on the bottom. But he paddled her off to the opposite side of
the lake from Dal and her niece, which was all we wanted. Mrs.
Parker Bangs asked me afterwards whether Billy is a widower. Now
what do you suppose she meant by that?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," said Jane. "But I am delighted to
hear about Dal and Miss Lister. She is just the girl for him, and
she will soon adapt herself to his ways and needs. Besides, Dal MUST
have flawless loveliness, and really he gets it there."
"He does indeed," said Myra. "You should have seen her last night,
in white satin, with wild roses in her hair. I cannot imagine why
Dal did not rave. But perhaps it is a good sign that he should take
things more quietly. I suppose he is making up his mind."
"No," said Jane. "I believe he did that at Overdene. But it means a
lot to him. He takes marriage very seriously. Whom have you at
Shenstone?"
Lady Ingleby told off a list of names. Jane knew them all.
"Delightful!" she said. "Oh! how glad I am to be here! London has
been so hot and so dull. I never thought it hot or dull before. I
feel a renegade. Ah! there is the lovely little church! I want to
hear the new organ. I was glad your nice parson remembered me and
let me have a share in it. Has it two manuals or three?"
"Half a dozen I think," said Lady Ingleby, "and you work them up and
down with your feet. But I judged it wiser to leave them alone when
I played for the children's service one Sunday. You never know quite
what will happen if you touch those mechanical affairs."
"Don't you mean the composition pedals?" suggested Jane.
"I dare say I do," said Myra placidly. "Those things underneath,
like foot-rests, which startle you horribly if you accidentally kick
them."
Jane smiled at the thought of how Garth would throw back his head
and shout, if she told him of this conversation. Lady Ingleby's
musical remarks always amused her friends.
They passed the village church on the green, ivy-clad, picturesque,
and, half a minute later, swerved in at the park gates. Myra saw
Jane glance at the gate-post they had just shaved, and laughed. "A
miss is as good as a mile," she said, as they dashed up the long
drive between the elms, "as I told dear mamma, when she expostulated
wrathfully with me for what she called my 'furious driving' the
other day. By the way, Jane, dear mamma has been quite CORDIAL
lately. By the time I am seventy and she is ninety-eight I think she
will begin to be almost fond of me. Here we are. Do notice Lawson.
He is new, and such a nice man. He sings so well, and plays the
concertina a little, and teaches in the Sunday-school, and speaks
really quite excellently at temperance meetings. He is extremely
fond of mowing the lawns, and my maid tells me he is studying French
with her. The only thing he seems really incapable of being, is an
efficient butler; which is so unfortunate, as I like him far too
well ever to part with him. Michael says I have a perfectly fatal
habit of LIKING PEOPLE, and of encouraging them to do the things
they do well and enjoy doing, instead of the things they were
engaged to do. I suppose I have; but I do like my household to be
happy."
They alighted, and Myra trailed into the hall with a lazy grace
which gave no indication of the masterly way she had handled her
ponies, but rather suggested stepping from a comfortable seat in a
barouche. Jane looked with interest at the man-servant who came
forward and deftly assisted them. He had not quite the air of a
butler but neither could she imagine him playing a concertina or
haranguing a temperance meeting and he acquitted himself quite
creditably.
"Oh, that was not Lawson," explained Myra, as she led the way
upstairs. "I had forgotten. He had to go to the vicarage this
afternoon to see the vicar about a 'service of song' they are
getting up. That was Tom, but we call him 'Jephson' in the house. He
was one of Michael's stud grooms, but he is engaged to one of the
housemaids, and I found he so very much preferred being in the
house, so I have arranged for him to understudy Lawson, and he is
growing side whiskers. I shall have to break it to Michael on his
return from Norway. This way, Jane. We have put you in the Magnolia
room. I knew you would enjoy the view of the lake. Oh, I forgot to
tell you, a tennis tournament is in progress. I must hasten to the
courts. Tea will be going on there, under the chestnuts. Dal and
Ronnie are to play the final for the men's singles. It ought to be a
fine match. It was to come on at about half-past four. Don't wait to
do any changings. Your maid and your luggage can't be here just
yet."
