CHAPTER XXVI.
A WHITE VELLUM POCKET-BOOK.
"And there's pansies, that's for thoughts."--_Hamlet._
"There'll be a comforting fire; There'll be a welcome for somebody; One in her neatest attire, Will look to the table for somebody."
SWAIN.
It was in the gathering dusk of the afternoon when Waveney found herselfin the neighbourhood of Cleveland Terrace. They had driven fast, and yetto the eager girl the way had seemed strangely long. As they approachedthe house, Althea shivered a little, as though her fur-lined cloak hadsuddenly lost its robin-like cosiness. The steely winter's sky, the rawdampness of the atmosphere, the gloom of the half light, which made allobjects appear out of due proportion, and gave them a hazyindistinctness, made her feel depressed and uncomfortable.
As the carriage stopped, the door was quickly opened, though not by thefootman, and a familiar voice in the darkness said,--
"Thank you, Miss Harford, a thousand times, for bringing the child home.Waveney, my darling, 'a happy Christmas to you!' Run out of the cold,dear, it is beginning to snow." But Waveney kept her place.
"I must say good-night first, father. Were you watching for me? Do youknow you have not wished the dear ladies a happy Christmas yet?" ThenAlthea's gentle, melancholy voice interrupted her.
"Dear child, there was no need to remind your father of an idle form. Iam quite sure we have his good wishes for the sake of the auld langsyne. You are bareheaded, Mr. Ward. Do please go in;" and her slim,gloved hand was stretched out to him.
Everard bowed over it as he pressed it warmly.
"You will always have my best wishes," he said, very gravely."Good-night, Miss Harford, good-night, and thank you, Miss Althea." Andthen he swung open the gate and went up the little courtyard, withWaveney clinging to his arm.
Althea looked after them with wistful eyes. What a stream of light metthem! What did the narrow passage and steep, ladder-like stairs matter,or the frayed and dingy druggetting, when that starlight glow of homeradiance beamed so brightly. And indeed, when Waveney felt Mollie's armsround her neck, and her warm cheek pressed against hers, her heart wascomforted and at rest.
"Where are you taking me, sweetheart?" she asked, softly, as Molliedragged her past the studio door.
"You must come upstairs and take off your things first," returnedMollie, panting from her exertions. "We shall have tea in thedining-room to-night, because there are muffins and crumpets, and I mustsee to them." Then Mollie threw open the bedroom door, and stood stillin silent enjoyment to see Waveney's start of surprise at the sight of asplendid fire burning in the grate.
"Oh, Mollie!" she said, quite shocked at this extravagance, "have weever had a fire here before, except when we had the measles?" ThenMollie laughed and shook her head.
"I daresay not, but I was not going to let you sleep in this cold vaultfor three nights when you have been used to a lovely fire in your PansyRoom. Why, Wave, you absurd child, how grave you look! Father won't haveto pay one penny for it. I put two shillings into the housekeeping purseout of my own money, and we will just have a beautiful fire every night;and won't we enjoy ourselves!"
"It feels lovely," returned Waveney, kneeling down on the rug, for shewas chilly from the long drive. "No, don't light the gas, dear, thefirelight is so pretty." Then Mollie put down the match-box reluctantly.
"I wanted to show you something," she returned, in a low voice; "butperhaps if you make a blaze you will be able to see it. Oh, what isthat?" as Waveney mutely held out a long brown paper parcel. "Is thatanother present? No, please don't open it; you must look at this onefirst." And then Mollie, with outward gravity, and much inwardexcitement, laid a beautiful Russian leather writing-case on the rug forWaveney's inspection.
Never had Waveney seen such a case, so dainty, so complete, so perfectlyfinished. The initials "M. W." were on everything--the silverpaper-knife and penholders, and on the tiny card-case and inkstand; andevery card and sheet of paper was stamped with Mollie's address.
Waveney was silent from excess of admiration, and also from a strongfeeling of emotion. Only a lover, she thought, could have planned allthose pretty finishes and details. Surely, surely Mollie's eyes must beopened now!
"Mollie, dear, I really don't know what to say," she answered, at last,when the silence became embarrassing. "It is really too beautiful forany one but Cinderella." Then a little conscious smile came to Mollie'slips, and her cheeks wore their wild-rose flush; and yes, certainly,there was a new wistfulness in her eyes.
