Mollie's Prince: A Novel

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

  CHAPTER XV.

  ORLANDO TO THE RESCUE.

  MACBETH. "If we should fail!"

  LADY MACBETH. "We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail."

  SHAKESPEARE.

  Waveney was secretly piqued to see that there was no sign of recognitionin Mr. Chaytor's eyes. He bowed as though to a stranger in whom he tookslight interest, exchanged a few words with the sisters, looked at hiswatch, and then lifted his hand as a signal for silence, and thebuzzing, girlish voices were instantly hushed.

  The readers had already taken their places round the centre table. MissHarford's throne and a reading-desk stood beside it. The rest of thegirls had grouped themselves round the tables with their work. A few ofthem had a volume of Shakespeare in their hands. The moment after Mr.Chaytor's entrance one of the girls had left the room rather hurriedly,and a minute later Althea was summoned.

  Mr. Chaytor was giving a few instructions in a low voice, and had notnoticed the circumstance until Althea returned with a perturbedcountenance.

  "I am so sorry," she said, in a tone of vexation; "it is mostunfortunate, but Miss Pierson has one of her giddy attacks, and isobliged to go home. She is in tears about it, but, as I tell her, it isno fault of hers."

  Mr. Chaytor looked blank. His audience was impatient; already he hadheard sundry thimbles rap the table, and his readers were eager tobegin. But now there was no Orlando, what was to be done? Such failurewas not to be borne. He frowned, considered the point, and then lookedpersuasively at Althea.

  "If you will be so good----" he began; but Althea shook her head andturned a little pale. Not for worlds would she have read that part. Toher relief, Doreen came to her aid.

  "You must not ask Althea," she said, in her quick, decided way. "She wasquite ill yesterday, and her head is not right to-day. I wish I couldhelp you, but I am no reader, as you know. But there is Miss Ward; Ithink she would do nicely. You will help them, will you not?" turning toWaveney.

  Poor Waveney was ready to sink through the ground. She grew hot and thencold. "Do try, dear," Althea whispered, coaxingly; and, to her dismay,she found Mr. Chaytor's grave, intent look fixed on her. The clear greyeyes were somewhat beseeching.

  "It will be a great kindness," he said. "Your audience will not becritical, Miss Ward. Let me beg you to do us this favour."

  "It is impossible. I should spoil everything," stammered Waveney, ingreat distress. "I have only once read _As You Like It_, and that was along time ago."

  But she might as well have spoken to the wind. Mr. Chaytor evidently hada will of his own. His only reply was to put a book in her hand andoffer her a chair.

  "I have promised that we will not be critical," he said, quietly. "Youwill soon get into the swing of it. To give you confidence, I will readOrlando's opening speech to Adam."

  Then, as Waveney took her place, with hot cheeks and downcast eyes, adelightful clapping of hands welcomed her.

  Althea looked anxious as she returned to the oak settle.

  "Poor little thing, she is frightened to death," she whispered; "butThorold was so masterful with her."

  "I like men to be masterful," returned Doreen, in an undertone; "but Iwish he would try it on with Joanna." And then they both smiled, andAlthea said "hush!" as Mr. Chaytor's full, rich tones were audible.

  Waveney's turn came all too soon. Her voice trembled, and was sadlyindistinct, at first: but as one girl after another took up her cue, shesoon forgot her nervousness, and entered into the spirit of the play.Several of the girls read well, but none of them equalled NoraGreenwell. Celia was passable, and Phoebe certainly understood her_role_; but Nora read with a sprightliness and animation that surprisedWaveney. The girl seemed a born actor. Her enunciation was clear, andthe changes of expression in her voice, its mirth and passion, itsrollicking, girlish humours and droll witcheries, were wonderfullyrendered.

  But it was Mr. Chaytor's reading that kept Waveney spell-bound. When asFirst Lord he narrates the story of the melancholy Jacques and thesobbing deer, the pathos of his voice brought the tears to her eyes; andas Touchstone his dry humour and clownish wit were so cleverly giventhat once Waveney laughed and was covered with confusion.

  Twice the reading was interrupted by a charming little interlude, whenthree or four girls went up on the platform and sang "Under theGreenwood Tree" and "Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind." At the conclusion ofthe play, which was shortened purposely, Althea took her seat at thepiano, and all the girls joined in an evening hymn.

  Waveney did not sing, for her heart was full. The evening's performancehad excited her, and her imagination, which was always remarkably vivid,seemed suddenly to grasp the full beauty and meaning of the scene. Wasnot this Christian socialism in its fairest aspect? she thought. Couldany picture be sweeter or more symbolical than that group of young facesgathered round the two dear ladies; for Doreen was on the platform, too.Some of the faces were far from being beautiful--some were absolutelyplain; and one or two sickly-looking girls with tangled hair, and deckedout with cheap finery, were singularly unattractive. And yet, asAlthea's long, slim fingers touched the notes, and the dear old tunethat they had loved in childhood floated through the wide hall, eachface brightened into new life.

