_ CHAPTER XXVI. HOW GERALDINE TOOK IT TO HEART
'This world is a comedy to those who think,
a tragedy to those who feel.'--HORACE WALPOLE.
It may be doubted if either Audrey or her brother-in-law enjoyed their walk to Hillside. Mr. Harcourt felt that he had failed signally in his brotherly mission, and any sort of failure was intolerable to him. To do him justice, he was thinking only of Audrey's future welfare. As he took up the wide clerical-looking hat that he affected, and walked with her down the terrace, he told himself sorrowfully that he might as well have held his tongue; but, all the same, he could not refrain from speaking another word or two.
'I do so wish I could make you see this thing as your friends will see it!' he said, no longer laying down the law, but speaking in a tone of mild insistence, as became a man who knew himself to be right. 'They may not be so closely interested in the matter, but perhaps their view may be less prejudiced. Think, my dear girl, what a serious, what a terrible thing it would be if you were to discover too late that you had made a mistake!'
'I should never own it to be one,' she said, trying to smile; but it could not be denied that she found her brother-in-law a little depressing; 'and you may be quite sure that I should abide by it. There is a fund of obstinacy in my nature that no one seems to have discovered but myself.'
Then Mr. Harcourt gave vent to an impatient sigh. He must leave her to Geraldine, he thought; but even then he could not forbear from one Parthian thrust.
'You will live to repent it,' he said very seriously, 'and then you will remember my warning. You must not look to me to help you out of your difficulties then, Audrey; I would have done anything for you now.'
'I will promise you that I will not ask for your help,' she returned, so promptly that he looked quite hurt. And she hastened to soften her words. 'If one makes a mistake of that kind, one must only look to one's self.'
'I have always regarded your interests as identical with Edith's,' he returned a little stiffly. 'I mean, I have always treated you as though you were my own sister; but, of course, if you cannot rely on me as your brother----'
But Audrey would not let him finish his sentence.
'Why, Percival,' she said gently, 'I do believe you are quarrelling with me, just because I am taking you at your word. Are you not just a little illogical for once? In one breath you tell me not to look to you for help, and then you reproach me with unsisterly feelings. How are we to understand each other at this rate?'
Then a faint smile played round Mr. Harcourt's mouth. It was true that, in the heat of argument, he did not always measure his words; even Geraldine had ventured to tell him so once.
'Well, well, we will say no more about it,' he returned somewhat magnanimously; and though he could not pluck up spirit to turn the conversation into another channel, he refrained from any more depressing remarks. He gave her a friendly nod and smile as they parted in the hall.
'You will find Geraldine in the morning-room,' he said; and Audrey was much relieved that he did not offer to accompany her.
Mrs. Harcourt evidently regarded herself as an invalid that morning. She was sitting in the corner of the big couch, in her pale-pink tea-gown. She rose at her sister's entrance, however, and crossed the room with languid steps.
'Did Percival bring you?' she asked, as she kissed her.
Audrey felt as though she were to blame when she saw Geraldine's heavy eyes.
'I am afraid you are far from well, Gage,' she said a little anxiously, for, after all, Geraldine was her only sister, and if things should go wrong with her----. She felt a momentary compunction--one of those keen, pin-like pricks of conscience--as she remembered how often she had been vexed with her little ways.
Mrs. Harcourt looked at her mournfully.
'How can I be well?' she said, with reproachful sweetness in her voice. 'I do not think I had three hours' sleep last night. Percival got quite concerned about me at last. Oh, Audrey, you have made me so very unhappy!' and her eyes filled with tears.
'My dear Gage, I would not willingly make you unhappy for worlds!'
'But, all the same, it has been such a shock--such a cruel disappointment to us both! Percival was nearly as upset about it as I was. If you could have seen him walking up and down the room last night! "She must be mad to throw herself away in this fashion!"--he would say nothing else for a long time.'
'I am quite aware of Percival's sentiments,' returned Audrey coldly.
Her manner alarmed Geraldine. 'But you have not quarrelled with him for telling you the truth?' she asked with unmistakable anxiety. 'Oh, Audrey, you do not know how fond Percival is of you! He is as proud of you as though you were his own sister. He has always looked forward to your marriage. He used to say none of the men he knew were half good enough for you; that you ought to have someone who would be in every way your superior, and to whom you could look up.'
'Yes, and it is such a blessing that I can look up to Cyril.'
