CHAPTER XXXVII.
A DEVOUT LOVER.
"A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident to-morrows."
WORDSWORTH.
"I do perceive here a divided duty."
_Othello._
When Waveney broke the news of Mollie's engagement to her friends at theRed House, the sisters only looked at each other with a meaning smile.
"So that is the end of the comedy," observed Althea, in an amused voice."'All's well that ends well,' eh, Dorrie? Of course we all knew how itwould end, that evening at the theatre."
"To be sure we did," returned Doreen, complacently.
Nothing ever ruffled her placidity. If people chose to be engaged ormarried, it was their affair, not hers. Doreen never envied them, neverdrew unfavourable comparisons between her friends' matrimonial bliss andher own single blessedness. She had walked contentedly "in maidenmeditation, fancy free," all these years. "I was cut out for an oldmaid," she would say sometimes, laughingly, to her sister; "the _role_just suits me. You are different," she once added, looking ratherwistfully at Althea as she spoke.
"Yes," replied Althea, frankly, "you and I are different people, Dorrie.You are the happiest and most contented woman I know; but"--a littlepathetically--"I have not had all my good things." And, though she saidno more, Doreen understood her.
"It is very odd to think that that pretty little Mollie Ward is to be aconnection of ours," went on Doreen, when Waveney had bidden themgood-night. Waveney's heart was so full that she yearned to be alone inher Pansy Room and think over the day's excitement. "Mollie will be ourcousin." And as Althea assented to this with a smile, she continued, "Iwonder what Gwen will think of her new sister-in-law?"
"My dear Dorrie, I think I can answer that. Given will be charmed withher. You know how much Gwen thinks of beauty, and where will you find asweeter face than Mollie's? Then she is such a dear littleunsophisticated thing. Ah, Gwen will lose her heart to her, you maydepend on that. Upon my word," she went on, "I think Moritz has notchosen so badly, after all. Indeed, for an idealist, he has done verywell for himself, and I shall write and congratulate him most cordially.Mollie will make a most fascinating little viscountess. She will havemuch to learn, of course; but she will be no faint-hearted Lady ofBurleigh, sinking weakly under the burden of 'an honour into which shewas not born,'" finished Althea, with a little laugh. And then, as theold grand-father's clock in the hall struck ten, Doreen rang the bellfor prayers.
Althea did more than write her letter of congratulation. She drove downall the way to Cleveland Terrace a day or two afterwards, to see Mollie,and wish her joy; and she was so kind and sympathetic, she praisedMoritz, and said so many nice things about him that Mollie was ready toworship her for her tact and gentleness.
Mollie's pretty bloom was returning to her cheeks, and on her left handthere was a splendid half-hoop of diamonds. She showed her ring toAlthea, with a child's shy eagerness.
"It is far too beautiful," she said, proudly; "but he did not buy it forme--it belonged to that old relative who left him the property."
"Oh, indeed," returned Althea, with polite interest; but there was anamused gleam in her eyes. Of course the ring had belonged to old LadyRalston, who had been a beauty and an heiress, and whose diamonds hadbeen the envy of all the dowagers at the county ball. And then Moritzhad come in and interrupted them. He was evidently taken aback at thesight of his cousin Althea; but her cordial welcome and her warmcongratulations soon restored his equanimity, and he was soon chattingto her and Mollie in his old light-hearted fashion.
Mollie was to go down to Eastbourne the following week, and the twogirls were to be chaperoned by Nurse Helena. Mollie was recovering herstrength so fast that Nurse Helena's office was likely to be a sinecure.But when Althea pointed this out very gently to Moritz, he put his footdown very decidedly.
"Of course, Mollie was getting better," he said, with the air of anautocrat, and the sea-breezes would soon set her up. But how could hiscousin Althea imagine that two girls could be alone at a place likeEastbourne? The very idea shocked him. As Mr. Ward could not leave town,except from Saturday to Monday, he had insisted that Nurse Helena shouldbe put in charge. "I shall run down myself every few days," he finished,"and I suppose one has to study the proprieties." Then Althea verywisely held her peace.
Moritz went to the station to see them off. The girls were in highspirits, and Mollie, who knew that she would see him again before manydays were over, could hardly summon up gravity enough to bid himgood-bye. It was Moritz who looked melancholy; London was a howlingwilderness to him without his darling. He had sent Noel back to keephouse with his father, and he meant to go down to Brentwood Hall andseek consolation with Gwen and her boy. Gwen would give him all thesympathy he demanded; she was as romantic and unconventional as he was.Gwen dearly liked a lover; she would listen patiently to all hisdiscourse on Mollie's perfections, and she would help him with thedecorations, and the refurnishing of the rooms that were to be got readyfor his young wife.
Moritz, who had been such a patient wooer, was now in hot haste toclinch his bargain.