"Thanks," said Jane; "I always travel in country clothes, and have
done so to-day, as you see. I will just get rid of the railway dust,
and follow you."
Ten minutes later, guided by sounds of cheering and laughter, Jane
made her way through the shrubbery to the tennis lawns. The whole of
Lady Ingleby's house party was assembled there, forming a
picturesque group under the white and scarlet chestnut-trees.
Beyond, on the beautifully kept turf of the court, an exciting set
was in progress. As she approached, Jane could distinguish Garth's
slim, agile figure, in white flannels and the violet shirt; and
young Ronnie, huge and powerful, trusting to the terrific force of
his cuts and drives to counterbalance Garth's keener eye and swifter
turn of wrist.
It was a fine game. Garth had won the first set by six to four, and
now the score stood at five to four in Ronnie's favour; but this
game was Garth's service, and he was almost certain to win it. The
score would then be "games all."
Jane walked along the line of garden chairs to where she saw a
vacant one near Myra. She was greeted with delight, but hurriedly,
by the eager watchers of the game.
Suddenly a howl went up. Garth had made two faults.
Jane found her chair, and turned her attention to the game. Almost
instantly shrieks of astonishment and surprise again arose. Garth
had served INTO the net and OVER the line. Game and set were
Ronnie's.
"One all," remarked Billy. "Well! I never saw Dal do THAT before.
However; it gives us the bliss of watching another set. They are
splendidly matched. Dal is lightning, and Ronnie thunder."
The players crossed over, Garth rather white beneath his tan. He was
beyond words vexed with himself for failing in his service, at that
critical juncture. Not that he minded losing the set; but it seemed
to him it must be patent to the whole crowd, that it was the sight,
out of the tail of his eye, of a tall grey figure moving quietly
along the line of chairs, which for a moment or two set earth and
sky whirling, and made a confused blur of net and lines. As a matter
of fact, only one of the onlookers connected Garth's loss of the
game with Jane's arrival, and she was the lovely girl, seated
exactly opposite the net, with whom he exchanged a smile and a word
as he crossed to the other side of the court.
The last set proved the most exciting of the three. Nine hard-fought
games, five to Garth, four to Ronnie. And now Ronnie was serving,
and fighting hard to make it games-all. Over and over enthusiastic
partisans of both shouted "Deuce!" and then when Garth had won the
"vantage," a slashing over-hand service from Ronnie beat him, and it
was "deuce" again.
"Don't it make one giddy?" said Mrs. Parker Bangs to Billy, who
reclined on the sward at her feet. "I should say it has gone on long
enough. And they must both be wanting their tea. It would have been
kind in Mr. Dalmain to have let that ball pass, anyway."
"Yes, wouldn't it?" said Billy earnestly. "But you see, Dal is not
naturally kind. Now, if I had been playing against Ronnie, I should
have let those over-hand balls of his pass long ago."
"I am sure you would," said Mrs. Parker Bangs, approvingly; while
Jane leaned over, at Myra's request, and pinched Billy.
Slash went Ronnie's racket. "Deuce! deuce!" shouted half a dozen
voices.
"They shouldn't say that," remarked Mrs. Parker Bangs, "even if they
are mad about it."
Billy hugged his knees, delightedly; looking up at her with an
expression of seraphic innocence.
"No. Isn't it sad?" he murmured. "I never say naughty words when I
play. I always say 'Game love.' It sounds so much nicer, I think."
Jane pinched again, but Billy's rapt gaze at Mrs. Parker Bangs
continued.
"Billy," said Myra sternly, "go into the hall and fetch my scarlet
sunshade. Yes, I dare say you WILL miss the finish," she added in a
stern whisper, as he leaned over her chair, remonstrating; "but you
richly deserve it."
"I have made up my mind what to ask, dear queen," whispered Billy as
he returned, breathless, three minutes later and laid the parasol in
Lady Ingleby's lap. "You promised me anything, up to the half of
your kingdom. I will have the head of Mrs. Parker Bangs in a
charger."