'But he is so young; and though he is nice--yes, of course, he is very nice and good-looking and clever--still one wants more in a husband. Somehow I never realised these things until I was actually standing at the altar with Percival and said those solemn words for myself: "For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death us do part." I felt then that if I had not been so sure of Percival I would rather have died than have said those words.'
A faint shiver passed over Audrey as Geraldine spoke. She had never heard her talk in this way before. 'Dear, dear Audrey,' she continued, taking her sister's hand; 'can you wonder that I am anxious that you should be as happy as I am, that it nearly breaks my heart to know that you are taking this false step?'
A painful flush crossed Audrey's face. This was a worse ordeal than she had expected. She had been prepared for reproaches, even for bitter words; but this softness, this tearful and caressing gentleness, seemed to deprive her of all strength, to cut away the ground from under her feet. She was at once touched and grateful for her sister's forbearance.
'You are very good to me, Gage,' she said in a low voice; 'I know how utterly I have disappointed you and Percival--and from a worldly point of view I daresay you are both right. Cyril is poor, he has to work his way up, he is not what people would call a good match; but then, you know, I have always been terribly unpractical.'
'It is not only that,' sighed Geraldine; 'as far as Mr. Blake is concerned, one cannot say much against him; he is very gentlemanly. I suppose one would get used to him, though I shall never, never think him good enough for you. But there are other objections: the idea that Mrs. Blake will be your mother-in-law makes me utterly wretched.'
'Poor woman! she is so nice, and I am so fond of her. I often wonder why you are so prejudiced against her, Gage; but of course it is all that tiresome Mrs. Bryce.'
'No, indeed, it is not,' returned Mrs. Harcourt quickly. 'I do not want to vex you, Audrey; things are miserable enough without our quarrelling, and however unhappy you make me, I will never quarrel with my only sister. But you must let me say this for once, that I cannot like Mrs. Blake. From the first moment I have distrusted her, and I know Percival feels the same.'
'But, Gage, do be reasonable. I am going to marry Cyril, not Mrs. Blake!'
'When a woman marries she enters her husband's family,' returned Geraldine in her old decided manner; 'you will belong to them, not to us--at least,' correcting herself, as the thought of her daily visits to Woodcote occurred to her, 'you will have to share your husband's interests and responsibilities with regard to his family. You cannot divide yourself from him without failing in your wifely duty.'
'I am quite of your opinion,' returned Audrey happily; 'Cyril's mother and Kester and Mollie will be very dear to me. I never dreamt for one moment of separating my interests from his.'
'If I thought you really loved him----' observed Geraldine, but here she stopped, warned by an indignant flash in Audrey's gray eyes.
'You might have spared me that, Gage,' she said, rather sadly; 'I think I have had enough to bear already from you and Percival. You have done your best to depress and dishearten me; you have not even wished me happiness.' Then Geraldine burst into tears.
'I don't want to be unkind,' she sobbed, in such distress that Audrey repented her quick words; 'but you must give me time to get over this. It is the first real trouble I have ever had.' And then, as Audrey kissed her and coaxed her, she allowed herself to be somewhat consoled.
'You know you must think of yourself, Gage; you must not make yourself ill about me. I am not worth it.' Then Geraldine did summon up a smile.
'And you will be good to Cyril? The poor fellow could not help falling in love with me, you know.'
'Of course we shall behave properly to him,' returned Geraldine, drawing herself up a little stiffly; 'you must not expect us to receive him with open arms. Mr. Blake must know how entirely we disapprove of the engagement; but, of course, as my father has given his consent, we have no right to make ourselves disagreeable. You must give me a little time, Audrey, just to recover myself, and then he shall be asked to dinner.'
'I hope you will not ask me at the same time!' exclaimed Audrey in genuine alarm; and Geraldine looked rather shocked.
'Of course you must come with him! that is understood. You will be asked everywhere if--if----' looking at her suggestively, 'you mean your engagement to be known.'
'Most certainly! I object very strongly to secrecy under any circumstances.'
'Then in that case you must be prepared for congratulations and a round of dinners.'
'I prefer congratulations to condolences,' returned Audrey a little wickedly; and then, as though to atone for her joke, she suddenly knelt down before her sister and put her arms round her. 'Dear Gage, I do feel such a wretch for having upset you like this. No wonder Percival owes me a grudge. Now, do say something nice to me before I go--there's a darling!' and, of course, Geraldine melted in a moment.