Mollie, startled and protesting, had been carried away by his masterfuleloquence, and had signed away her freedom. They were to be married inthe middle of August, and to spend their honeymoon at his shooting boxin the Highlands. The moorland air would be good for Mollie, he said,and they and the grouse would have it to themselves.
"I don't hold with rushing about from place to place, on one's weddingtrip," he observed to Althea--for he had his theories on this subjectalso. "When Jack and Gwen were married, they went off to the AustrianTyrol, and Heaven knows where besides. But I know a thing or two betterthan that. The Hut is a cosy little place, and there are somecomfortable rooms in it. I will send down Murdoch--he is a Highlanderand a handy fellow, too, and his wife is a capable woman--to make thingsship-shape for a lady. We will have a few days in Edinburgh first, andshow Mollie Holyrood and Arthur's Seat, and she shall feast her eyes onthe shops in Princes Street"--for Moritz remembered, with lover-likeaccuracy, Mollie's girlish _penchant_ for shop-windows. Moritz could bepractical on occasion, and he somewhat astonished Althea, when he tookher into his confidence, by his thoughtfulness for his young _fiancee's_comfort.
It was to his cousin Althea that Moritz entrusted the formidable butdelightful task of ordering the _trousseau_. Gwen was too far fromLondon to undertake such an onerous business; he had already talked thematter over with Mr. Ward, and had wrung from him a reluctant consent.Even Everard's pride and independence could not resist Moritz's urgententreaties that a _trousseau_ befitting Mollie's future rank should beprovided at his expense. But before this could be done, Mollie must seeher future home, and be made aware of her splendid position. And forthis purpose it was arranged that, when the month at Eastbourne wasover, she should pay a visit to the Red House; and then Moritz'slong-deferred picnic to Brentwood should take place.
Althea had her own little plans, which she did not impart to Moritz,although she had already talked them over with Waveney.
"You know, my dear child," she had said, seriously, to her, the eveningbefore Waveney started for Eastbourne. "I have been thinking a greatdeal of you and Mollie, and I have made up my mind to part with my dearlittle companion."
"What can you mean?" asked Waveney, in a startled voice; but she flusheduneasily. "I know I have been very little use to you lately, and that Ihave neglected my duties shamefully; but I was going to speak to youabout that; I want you to give me less money--indeed--indeed," as Althealooked extremely amused at this, "I am quite serious. I have not earnedmy salary, and I cannot take it--it would not be honest;" and hereWaveney drew up her slight figure, and looked very resolute.
"Why, Waveney, my dear child," remonstrated Althea, "surely you are notgoing to disappoint me after all these months! I thought we were suchgood friends, you and I, and that we understood each other thoroughly!"And as the girl looked at her i
n dumb questioning she continued,affectionately, "Dear friends do not differ for a trifle, or stand ontheir dignity. What are a few pounds, more or less, compared to all youand Mollie have done for me?"
"How do you mean, dear Miss Althea?" asked Waveney, quite taken abackat this. "I have done little enough, I know, and as for Mollie----"
"You have brought fresh interests into my life," returned Althea,quietly. "You have given me two more human beings to serve and love.Yes," she continued, but her voice was not quite steady, "I am very fondof you and your pretty Mollie, and it adds to my happiness to feel thatI am any help or comfort to either of you."
"Comfort! What should I have done without you?" replied Waveney, withemotion. "My own mother could hardly have been kinder and more patient!"Then Althea flushed slightly.
"Well, then, you will be a good child, and let me finish what I have tosay." And then, in her clear, sensible way, she explained her viewsabout the future.
When Mollie married, Waveney would have to leave them. It was impossiblefor her father and Noel to do without her.
And Waveney, who had not taken this into consideration, felt a suddenthrill of pain at the idea of leaving the Red House.
As this was the case, went on Althea, she and Doreen both agreed that itwould be cruel to part her and Mollie during the few months thatremained to them. Mollie was coming to the Red House for some weeks todo her shopping, but when she went back to Cleveland Terrace, Waveneymust go with her. "That is why I say that you and I must part, mychild," finished Althea, gently. "I shall miss my bright companionsadly--so sadly, indeed, that I never mean to have another. But,Waveney, your father has the first claim to your services. I dare notdeprive him of your society when Mollie has gone. There, we will nottalk any more," as she saw that Waveney's eyes were full of tears."Think over what I have said when you are at Eastbourne, and take Mollieinto your confidence. I know she will say that I am right."
And, indeed, when Waveney consulted her, Mollie, who was a very sensiblelittle person, fully endorsed Queen Bess's opinion.
"Of course I could not do without you, darling," she remarked withdecision. "Moritz"--she always said his name so prettily andshyly--"would not like me to be alone, and as for father and Noel, theywould be too uncomfortable with only that stupid Ann to look afterthem." And then Waveney owned, with a sigh, that she and Miss Altheawere right.
