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Mollie's Prince

<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> <h3>SIR REYNARD AND THE GRAPES.</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright. And made a sunshine in the shady place." Spenser's Faërie Queene. </div> </div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> It is the opinion of certain wiseacres that enjoyment consists mainly in anticipation and retrospection, and that the actual pleasure is reduced to a minimum. But to Waveney her first Sunday at the Red House was simply perfect. Not the shadow of a shade crossed her path until she said good-bye to Mollie in the evening. Even the weather was propitious, and when the morning mist had rolled off the common, another of those golden days, peculiar to Autumn, seemed to flood Erpingham with warm, mellow sunshine. The rich brown and amber tints of the bracken excited Waveney's admiration as they crossed a corner of the common, on their way to church. It was the longest way, Doreen explained, but she had some business that took her to the upper end of the village. Then they walked slowly down the main street past the fountain and the Roman Catholic church, with its old lych-gate. On their way Waveney learned how the sisters spent their Sunday afternoons. Doreen always went to the Home of Rest for Workers. One of the inmates had partially lost her sight, and Doreen generally read to her and wrote her letters. It was her custom to remain to tea; it gave the matron an hour's freedom, and made a change for the ladies. The Porch House was always thrown open for the girls' use from two to six on Sunday afternoons. There was no meal provided, but some of them liked to come up for an hour or two's reading or study, or to meet their friends. In winter there was always a bright fire and plenty of light, and Althea, stealing down the dark garden paths, would peep, unseen, at the merry group of chattering girls gathered round the fire. Althea's Bible-class was always held in the dining-room of the Red House. About twenty girls attended it. Waveney discovered later that Althea spent most of her mornings preparing for this class; but when she expressed her surprise at the amount of labour it involved, Althea only smiled. "My dear, it is very necessary labour," she returned. "It is no easy matter, I assure you, to keep ahead of girls like Nora Greenwell and Alice Mitchell. I have to study for dear life, and sometimes their questions are so difficult to answer that I have to apply for help to our good Vicar. "I am very fond of my Sunday work," she said, as she and Waveney walked slowly on until Doreen should overtake them. "Two or three of the girls always remain to tea. I give my invitations on Thursday evening; and as I make no distinction, and each one has her proper turn, there is no margin for jealousy. I limit the number to four, as I like my Sunday tea-parties to be cosy. We call them library teas, and Mrs. Willis is generally very liberal with her cakes. Well, dear, why do you look at me so?" "I was only thinking how full your life is, and how happy you must be!" returned Waveney, simply; and a faint flush rose to Althea's cheek. "All lives ought to be full," she said, gravely. "It always makes me angry when people talk of empty, blighted, or disappointed lives;" and her tone was so severe that Waveney felt vaguely surprised. "But, Miss Harford," she observed, timidly, "a great many women are disappointed, you know." "Oh, yes, of course, life is as full of disappointments as this bush is full of blackberries this morning. But, all the same, they have only themselves to blame if their existence is dull and colourless. There is too much mawkish sentiment talked at the present day," she went on. "I was only telling my girls so the other day. When trouble comes to a woman—and Heaven knows they have their share of suffering: I suppose, for their soul's good—it is no good creeping along the ground like a bird with a broken wing; they must summon all their pluck, and fight their way through the thorns. Of course, even the brave ones get a little torn and scarred, but they are too proud to show their wounds. Look, here comes my sister, and we will change the subject." And then, as Doreen joined them, they walked on quickly; but Althea's blue eyes had a strange glow in them. When Waveney reached Sloane Square she found Mollie had kept her word, and was on the platform to receive her. She gave a little cry when she saw Waveney, and more than one passer-by looked round with kindly amusement as the sisters rushed into each other's arms. "Oh, Mollie, how lovely you look! What have you done to yourself?" But Mollie only laughed. And then, like two children, they walked up the stairs hand-in-hand. And to Mollie it might have been the golden ladder that leads to Paradise. Her dearer self, her twin sister, was beside her, and the five blank days were over. "Father and Noel have gone for a walk," she said, as they turned down King Street. "I shall have you to myself for a whole hour. Oh, Wave, how are we to talk fast enough!