"Ah, you are wrong there," replied Jane, quickly. "Myra isextraordinarily honest, and always inclined to be frank about herselfand her foibles. She had a curious upbringing. She is one of a largefamily, and was always considered the black sheep, not so much by herbrothers and sisters, as by her mother. Nothing she was, or said, ordid, was ever right. When Lord Ingleby met her, and I suppose saw herincipient possibilities, she was a tall, gawky girl, with lovely eyes,a sweet, sensitive mouth, and a what-on-earth-am-I-going-to-do-nextexpression on her face. He was twenty years her senior, but fell mostdeterminedly in love with her and, though her mother pressed upon himall her other daughters in turn, he would have Myra or nobody. When heproposed to her it was impossible at first to make her understand whathe meant. His meaning dawned on her at length, and he was not keptwaiting long for her answer. I have often heard him tease her about it.She looked at him with an adorable smile, her eyes brimming over withtears, and said: 'Why, of course. I'll marry you GRATEFULLY, and Ithink it is perfectly sweet of you to like me. But what a blow formamma!' They were married with as little delay as possible, and he tookher off to Paris, Italy, and Egypt, had six months abroad, and broughther back--this! I was staying with them once, and her mother was alsothere. We were sitting in the morning room,--no men, just half a dozenwomen,--and her mother began finding fault about something, and said:'Has not Lord Ingleby often told you of it?' Myra looked up in hersweet, lazy way and answered: 'Dear mamma, I know it must seem strangeto you, but, do you know, my husband thinks everything I do perfect.''Your husband is a fool!' snapped her mother. 'From YOUR point of view,dear mamma,' said Myra, sweetly."
"Old curmudgeon!" remarked Garth. "Why are people of that sort allowedto be called 'mothers'? We, who have had tender, perfect mothers, wouldlike to make it law that the other kind should always be called'she-parents,' or 'female progenitors,' or any other descriptive title,but not profane the sacred name of mother!"
Jane was silent. She knew the beautiful story of Garth's boyhood withhis widowed mother. She knew his passionate adoration of her saintedmemory. She liked him best when she got a glimpse beneath the surface,and did not wish to check his mood by reminding him that she herselfhad never even lisped that name.
Garth rose from his chair and stretched his slim figure in the slantingsun-rays, much as Myra had done. Jane looked at him. As is often thecase with plain people, great physical beauty appealed to her strongly.She only allowed to that appeal its right proportion in her estimationof her friends. Garth Dalmain by no means came first among herparticular chums. He was older than most of them, and yet in some waysyounger than any, and his remarkable youthfulness of manner andexuberance of spirits sometimes made him appear foolish to Jane, whosesense of humour was of a more sedate kind. But of the absoluteperfection of his outward appearance, there was no question; and Janelooked at him now, much as his own mother might have looked, withhonest admiration in her kind eyes.
Garth, notwithstanding the pale violet shirt and dark violet tie, wasquite unconscious of his own appearance; and, dazzled by the goldensunlight, was also unconscious of Jane's look.
"Oh, I say, Miss Champion!" he cried, boyishly. "Isn't it nice thatthey have all gone in? I have been wanting a good jaw with you. Really,when we all get together we do drivel sometimes, to keep the ballrolling. It is like patting up air-balls; and very often they burst,and one realises that an empty, shrivelled little skin is all that isleft after most conversations. Did you ever buy air-balls at Brighton?Do you remember the wild excitement of seeing the man coming along theparade, with a huge bunch of them--blue, green, red, white, and yellow,all shining in the sun? And one used to wonder how he ever contrived topick them all up--I don't know how!--and what would happen if he putthem all down. I always knew exactly which one I wanted, and it wasgenerally on a very inside string and took a long time to disentangle.And how maddening it was if the grown-ups grew tired of waiting, andwalked on with the penny. Only I would rather have had none, than nothave the one on which I had fixed my heart. Wouldn't you?"
"I never bought air-balls at Brighton," replied Jane, withoutenthusiasm. Garth was feeling seven again, and Jane was feeling bored.
For once he seemed conscious of this. He took his coat from the back ofthe chair where he had hung it, and put it on.
"Come along, Miss Champion," he said; "I am so tired of doing nothing.Let us go down to the river and find a boat or two. Dinner is not untileight o'clock, and I am certain you can dress, even for the ROLE ofVelma, in half an hour. I have known you do it in ten minutes, at apinch. There is ample time for me to row you within sight of theminster, and we can talk as we go. Ah, fancy! the grey old minster withthis sunset behind it, and a field of cowslips in the foreground!"
But Jane did not rise.
"My dear Dal," she said, "you would not feel much enthusiasm for theminster or the sunset, after you had pulled my twelve stone odd up theriver. You would drop exhausted among the cowslips. Surely you mightknow by now that I am not the sort of person to be told off to sit inthe stern of a tiny skiff and steer. If I am in a boat, I like to row;and if I row, I prefer rowing stroke. But I do not want to row now,because I have been playing golf the whole afternoon. And you knowperfectly well it would be no pleasure to you to have to gaze at me allthe way up and all the way down the river; knowing all the time, that Iwas mentally criticising your stroke and marking the careless way youfeathered."
The Rosary Page 6