  "They are all workers," thought Waveney, as she watched them. "Some ofthem have hard, toilsome lives; they are away from their homes andamongst strangers, and, though they are so young, they know wearinessand heartache. But when they come here, it is like home to each one, andit makes them happy. If I were a shop-girl at Dereham, I should lookforward to my Thursday evening as I look forward to Sunday;" and thenshe said to herself, happily, "To-morrow I shall say the day afterto-morrow, and how delightful that will be!"

  Waveney was smiling to herself, when she suddenly raised her eyes andencountered Mr. Chaytor's amused glance. He had evidently been watchingher for some time, for he was leaning back in the carved arm-chair, withthe air of a man who felt he had earned his repose.

  The next moment he came towards her. The hymn was over, but the girlswere still gathered round Althea and wishing her good-night. Under thecover of their voices he addressed Waveney.

  "I have not properly thanked you for your kind assistance, Miss Ward,but I assure you that I was most grateful. Miss Pierson's indispositionhad placed us in an awkward dilemma, but you came to our help mostnobly."

  "I am afraid I acquitted myself badly," returned Waveney. She would havegiven much for a word of praise. People generally liked her reading, butshe feared that Mr. Chaytor would be no ordinary critic.

  "You did very well," he returned, quietly. "Indeed, considering you hadonly once read the play, I ought to give you greater praise. You see,Shakespeare is a sort of divinity to me. I think a lifetime is hardlylong enough to study him properly. My reverence for him makes meunreasonable. Orlando did not suit you; you would have made a betterRosalind. If you were staying at the Red House, and liked to join myThursday evening classes, I could give you a few valuable hints."

  "I should like to join them," observed Waveney, colouring a little, "ifMiss Harford could spare me." And as he looked a little perplexed atthis, she added hastily, "I have come to the Red House as Miss Althea'sreader and companion." And this explanation evidently satisfied him.

  But the next moment, as Waveney was moving away, he stopped her.

  "Will you pardon me, Miss Ward, if I ask if we have ever met before? Ihave a fancy that your voice,"--he was going to say eyes, but he checkedhimself--"is not quite unknown to me. I have been puzzling over it halfthe evening."

  "Oh, yes, we have met before," returned Waveney, who was quite at herease now. "It was in old Ranelagh Gardens, and you asked us to directyou to Dunedin Terrace. I hope you found it;" and he smiled assent tothis.

  "You were with your sister," he hazarded, and Waveney nodded; and thenDoreen joined them, and Mr. Chaytor said no more.

  Of course he recalled it now, and it was only last Mond
ay too. But howwas he to identify the little girl in her shabby hat with this daintylittle figure in white?

  True, her eyes had attracted him that day, but this evening he had notseen them fully until a few minutes ago. He recalled everything now; thebeautiful face of the other girl, and the sweet, refined voices of both.He had wondered who they were, and why they were sitting hand in hand inthe sunshine, and looking so sad; and it was only three days ago.

  Doreen proposed that Waveney should come back with her to the house.

  "My sister and Mr. Chaytor often stop behind for a little chat about thegirls," she explained. And Waveney, glancing at them as she left theroom, saw that she was right.

  Althea had seated herself on the settle, and was holding up a smallscreen between her face and the firelight, and Mr. Chaytor was standingwith one arm leaning against the mantelpiece looking down at her.

  "I am so glad the reading went off so well," she said, when the door hadclosed after her sister and Waveney. "At one moment I was terriblyafraid, until our little Orlando came to the rescue. She read verynicely, Thorold."

  "Yes, very fairly, considering all things; but the part did not suither. I hope you were proud of your pet _protegee_. I consider MissGreenwell achieved a striking success to-night. I am not easy to please,but really once or twice I found myself saying 'Bravo!' under mybreath."

  "No; as a critic you are terribly censorious. Thorold--you will laugh atme--but Nora's cleverness and her undoubted talents almost frighten me.What is the good of her learning all this Euclid and French, and robbingherself of some of her rest to get time for her studies, if she is tospend her life in snipping off lengths of ribbon and tape from one endof the year to the other?"

  "All the good in the world!" he returned, in a most energetic tone. "Whyneed the snipping of ribbon, as you describe it, interfere with thedevelopment of the higher life? Your argument is a weak one. You mightas well say that cutting muslin by the yard for so many hours at astretch interferes with the religious life; and yet I expect plenty ofshop-women are good Christians."

  There was a flash of amusement in Althea's eyes, though she pretended tobe indignant.

  "How absurd you are! But I will not believe that you have somisunderstood me. Let me explain what I really do mean. I am very proudof Nora, but I am so afraid that all this education and cultivation willmake her discontented with her surroundings; no life can be perfect thatis out of harmony with its environment. I know a dozen girls fromGardiner & Wells', and only one of them, Minnie Alston, is worthy ofNora's friendship. She is very lonely, and, as you know, her home ismost unsatisfactory--a virago of a step-mother, and a lot of boisterouschildren. Her work does not suit her, but she dare not throw herself outof a situation."