"Oh, shut up, Billy!" exclaimed Jane, "and get out of the light! We
missed that last stroke. What is the score?"
Once again it was Garth's vantage, and once again Ronnie's arm swung
high for an untakable smasher.
"Play up, Dal!" cried a voice, amid the general hubbub.
Garth knew that dear voice. He did not look in its direction, but he
smiled. The next moment his arm shot out like a flash of lightning.
The ball touched ground on Ronnie's side of the net and shot the
length of the court without rising. Ronnie's wild scoop at it was
hopeless. Game and set were Garth's.
They walked off the ground together, their rackets under their arms,
the flush of a well-contested fight on their handsome faces. It had
been so near a thing that both could sense the thrill of victory.
Pauline Lister had been sitting with Garth's coat on her lap, and
his watch and chain were in her keeping. He paused a moment to take
them up and receive her congratulations; then, slipping on his coat,
and pocketing his watch, came straight to Jane.
"How do you do, Miss Champion?"
His eyes sought hers eagerly; and the welcoming gladness he saw in
them filled him with certainty and content. He had missed her so
unutterably during these days. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had
just been weary stepping-stones to Friday. It seemed incredible that
one person's absence could make so vast a difference. And yet how
perfect that it should be so; and that they should both realise it,
now the day had come when he intended to tell her how desperately he
wanted her always. Yes, that they should BOTH realise it--for he
felt certain Jane had also experienced the blank. A thing so
complete and overwhelming as the miss of her had been to him could
not be one-sided. And how well worth the experience of these lonely
days if they had thereby learned something of what TOGETHER meant,
now the words were to be spoken which should insure forever no more
such partings.
All this sped through Garth's mind as he greeted Jane with that most
commonplace of English greetings, the everlasting question which
never receives an answer. But from Garth, at that moment, it did not
sound commonplace to Jane, and she answered it quite frankly and
fully. She wanted above all things to tell him exactly how she did;
to hear all about himself, and compare notes on the happenings of
these three interminable days; and to take up their close
comradeship again, exactly where it had left off. Her hand went home
to his with that firm completeness of clasp, which always made a
hand shake with Jane such a satisfactory and really friendly thing.
"Very fit, thank you, Dal," she answered. "At least I am every
moment improving in health and spirits, now I have arrived here at
last."
Garth stood his racket against the arm of her chair and deposited
himself full length on the grass beside her, leaning on his elbow.
"Was anything wrong with London?" he asked, rather low, not looking
up at her, but at the smart brown shoe, planted firmly on the grass
so near his hand. "Nothing was wrong with London," replied Jane
frankly; "it was hot and dusty of course, but delightful as usual.
Something was wrong with ME; and you will be ashamed of me, Dal, if
I confess what it was."
Garth did not look up, but assiduously picked little blades of grass
and laid them in a pattern on Jane's shoe. This conversation would
have been exactly to the point had they been alone. But was Jane
really going to announce to the assembled company, in that dear,
resonant, carrying voice of hers, the sweet secret of their miss of
one another?
"Liver?" inquired Mrs. Parker Bangs suddenly.
"Muffins!" exclaimed Billy instantly, and, rushing for them, almost
shot them into her lap in the haste with which he handed them,
stumbling headlong over Garth's legs at the same moment.
Jane stared at Mrs. Parker Bangs and her muffins; then looked down
at the top of Garth's dark head, bent low over the grass.
"I was dull," she said, "intolerably dull. And Dal always says 'only
a dullard is dull.' But I diagnosed my dulness in the train just now
and found it was largely his fault. Do you hear, Dal?"
Garth lifted his head and looked at her, realising in that moment
that it was, after all, possible for a complete and overwhelming
experience to be one-sided. Jane's calm grey eyes were full of gay
friendliness.
"It was your fault, my dear boy," said Jane.
"How so?" queried Garth; and though there was a deep flush on his
sunburned face, his voice was quietly interrogative.
"Because, during those last days at Overdene, you led me on into a
time of musical dissipation such as I had never known before, and I
missed it to a degree which was positively alarming. I began to fear
for the balance of my well-ordered mind."