—so much has happened even in these five days! I wish I could write clever letters like you. But I am so stupid!" "Nonsense, sweetheart. Why, I loved your letters, and always slept with them under my pillow." "Did you, really? Oh, Wave, what a darling you are! But, of course, I did the same. And I was so amused at your meeting 'the noticeable man, with the large grey eyes.' Father heard me chuckling, and he insisted on my reading your letter to him; but he was quite startled when I came to Mr. Chaytor's name. I don't think he was quite pleased." "What makes you think that, Mollie, dear." "Oh, he frowned and bit his lip. You know his way. And then he took up the newspaper and cleared his throat. But I heard him mutter, as though to himself, 'Another of them. Now I wonder which of them it is.' But, as you only said Mr. Chaytor, I could not tell him." "It was Thorold," returned Waveney. And then, as they came in sight of the house, she kissed her hand to it in a sort of ecstasy. "Oh, you dear old place, I have dreamt of you every night!" And then, as Mollie used her latch-key, Mrs. Muggins came to meet them, purring loudly, with uplifted tail. "Dear me, I never noticed how steep and narrow the staircase is!" remarked Waveney, innocently. "And Mollie, dear, you really must cause father to get some new stair-drugget. Crimson felt would look so nice and warm, and would not cost much." But Mollie shook her head. "We must wait for that, I am afraid," she said, sadly. Then she cheered up. "But, Wave, father has got such a lovely new great-coat, and he does look so nice in it; and Noel insisted on his getting a new hat, too. I tell father that he will be ashamed to walk with me, now he has grown such a dandy." And then Mollie broke off in confusion, and began to blush, for Waveney's eyes were fixed on the round table in the studio. A magnificent basket of hot-house grapes stood in the centre. Waveney regarded it with the look of a cat that sees cream. There were three pounds at least, and the purple bloom of the fruit made a rich spot of colour in the room. Waveney's expression was inscrutable. "Mollie," she said, at last, "the Black Prince has been here again." "Yes, dear," stammered Mollie, with the air of a culprit discovered in a fault; "but I did not expect him—I told you so. I was on my knees darning the stair-carpets, because father caught his foot in a hole that very morning; and when Ann opened the door, there he was, and, of course, he saw me." "Oh, of course, there is nothing wrong with Sir Reynard's eyes," muttered Waveney. "They are very good eyes, I should say." But this remark seemed to puzzle Mollie. "Why do you call him Reynard, Waveney? He is not sly, not a bit of it. He was so funny. He wanted to help me with the stair-carpet—he said he was a good hand at darning; but I would not hear of such a thing, and, of course, I took him into the study." "Well, child, what then?" and Waveney seated herself on Grumps, and patted the sofa gently as an invitation for Mollie to do the same. "And then Sir Reynard presented his grapes." Mollie stamped her little foot. "I will not have it, Waveney. You shall not call our nice little Monsieur Blackie by such a horrid name. Yes, he offered the grapes with such a droll little speech; but I can't remember exactly what he said, only that a friend of his had a splendid vinery, and he always sent him such quantities of grapes, and it would be a charity to help him to eat them, and so on." "Yes, and so on. And you said, 'Thank you, my dear Black Prince. You are very generous to poor little Cinderella.'" "Waveney, if you talk such nonsense I won't love you a bit. Of course I thanked him—and I must have done it nicely, for he looked pleased, almost as though he were relieved. 'That's right,' he said, heartily. 'What a sensible young lady you are, Miss Mollie! You take things naturally and as you ought—and I wanted to please you. You know I always want to please you.'" Waveney caught her breath, and there was almost a look of fear in her eyes. "Did he say those very words, Mollie?" "Yes, dear," in a tranquil tone. "And I am sure he meant it, too. He did look so very kind. 'Do you know I wanted to please you the very first day I saw you,' he went on, 'and it has been the same every day since. I am such a lonely sort of fellow since Gwen left me. Gwen is my sister, you know.'" "And that fetched you, of course?" But Waveney did not speak in her usual tone. And how she watched the bright, speaking face beside her. "Yes, indeed, I thought of you, and I asked such a lot of questions about this Gwendoline, and I am sure he liked answering them. She is not pretty, Wave, not a bit—ugly, in fact; but her husband adores her. She is very tall and graceful, but he told me he would not show me the picture he had in his pocket, because plain people were not in my line. Wasn't that a funny speech? And then we had a quarrel; but he stuck to his point. He said he hoped that some day he would be able to introduce her to us, and that he would rather wait till then. But, Wave, what am I thinking about? I meant you to have some grapes." And then she jumped up from her seat and limped quickly to the table, and for a moment Waveney's eyes were a little misty. "How innocent she is! What a child! But I dare not enlighten her," she said to herself. "I wonder what father thinks. If I can, I will just give him a hint. I think he ought to find out who Mr. Ingram really is; we know nothing about him. He may be in earnest—very likely he is; but he ought not to come when Mollie is alone." The hour passed all too quickly, and just as Waveney was giving a full description of Thursday evening her father's voice made her start from her seat and fly downstairs; but there was no one that day to liken her to Titania. How Everard's face brightened at the sight of his darling! And even Noel "chortled in his joy," to use his favourite expression. He actually submitted to be kissed twice without making a wry face, though he immediately turned up the collar of his coat. "It has been rather tropical lately," he observed, blandly, "but now old 