"Was it not splendid of Mr. Ingram!" she said; but her voice was notquite steady. "It was so kind that I could not help crying a little, andthen father laughed at me. I can't understand father, Wave. When I askedhim if I ought to write and thank Mr. Ingram, he got quite red, and saidthat I must know my own feelings best. It was so odd of father to saythat."
"Did Mr. Ingram write to you, Mollie?"
"No," returned Mollie, with her cheeks a still deeper rose. "There wasonly a slip of paper, with Monsieur Blackie's good wishes. But Wave, heis not coming back for a long time--he told me so. He said society hadclaims on him, and that he had a house-party impending, and otherengagements; but I did not like to question him."
"Well, then, I suppose you had better write--only just a short note,Mollie; and pray, pray do not be too grateful. If he gives you presents,it is to please himself as well as you. But you do not know his address,you silly child."
"No," returned Mollie, with a sigh; "that is one of his mysteries. Hecalls himself a nebulous personage. 'If you ever want to write to me,'he said, the last time he came, 'if your father breaks his leg, forexample, or my friend the humourist plays any of his tricks and requireschastisement, and the strong arm of the law, you can ask my cousinAlthea to send on the letter for you.' Is that not a funny, roundaboutway?"
"Rather," returned Waveney, drily, feeling as though she were on theedge of a volcano. "I think, Mollie dear, that under these circumstancesit would be better not to write, but just wait and thank Mr. Ingram whenhe comes." And though Mollie looked a little disappointed at thisdecision, she agreed, with her usual loyalty, to abide by it.
When the new dress had been duly admired and Miss Althea praised toWaveney's entire satisfaction, they went downstairs to begin theirChristmas merry-making in earnest.
Noel, who was always the Lord of Misrule on these occasions, hadinsisted with much severity on the usual programme being carried out.
So they had snapdragon in the dark dining-room after tea, and Mollie asusual burnt her fingers, and then they went up to the studio and actedcharades and dumb Crambo to an appreciative audience--Mr. Ward, whooccupied the front row, and Ann and Mrs. Muggins, who represented thepit.
"Laws, miss, ain't it beautiful and like-life?" observed Ann, theheavy-footed, for the twentieth time. But Everard's eyes were a littlemisty. If only Dorothy could have seen them! he thought. And then hisimagination flew off at a tangent to his old friend, Althea Harford. Allthe evening her soft, melancholy voice had haunted him. "For the sake ofauld lang syne" she had said, and her tone had been full of pathos. "Shehas never forgotten. I think she is one of those women who neverforget," he thought; but he sighed as he said it.
To Waveney those three days were simply perfect, and every hour broughtits enjoyment. On Sunday afternoon a snowstorm kept them prisoners tothe house, and there was no evening church, so they sang carols by thefire instead, and Ann sat on the stairs with Mrs. Muggins on her lap,and an old plaid shawl of her mother's to keep her warm, and listened asdevoutly as though she were in the vestibule of heaven.
"Which is my opinion, Miss Waveney," she observed afterwards, "as theSadducees and Pharisees could not have sang more sweetly, not with alltheir golden harps neither."
Waveney looked puzzled for a moment; but Ann's idiosyncrasies were toowell known in the household, and after a moment of silent reflection shesaid,--
"I see what you mean, Ann. You were thinki
ng of the cherubim andseraphim, and it is a fine compliment you are paying us." And then shewent off to share the little joke with Mollie and Noel; and the peals oflaughter that reached Ann's ears somewhat perplexed that stolid maiden.
On Monday they woke to a white world, and then there was snow balling inthe back garden, and then a long walk down Cheyne Walk and across thebridge to Battersea Park. And Mollie went with them, on her father'sarm; and when she got tired, which she did far too soon, Noel took herhome, grumbling at every step, and Waveney and her father went on. Itwas Everard's greatest pleasure to walk with his girls, but no companionsuited him like Waveney; her light, springy step hardly seemed to touchthe ground--and then she was so strong and active, and nothing seemed totire her. Mollie's sad limp always made his heart ache.
As they stood looking at some floating ice in the river, Everard asked alittle abruptly if Mollie had written to Mr. Ingram.
Waveney shook her head. The question rather surprised her.