"Well," said Myra, coming out from behind her red parasol, "you and
Dal can have orgies of music here if you want them. You will find a
piano in the drawing-room and another in the hall, and a Bechstein
grand in the billiard-room. That is where I hold the practices for
the men and maids. I could not make up my mind which makers I really
preferred, Erard, Broadwood, Collard, or Bechstein; so by degrees I
collected one of each. And after all I think I play best upon the
little cottage piano we had in the school-room at home. It stands in
my boudoir now. I seem more accustomed to its notes, or it lends
itself better to my way of playing."
"Thank you, Myra," said Jane. "I fancy Dal and I will like the
Bechstein."
"And if you want something really exciting in the way of music,"
continued Lady Ingleby, "you might attend some of the rehearsals for
this 'service of song' they are getting up in aid of the organ
deficit fund. I believe they are attempting great things."
"I would sooner pay off the whole deficit, than go within a mile of
a 'service of song,'" said Jane emphatically.
"Oh, no," put in Garth quickly, noting Myra's look of
disappointment. "It is so good for people to work off their own
debts and earn the things they need in their churches. And 'services
of song' are delightful if well done, as I am sure this will be if
Lady Ingleby's people are in it. Lawson outlined it to me this
morning, and hummed all the principal airs. It is highly dramatic.
Robinson Crusoe--no, of course not! What's the beggar's name? 'Uncle
Tom's Cabin'? Yes, I knew it was something black. Lawson is Uncle
Tom, and the vicar's small daughter is to be little Eva. Miss
Champion, you will walk down with me to the very next rehearsal."
"Shall I?" said Jane, unconscious of how tender was the smile she
gave him; conscious only that in her own heart was the remembrance
of the evening at Overdene when she felt so inclined to say to him:
"Tell me just what you want me to do, and I will do it."
"Pauline will just love to go with you," said Mrs. Parker Bangs.
"She dotes on rural music."
"Rubbish, aunt!" said Miss Lister, who had slipped into an empty
chair near Myra. "I agree with Miss Champion about 'services of
song,' and I don't care for any music but the best."
Jane turned to her quickly, with a cordial smile and her most
friendly manner. "Ah, but you must come," she said. "We will be
victimised together. And perhaps Dal and Lawson will succeed in
converting us to the cult of the 'service of song.' And anyway it
will be amusing to have Dal explain it to us. He will need the
courage of his convictions."
"Talking of something 'really exciting in the way of music,'" said
Pauline Lister, "we had it on board when we came over. There was a
nice friendly crowd on board the Arabic, and they arranged a concert
for half-past eight on the Thursday evening. We were about two
hundred miles off the coast of Ireland, and when we came up from
dinner we had run into a dense fog. At eight o'clock they started
blowing the fog-horn every half-minute, and while the fog-horn was
sounding you couldn't hear yourself speak. However, all the
programmes were printed, and it was our last night on board, so they
concluded to have the concert all the same. Down we all trooped into
the saloon, and each item of that programme was punctuated by the
stentorian BOO of the fog-horn every thirty seconds. You never heard
anything so cute as the way it came in, right on time. A man with a
deep bass voice sang ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP, and each time
he reached the refrain, 'And calm and peaceful is my sle-eep,' BOO
went the fog-horn, casting a certain amount of doubt on our
expectations of peaceful sleep that night, anyway. Then a man with a
sweet tenor sang OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT, and the fog-horn showed us
just how oft, namely, every thirty seconds. But the queerest effect
of all was when a girl had to play a piano-forte solo. It was
something of Chopin's, full of runs and trills and little silvery
notes. She started all right; but when she was half-way down the
first page, BOO went the fog-horn, a longer blast than usual. We saw
her fingers flying, and the turning of the page, but not a note
could we hear; and when the old horn stopped and we could hear the
piano again, she had reached a place half-way down the second page,
and we hadn't heard what led to it. My! it was funny. That went on
all through. She was a plucky girl to stick to it. We gave her a
good round of applause when she had finished, and the fog-horn
joined in and drowned us. It was the queerest concert experience I
ever had. But we all enjoyed it. Only we didn't enjoy that noise
keeping right on until five o'clock next morning"
Jane had turned in her chair, and listened with appreciative
interest while the lovely American girl talked, watching, with real
delight, her exquisite face and graceful gestures, and thinking how
Dal must enjoy looking at her when she talked with so much charm and
animation. She glanced down, trying to see the admiration in his
eyes; but his head was bent, and he was apparently absorbed in the
occupation of tracing the broguing of her shoes with the long stalk
of a chestnut leaf. For a moment she watched the slim brown hand, as
carefully intent on this useless task, as if working on a canvas;
then she suddenly withdrew her foot, feeling almost vexed with him
for his inattention and apparent indifference.