'Storm-and-Stress' has come, we must look out for draughts." But Waveney was admiring the great-coat, and took no notice. "It is father's turn," exclaimed Mollie, cheerfully. "Noel, you must come and help me get tea ready. We shall have it in the studio, of course;" and then she stumped off to the kitchen, and Waveney and her father went upstairs. They had a little talk together. Everard asked a few questions about his old friends, and seemed much interested in all Waveney's descriptions. "I think you have a good berth, dear," he said, presently, "and that you are likely to be very happy with the Misses Harford." "Yes, father, and I am sure that I shall soon learn to love Miss Althea—Good Queen Bess, as I call her. But—but"—the colour rising to her face, as she squeezed his arm with her little hands—"I would rather be at home with my dad." "I know that, darling, and dad has missed his little girl badly. By the bye, Waveney, there seems a plentiful crop of ghosts at the Red House. Mollie tells me that the other night you met a Mr. Chaytor." "Yes, father, Mr. Thorold Chaytor. He seemed very nice, and he read so beautifully. Miss Althea says he is a barrister—but that, though he is so clever, he gets few briefs, and that he ekes out his income by doing literary work." "He was always a clever fellow," returned Mr. Ward; "but I remember I liked Tristram best. Poor old Trist, he was a bit soft on Althea. I remember how angry he was when some one told him it was lad's love. Thorold was a cut above us, and we were rather in awe of him. I wonder what sort of looking fellow he is now." "He is tall and rather distinguished looking. I mean, people cannot help noticing him." Then Mr. Ward's eyes twinkled mischievously. "'A noticeable man,' eh, Waveney? 'with large grey eyes?'" Then Waveney blushed and laughed. "What a perfidious Mollie! But, father, it is really such a true description! Mr. Chaytor is quite plain and ordinary-looking, and he is old, too,—five-and-thirty, I should say; but when he speaks you would never call him plain." "No, I know what you mean. But his brother Tristram was a very handsome man." "Did you know them well, father?" "Very well, indeed. The Chaytors lived at the old Manor House—their grandfather had bought it. It was a fine old place, about two miles from Kitlands, and when I visited them they lived in good style and entertained largely. Old Chaytor, as we called him, was fond of life and gaiety; though we youngsters knew little about it, he kept racers, and about the time I married, his losses were so heavy that they could no longer afford to live in the old Manor House." "Were there only those two brothers, father, dear?" "No, there was a sister Joanna—Joa they called her—a pretty, fair girl; she and Althea were great friends. She was engaged to Leslie Parker. The Parkers were neighbours of theirs; they lived in a quaint old house in the village, called The Knolls, but I heard afterwards that, when the old Manor House was sold, and Mr. Chaytor died, the marriage was broken off. I never cared much for the Parkers; they were a mercenary lot. All the sons married women with money. But it was hard lines on poor little Joa." "Oh, father, how dreadfully interesting all this is! I do so love ancient history." "It was by no means interesting for the Chaytors," returned Mr. Ward, with a laugh. "Old Chaytor's love for the turf ruined them. When he died, his sons found that his affairs were hopelessly involved, and that he had left heavy debts. I had lost sight of them by that time; but I heard a year or two afterwards that Mrs. Chaytor was dead, too, and that Tristram had gone to New Zealand. Rumour said that he had turned out unsatisfactorily, and that his brother had shipped him off, but I know nothing more." "Neither do I, except they are living in a dull-looking house in Dereham." And then Mollie limped in with the tea-tray, and Noel followed, carrying a huge plum cake on his head, like one of the black slaves in the "Arabian Nights." And then, as he made an obeisance like Lord Bateman's "proud young porter," it rolled to his feet; after which Mollie boxed his ears, and his father called him a young ass. They had a merry tea, and then they drew round the fire and sang hymns; and church-time came only too quickly. Waveney had her old place between her father and Mollie; and when the gas was turned down during the sermon, Mollie slipped her hand into hers. And a dark young man, who was sitting a few pews behind them, watched them attentively through the service; and, when, in the dusk, he saw Mollie nestle up to her sister, a great softness came into his eyes, and he said to himself, "Poor little thing!" But as Noel strutted beside his sisters on the way to the station to see Waveney off, he said a thing that surprised them. "Did you see my friend the Idealist!" he asked, with his chin elevated. "My word, he looked quite the swagger gentleman in his new frock coat." "Do you mean Monsieur Blackie!" asked Waveney; and she pressed Mollie's arm involuntarily. She had had no opportunity of giving her father that hint, and now she must wait for another week. "Yes, Monsieur Blackie—Monsieur Blackie—Monsieur Blackie," returned the provoking lad, in a falsetto squeak. "Hold hard, father, you have nearly landed me into the gutter." And then a little, dark gentleman, who was following them unperceived, gave a low laugh. "My friend the humorist at his tricks again," he murmured. "I wish Gwen could see that lad; she would love him." <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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