  "Yes, I see what you mean," returned Mr. Chaytor, gravely. "Increase ofknowledge often creates loneliness, and one member of a family may moveon a different plane, where his relations cannot follow him. But if theyare sensible people they do not beg him to climb down to them, and leaveoff his star-gazing. I think we need not disquiet ourselves about MissGreenwell; perhaps she may have good things waiting for her."

  Mr. Chaytor spoke in an enigmatical tone--he was grave and reticent bynature, and some up-to-date people would have thought a few of his ideasantiquated. He had a great dislike to any kind of gossip, and nevermentioned reports which reached him until they were actually verified.Some one had hinted to him that Nora Greenwell had found favour in theeyes of her employer's son. Robert Gardiner was well educated andintelligent, but his parents, who were very proud of him, wished him tomarry well.

  "I have saved my pennies, Bob, and when you think of taking a wife Ishall buy a plot of ground in the Mortimer Road and build you a house."But as Mr. Gardiner said this he was thinking of his partner's onlychild--Annie Wells. She was a pretty, fresh-looking girl, and when herfather died she would have six or seven thousand pounds--for Gardiner &Wells drove a flourishing trade in Dereham.

  If Mr. Chaytor had mentioned this report to Althea it would have throwna little light on a circumstance that had come under her observation.

  There had been a mistake in her quarterly account with Gardiner & Wells,and one Thursday afternoon Robert Gardiner had walked up to the RedHouse to speak to Miss Harford.

  Althea kept him waiting for ten minutes, as she was entertaining avisitor; but on entering the dining-room she found him standing at thewindow, so intent on watching a game of tennis that she addressed him byname before she could gain his attention.

  "I beg your pardon, Miss Harford," he said, hastily; he was a fair,good-looking man, and almost gentlemanly in manner. "I was watching thegame. You have a capital tennis-court."

  "So every one says. Miss Greenwell is our best player."

  "She plays splendidly. I never saw such strokes;" and all through thebrief interview Althea noticed how his eyes were following the girl'sgraceful movements.

  "If Nora and Minnie had not been playing, I think I should have invitedhim to have a game," she said afterwards to Doreen; "but I thought ofGardiner _pere_, and was afraid I might shock his sense of propriety."

  "It would not have been good taste," returned Doreen, sensibly. "You maydepend upon it that Robert Gardiner has very little to do with the youngladies of the establishment." And then they both laughed.

  "By the bye, Althea," observed Mr. Chaytor, when they had finished thesubject of Nora Greenwell, "I am so glad you have taken your friends'advice, and have engaged a reader. I am sure Miss Ward will be a comfortto you."

  "I think so, too. She is very bright and intelligent, and she talks inthe most amusing way. She is so natural and unsophisticated."

  "So I should imagine. Where did you pick her up?"

  "Doreen applied to an agency in Harley Street. But Thorold," and hereher voice changed, "what singular coincidences there are in life! Is itnot strange that she should be Everard Ward's daughter?"

  Mr. Chaytor was now sitting beside her, and as she said this he turnedround and looked at her. He was evidently very much surprised.

  "I had no idea of that," he said, in a low tone. "There are so manyWards. Such a thought would never have occurred to me." And then heglanced at her keenly. "Is it not a little awkward for you, Althea?"Then a faint flush came to her cheeks. She was five or six years olderthan Thorold, but they had been old playfellows and dear friends, andhis brother had been one of Althea's lovers in the Kitlands days; and heknew all about the Ward romance, and, lad as he was, he had predictedits ending, as he watched Dorothy play the part of Rosalind in thepastoral play.

  "I do not see why it should be awkward," she observed, quietly. "I havenot met Mr. Ward for twenty years, but I should have no objection to doso to-morrow. He is very poor, Thorold, and I am afraid they are oftenin difficulties. His pictures do not sell well."

  "Perhaps they are not worth much. I fancy Ward's genius is purelyimaginary. None of his friends believed that he would do much as anartist. Well, it is getting late, and I am keeping you up, and thenDoreen will scold me. Let me help you turn out the lights, and then Iwill walk with you to the house. It is a glorious night, and I shallenjoy my stroll home."

  But as they stood in the porch a moment in the starlight, Althea touchedhis arm.

  "How is Joa?" she asked, kindly.

  "She is quite well!" he returned. "Joanna seldom ails anything; but sheis no happier, poor soul. I sometimes think she never will be." Then hisvoice grew suddenly tired. "I do not profess to understand women,Althea. I suppose some natures are naturally depressed, and live in anatmosphere of worry; but they are scarcely pleasant house-mates. I amafraid that is hardly a brotherly speech;" and he laughed a littlegrimly as he shook hands.

  "Poor Thorold!" Althea said to herself, as she crossed the hall. "Joa isthe Old Man of the Mountains to him; she is a dead weight on him. Andyet how seldom he utters a word of complaint!--scarcely ever, and onlyto me. But he can say what he likes to me; he knows I am a safeconfidante."