Garth sat up instantly. "It must have been awfully funny," he said.
"And how well you told it. One could hear the fog-horn, and see the
dismayed faces of the performers. Like an earthquake, a fog-horn is
the sort of thing you don't ever get used to. It sounds worse every
time. Let's each tell the funniest thing we remember at a concert. I
once heard a youth recite Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade
with much dramatic action. But he was extremely nervous, and got
rather mixed. In describing the attitude of mind of the noble six
hundred, he told us impressively that it was"
"'Theirs not to make reply;
Theirs not to do or die;
Theirs BUT TO REASON WHY.'"
"The tone and action were all right, and I doubt whether many of the
audience noticed anything wrong with the words."
"That reminds me," said Ronald Ingram, "of quite the funniest thing
I ever heard. It was at a Thanksgiving service when some of our
troops returned from South Africa. The proceedings concluded by the
singing of the National Anthem right through. You recollect how
recently we had had to make the change of pronoun, and how difficult
it was to remember not to shout:"
"'Send HER victorious'? Well, there was a fellow just behind me,
with a tremendous voice, singing lustily, and taking special pains
to get the pronouns correct throughout. And when he reached the
fourth line of the second verse he sang with loyal fervour."
"'Confound HIS politics,
Frustrate HIS knavish tricks!'"
"That would amuse the King," said Lady Ingleby. "Are you sure it is
a fact, Ronnie?"
"Positive! I could tell you the church, and the day, and call a
whole pewful of witnesses who were convulsed by it."
"Well, I shall tell his Majesty at the next opportunity, and say you
heard it. But how about the tennis? What comes next? Final for
couples? Oh, yes! Dal, you and Miss Lister play Colonel Loraine and
Miss Vermount; and I think you ought to win fairly easily. You two
are so well matched. Jane, this will be worth watching."
"I am sure it will," said Jane warmly, looking at the two, who had
risen and stood together in the evening sunlight, examining their
rackets and discussing possible tactics, while awaiting their
opponents. They made such a radiantly beautiful couple; it was as if
nature had put her very best and loveliest into every detail of
each. The only fault which could possibly have been found with the
idea of them wedded, was that her dark, slim beauty was so very much
just a feminine edition of his, that they might easily have been
taken for brother and sister; but this was not a fault which
occurred to Jane. Her whole-hearted admiration of Pauline increased
every time she looked at her; and now she had really seen them
together, she felt sure she had given wise advice to Garth, and
rejoiced to know he was taking it.
* * * * * * *
Later on, as they strolled back to the house together,--she and
Garth alone,--Jane said, simply: "Dal, you will not mind if I ask?
Is it settled yet?"
"I mind nothing you ask," Garth replied; "only be more explicit. Is
what settled?"
"Are you and Miss Lister engaged?"
"No," Garth answered. "What made you suppose we should be?"
"You said at Overdene on Tuesday--TUESDAY! oh! doesn't it seem weeks
ago?--you said we were to take you seriously."
"It seems years ago," said Garth; "and I sincerely hope you will
take me--seriously. All the same I have not proposed to Miss Lister;
and I am anxious for an undisturbed talk with you on the subject.