'I do pray, with all my heart, that you may be happy,' she sighed, and then they kissed each other very affectionately. 'Give my love to mother, and tell her I am not well enough to come to her to-day,' were Geraldine's parting words as Audrey left her.
Mr. Harcourt came out of his study the moment he heard the door close.
'Well,' he asked, with a shade of anxiety in his tone, 'have you made any impression, my dear?'
'No, Percy,' returned his wife sadly. 'She is bent on taking her own way--the Blake influence is far too strong.'
'Ah, well,' in a tone of strong disgust, 'she is making her own bed, and must lie on it. It was an evil day for all of us when your father engaged Blake for his junior classical master. I wanted him to have Sowerby--Sowerby is the better man, and all his people are gentlefolks--but there is no turning the Doctor when he has got an idea in his head: no one but Blake would do. And now mischief has come of it. But, all the same, I won't have you making yourself ill about it--remember that, my love. You have got me to think about, and I don't choose to have my wife spoiling her eyes after this fashion. It is too damp for you to go out, for there has been a sharp shower or two; but I have half an hour to spare, and can read to you if you like.' And to this Geraldine gratefully assented.
It may be doubted whether she heard much of the brilliant essay that Mr. Harcourt had selected for her delectation, but it was very soothing to lie there and listen to her husband's voice. The sentences grew involved presently, and there was a humming, as though of bees, in the quiet room. Mr. Harcourt smiled to himself as he went on reading--the sleep would do her more good than the essay, he thought; and in this he was right.
When Mrs. Ross received her daughter's message she at once prepared to go up to Hillside, and spent the remainder of the afternoon there.
Geraldine had awakened from her nap much refreshed, and was disposed to take a less lugubrious view of things. She was certainly somewhat depressing at first, and her mother found her implied reproaches somewhat hard to bear; but she was still too languid and subdued to speak with her usual decision.
'I suppose that we shall have to make the best of it,' she observed presently, in a resigned tone of voice. 'It will always be a great trouble to me--but one must expect trouble in this world, as I said to Percy just now. I am afraid we have been too happy.'
'Oh, my dear! you must not say such things.'
'It is better to say them than to think them. Percy never minds how much I complain to him, if I will only not brood over worries by myself. He says that it is so bad for me.'
'Percival is quite right, my love;' and Mrs. Ross looked anxiously at her daughter's pale face. 'But you know your one duty is to keep yourself cheerful. Try and put all this away from your mind, and leave Audrey to be happy in her own way. Mr. Blake is really a very nice lovable fellow, and I am quite fond of him already, and so is your father--and I am sure your father is a good judge of character.'
'Yes, mother dear; and you must not think Percy and I mean to be tiresome and disagreeable. It is not the young man so much that we mind--though we shall always think Audrey is lowering herself in marrying him--but it is that odious Mrs. Blake.'
Then, for the moment, Mrs. Ross felt herself uncomfortable. Mrs. Blake had called on her that very morning, while Audrey was at Hillside, and in spite of her mildness and toleration she had been obliged to confess to herself that Mrs. Blake's manners had not quite pleased her. Geraldine managed to extract the whole account of the interview, though Mrs. Ross gave it rather reluctantly.
'And I suppose she was absurdly impulsive, as usual, mother?' she asked, when Mrs. Ross had finished a somewhat brief narrative.
'Well, yes. She is always rather effusive; people have their own style, you see.'
'Only Mrs. Blake's is, unfortunately, a very bad style.'
'I daresay you are right, my dear, and I certainly prefer a quieter manner; and it was not quite good taste lauding your father and me to the skies for our goodness in allowing the match. Poor woman! I daresay she was a little excited; only it was a pity to let her feelings carry her away--still, she was very nice about Audrey.'
'She will be her daughter-in-law, you know.'
Then Mrs. Ross winced slightly. She was glad that Mrs. Charrington was that moment announced--she was a pleasant chatty woman, and always paid long visits: Geraldine was her special favourite. As the news of the engagement had not yet reached her, the talk was confined to certain local interests: a new grant of books to the library, the difficulty of finding a butler, and the lameness of one of Dr. Ross's carriage-horses; and Mrs. Ross was in this manner relieved from any more awkward questions.
Her husband was her only confidant, and to him she did disburden herself.
'I do wish that Mrs. Blake were a different sort of woman, John,' she observed that night. 'She is very handsome and amusing; but she is certainly too unrestrained in her talk.'