"Why, no, father," she replied, slowly; "we do not know Mr. Ingram'saddress, so I persuaded Mollie to wait until he calls."
"Well, perhaps you are right," returned Mr. Ward, doubtfully. "ButWaveney, child, I am getting a little bothered about things. I like thefellow, I like him better every time I see him--he has real grit in him,and he is a gentleman; but I never saw a girl courted after thisfashion."
"What do you mean, father?" asked Waveney, a little timidly; for she andMollie were not at all up to date, and their shyness and reticence onthis subject were quite old-fashioned.
"Why, any child can see that Ingram worships the ground Mollie walkson," returned Mr. Ward, with a touch of impatience in his voice. "Whenshe looked at him, with her big, innocent eyes, he stammered and changedcolour more than once. Oh, the man is in earnest, I would take my oathof that; it is Mollie's side of the question I want to know; she oughtnot to encourage him by taking his presents unless she means to havehim."
This was plain speaking, but Mr. Ward was getting desperate. Hismotherless girls had no protector but himself. It was pretty to see howWaveney blushed on Mollie's account.
"Father, dear," she stammered, "I can't be quite sure but I think Mollieis beginning to care a little for Mr. Ingram. She certainly misses him;he is very keen and clever, and I fancy that he understands her so wellthat he will not hurry things. I mean"--explaining herself withdifficulty--"that he will not speak until he is certain that her heartis won."
"That is my opinion, too," returned her father; and then he looked ather with tender curiosity. "Where did you gain your knowledge of men,little girl?" But Waveney had no answer ready for this question.
That night, as they sat on the rug in the firelight, like two blissfulsalamanders, Mollie said, in a flurried and anxious voice,--
"Wave, darling, I want to consult you about something, and you must giveme all your attention; you know," clearing her throat, as though it werea little dry; "we have decided that I had better not write to Mr.Ingram."
"Oh, yes, Mollie, we decided that long ago." Waveney spoke in a calm andjudicial voice, but Mollie only grew more flurried.
"But I must do something to please him," she returned, in quite adistressed tone. "Think of all the pleasure he has given me, Wave. Ihave got such a lovely idea in my head. I have finished the_menu_-cards, and I want to paint one of these white velum pocket-booksfor Mr. Ingram--a spray of purple pansies would look so well on it. AndI will have it all ready for him when he comes next. Don't you think hewould be pleased, Wave?"
"Of course he would be pleased, sweetheart; he would carry it next tohis heart, and sleep with it under his pillow." But this nonsense wasreceived rather pettishly.
"I wish you would be serious when a person asks advice," returnedMollie, with a little frown. "You would not like any one to say thosesilly things to you." Then Waveney was on her best behaviour at once,and the naughty, mischievous sparkle faded out of her eyes.
"Don't be cross, Mollie darling," she said caressingly. "I do think youridea very pretty, and I should think Mr. Ingram will be very pleased, hedoes admire your painting so. Why have you selected pansies, I wonder?"Then, at this very simple question, Mollie looked a little confused."They are his favourite flowers," she almost whispered; "he says you cannever have too much heart's-ease in this world." And this answer fullysatisfied Waveney.
The next morning they started off to Sloane Street to purchase thepocket-book, and Mollie expended the last of her earnings; and themoment Waveney left her, to return to Erpingham, she sat down to herlittle painting table and worked until the short winter's afternoonclosed in.
Waveney did not see it until it was finished, and then her admirationfully satisfied Mollie. It was a charming design, and a pansy with abroken stalk, dropping from the main cluster, had a very gracefuleffect.
"Father likes it; he says I have never painted anything better!"observed Mollie, with modest pride; and Waveney cordially endorsed this.
Privately she thought the dainty pocket-book was more fit for someyouthful bride. "Mr. Ingram could not possibly use it," she said toherself; "he will put it under a glass case, or lock it up in a drawer.And if Mollie ever writes love-letters to him, he will keep them in hispansy-book." And then she smiled to herself as she thought of hisdelight when Mollie, with many blushes and much incoherence, should handhim the book; she could almost see the flash of pleasure in his eyes.But as her lively imagination pictured the little scene, she was farfrom guessing under what different circumstances Ingram would receivehis pansy-book.
Mollie's Prince: A Novel Page 27