Miss Champion, after dinner to-night, when all the games and
amusements are in full swing, and we can escape unobserved, will you
come out onto the terrace with me, where I shall be able to speak to
you without fear of interruption? The moonlight on the lake is worth
seeing from the terrace. I spent an hour out there last night--ah,
no; you are wrong for once--I spent it alone, when the boating was
over, and thought of--how--to-night--we might be talking there
together."
"Certainly I will come," said Jane; "and you must feel free to tell
me anything you wish, and promise to let me advise or help in any
way I can."
"I will tell you everything," said Garth very low, "and you shall
advise and help as ONLY you can."
* * * * * * *
Jane sat on her window-sill, enjoying the sunset and the exquisite
view, and glad of a quiet half-hour before she need think of
summoning her maid. Immediately below her ran the terrace, wide and
gravelled, bounded by a broad stone parapet, behind which was a drop
of eight or ten feet to the old-fashioned garden, with quaint box-
bordered flower-beds, winding walks, and stone fountains. Beyond, a
stretch of smooth lawn sloping down to the lake, which now lay, a
silver mirror, in the soft evening light. The stillness was so
perfect; the sense of peace, so all-pervading. Jane held a book on
her knee, but she was not reading. She was looking away to the
distant woods beyond the lake; then to the pearly sky above, flecked
with rosy clouds and streaked with gleams of gold; and a sense of
content, and gladness, and well-being, filled her.
Presently she heard a light step on the gravel below and leaned
forward to see to whom it belonged. Garth had come out of the
smoking-room and walked briskly to and fro, once or twice. Then he
threw himself into a wicker seat just beneath her window, and sat
there, smoking meditatively. The fragrance of his cigarette reached
Jane, up among the magnolia blossoms. "'Zenith,' Marcovitch," she
said to herself, and smiled. "Packed in jolly green boxes, twelve
shillings a hundred! I must remember in case I want to give him a
Christmas present. By then it will be difficult to find anything
which has not already been showered upon him."
Garth flung away the end of his cigarette, and commenced humming
below his breath; then gradually broke into words and sang softly,
in his sweet barytone:
"'It is not mine to sing the stately grace,
The great soul beaming in my lady's face.'"
The tones, though quiet, were so vibrant with passionate feeling,
that Jane felt herself an eavesdropper. She hastily picked a large
magnolia leaf and, leaning out, let it fall upon his head. Garth
started, and looked up. "Hullo!" he said. "YOU--up there?"
"Yes," said Jane, laughing down at him, and speaking low lest other
casements should be open, "I--up here. You are serenading the wrong
window, dear 'devout lover.'"
"What a lot you know about it," remarked Garth, rather moodily.
"Don't I?" whispered Jane. "But you must not mind, Master Garthie,
because you know how truly I care. In old Margery's absence, you
must let me be mentor."
Garth sprang up and stood erect, looking up at her, half-amused,
half-defiant.
"Shall I climb the magnolia?" he said. "I have heaps to say to you
which cannot be shouted to the whole front of the house."
"Certainly not," replied Jane. "I don't want any Romeos coming in at
my window. 'Hoity-toity! What next?' as Aunt 'Gina would say. Run
along and change your pinafore, Master Garthie. The 'heaps of
things' must keep until to-night, or we shall both be late for
dinner."
"All right," said Garth, "all right. But you will come out here this
evening, Miss Champion? And you will give me as long as I want?"
"I will come as soon as we can possibly escape," replied Jane; "and
you cannot be more anxious to tell me everything than I am to hear
it. Oh! the scent of these magnolias! And just look at the great
white trumpets! Would you like one for your buttonhole?"
He gave her a wistful, whimsical little smile; then turned and went
indoors.
"Why do I feel so inclined to tease him?" mused Jane, as she moved,
from the window. "Really it is I who have been silly this time; and
he, staid and sensible. Myra is quite right. He is taking it very
seriously. And how about her? Ah! I hope she cares enough, and in
the right way.--Come in, Matthews! And you can put out the gown I
wore on the night of the concert at Overdene, and we must make
haste. We have just twenty minutes. What a lovely evening! Before
you do anything else, come and see this sunset on the lake. Ah! it
is good to be here!"