'We must take folk as we find them, Emmie,' returned Dr. Ross quietly. 'Mrs. Blake is not your sort. In spite of having a grown-up son, she is not quite grown-up herself: middle-aged people ought not to talk out all their feelings as though they were children. But she is a very pleasing person for all that.'
'So I always thought; but she tires one. Not that I would let Audrey know that.'
'Oh, Audrey would keep a dozen Mrs. Blakes in order,' was her husband's response; and then Mrs. Ross said no more.
Geraldine kept her word, and about a week later Cyril Blake received a civil little note, asking him to dine at Hillside on the following evening.
'We shall be quite by ourselves. It will be only a family party--just my husband's brother, Mr. Walter Harcourt, and his wife;' for the Walter Harcourts had come on a visit.
Cyril looked a little grave as he showed the note to Audrey.
'I suppose I must go; but it will be very terrible. I don't mind telling you, Audrey, that I am awfully afraid of your sister.'
'Poor fellow!' returned Audrey, with one of her charming smiles; 'I wish I could spare you this ordeal. But I can give you one bit of comfort: Gage will behave very nicely to you.' And though Cyril still felt a little dubious on this point, he was obliged to own afterwards that she was right.
The evening was a far pleasanter one than he expected. Mr. Harcourt was thawed by his brother's presence, and though there was a slight stiffness and reserve in his manner to Cyril, there was no aggressiveness; and Geraldine was too much of a gentlewoman to behave ungraciously to any guest. Both of them were quite civil to Cyril, though they could not be said to be demonstrative, and there was no attempt to treat him as one of themselves.
Mr. Walter Harcourt was a barrister, and was rapidly rising in his profession. He was considerably younger than his brother, and had recently married a wealthy young widow. He was a clever talker, and his stock of legal anecdotes kept them all well amused. He and Audrey were old friends, and at one time Geraldine and her husband had privately hoped that their acquaintance might ripen into a tenderer feeling.
As soon as the ladies reached the drawing-room, Mrs. Walter Harcourt, who was a pretty, vivacious little woman, observed confidentially to Geraldine:
'My dear, I must congratulate you. That future brother-in-law of yours is one of the handsomest men I have ever seen. I always thought Walter a good-looking fellow, and I daresay you thought much the same of Percival; but both our husbands looked very ordinary people beside him. In fact, Walter was quite clumsy.'
'Nonsense, Maggie!' returned Geraldine, glancing behind her to see if Audrey were within earshot. 'How can you make such absurd comparisons? Of course Mr. Blake is good-looking; but, for my own part, I always distrust handsome men.'
'They are generally such fools, you see. I hate talking to a man who is too self-engrossed to pay me attention. But Mr. Blake is thoroughly nice. I must go to Audrey and tell her how much I admire her
fiance.'
'Thank goodness, that is over!' exclaimed Cyril fervently, as Audrey joined him in the porch. 'I have not had a word with you yet.'
Audrey smiled as she gathered up her long dress and stepped out into the dark shrubberies.
'It was very pleasant,' she observed tranquilly. 'The Walter Harcourts are clever, amusing people. You got on capitally with both of them; and, Cyril, I am sure Gage was as nice as possible.'
'Oh yes!' he returned quickly; 'and I admire her excessively; but, all the same, I shall never feel at my ease with her.' And, as Audrey uttered a protest at this, he continued seriously: 'Of course, I know what Mrs. Harcourt thinks of my presumption; her manner told me that at once. "You are not one of us"--that is what her tone said to me; and yet she was quite kind and civil. Oh, Audrey'--interrupting himself, and speaking almost passionately--'if I were only more worthy of you! But have patience with me, and your people shall respect me yet.'
'Dear Cyril, please do not talk so!' and Audrey stole closer to him in the October darkness. 'You have behaved so beautifully to-night, and I felt, oh! so proud of my sweetheart. And if I am content, what does it matter what other people think?'
'Forgive me, darling,' he returned remorsefully; 'I am only sometimes a little sore because I can give you so little.'
And then his mood changed, for the subtle comfort of her sweet words was thrilling through him; for he was young, and the girl he worshipped from the depths of his honest heart was alone with him under the dim, cloudy skies. Was it any wonder that the world was forgotten, and only the golden haze of the future seemed before them, as they walked together through the quiet streets to Woodcote? _