Waveney took herself to task severely for her reluctance at leaving theRed House. Was she guilty of loving the flesh-pots of Egypt? Was herhome to be less to her because Mollie would not be there? Waveney cried"Shame!" to herself because the thought of Ann's clumsiness fretted her;while the meagre housekeeping, and all the pretty economies that hadbeen Mollie's share, and were now to be shifted to her shoulders, filledher with a sore distaste and loathing. She had grown to love the RedHouse, and every room in it. The luxury, the comfort, the perfection ofthe trained service, the homelike atmosphere, the cultured society ofthe two sisters and their wide work and sympathies, all appealedstrongly to Waveney's nature. Her life in the Red House had been aliberal education. How much she had learnt there! And then the PorchHouse Thursdays----But at this point in her reflections Waveney checkedherself abruptly. Too well she knew where the sting lay, and why thepain of leaving Erpingham would be so sharp and continuous; only therecould she enjoy the society of Mr. Chaytor, and she knew well that atCleveland Terrace her Thursdays would be blank and sad.
"Wave, dear," exclaimed Mollie, on that first evening, as they weretogether in their comfortable sitting-room looking out on the Parade andthe sea, while Nurse Helena was busy in the room above unpacking theirboxes, "isn't this one of our dreams come true, that you and I should beat the seaside together?"
"It was your dream, not mine, Mollie," returned Waveney, in a teasingvoice. "You were the dreamer in the old days. I was far more prosaic andmatter-of-fact." And then she settled herself more comfortably againstMollie's couch. "There was your Kitlands dream, you know, and a hundredothers."
"Oh, never mind Kitlands," replied Mollie, with a touch of impatience inher voice. "That was a dear dream, but of course it was too big andgrand ever to come true. But how often we used to make believe that wewere going to the seaside! Don't you remember, Wave, the littlebow-window parlour over the tinman's in High Street that we were totake, and the sea-breezes that would meet us as we turned the corner,and how we were always to have shrimps for tea?" And then Mollie laughedwith glee. "But this is much better, isn't it, dear?" and she looked atthe big, cosy room that Ingram had selected for their use.
They were like a pair of happy children that evening. Mollie hadinsisted that she and Waveney should share the big front bedroom; andshe was so wide-awake and excited that she would have talked half thenight, only Waveney sternly refused to be cajoled.
"Nurse Helena has begged us not to talk," she said, "and I feel I am onmy honour. No, Mollie, I will not be coaxed. I am a woman of my word,and I gave Nurse Helena my promise. There shall be no pale cheeks forthe Black Prince to see on Saturday. Go to sleep like a good child." Andthen Mollie consented to be silent.
It was a happy month, and nothing occurred to mar their enjoyment. Theyspent delightful mornings on the beach or parade; in the afternoon,while Mollie had her _siesta_, Waveney and Nurse Helena wrote theirletters, or enjoyed the books with which Ingram had provided them; aftertea, when the evenings were fine and warm, they drove into the country,coming back to an early supper.
Moritz always came down from Saturday to Monday, and put up at the hotelclose by. Once he brought Mr. Ward with him, and another time it wasNoel; and then, indeed, Mollie's happiness was complete.
Only one thing troubled Mollie as the days went on. In spite of her highspirits, Waveney was not quite herself. She had silent fits at times.She was absent and _distraite_, and did not always hear what Mollie saidto her; and more than once as they sat in the moonlight, looking at thesilvery path across the dark sea, Mollie had heard a suppressed sigh.
"There is something on her mind, something she is keeping to herself,"thought Mollie, anxiously, "and we have never, never had a secret fromeach other. It is not like my own Wave to hide anything from me, and Ishall tell her so." And, indeed, Mollie was so tearful and pleading, sopertinacious in her questions, and so quick and clever in her surmises,that before they returned to the Red House Waveney's poor littlesecret--her unfinished story--was in Mollie's keeping. Mollie was fullof tender sympathy. She cried bitterly over Waveney's description ofthat meeting by the river. She quaked and shivered,--was hot and cold byturns with excitement.
"Of course he cares for you, darling," she said, putting her arms roundher sister's neck. "How can he help it? Oh, it will all come right," shecontinued, cheerfully. "One day you will be as happy as we are. What apity he is so poor and proud! Men are so blind. It would be so muchnicer to be engaged, and wait--oh, any number of years," went on Mollie,with womanly philosophy.
But to this Waveney made no answer. Perhaps in her secret heart she wasglad Mollie knew. Never in their lives had they had a thought unsharedby the other.
But when Mollie was alone she made a naughty little _mouche_.
"How can she care for that plain, old-looking man?" she said to herself."Why, I should be frightened to speak to him, he looks so grave. Waveneyis a hundred times too good for him. 'A noticeable man, with large greyeyes,' is not to my taste," went on Mollie, with a blissful remembranceof her own dear Monsieur Blackie.
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