<SPAN name="chap20"></SPAN>
<h3> CHAPTER XX </h3>
<p>May awoke very early next morning. It was broad daylight, however, and
she hastened to look at her watch. Reassured as to the time, her next
thought regarded the weather; she stepped to the window, and saw with
vexation a rainy sky. An hour later, she again lifted the blind to look
forth. No sun was shining, but rain had ceased. She began to dress.</p>
<p>At a quarter to eight, equipped for walking, she quietly left her room
and tripped down stairs. A housemaid met her in the hall; she asked
whether the front door was unlocked, and the servant went before to
open for her. Following a path which led to the rear of the house, she
was soon out in the park; in some ten minutes she passed the old
summer-house among the trees, and, with quickened pace, came to the
door which led into the Wapham Road. Before using her key, she tapped
lightly on the wood; from without there sounded immediately an
answering knock. Then she opened.</p>
<p>"Do you know?" asked Lashmar, eagerly, as he gave his hand, forgetting
the formal salute.</p>
<p>"Yes. We had the news after dinner. Mr. Breakspeare sent a message."</p>
<p>"He lived for about an hour. I came on to Hollingford late, and have
passed the night at the Saracen's Head. It's to be understood, of
course, that I got the news in town just in time for the last train."</p>
<p>Whilst exchanging rapid sentences, they stood, one within, one outside,
the park wall. May held the door as if uncertain what to do next.</p>
<p>"You can spare me a few minutes?" said Dyce, glancing this way and that
along the public way.</p>
<p>"Come in. I didn't bring my bicycle, as it's so wet."</p>
<p>"Of course not. You needn't be anxious. Nobody comes this way."</p>
<p>He closed the door. May was looking behind her into the trees and
bushes, which hid them from the park The sky had begun to brighten; a
breeze shook drops from the shining leafage.</p>
<p>"How does Lady Ogram take the news?" Lashmar inquired, trying to speak
with his wonted calm, but betraying a good deal of nervousness.</p>
<p>"I haven't seen her. She was in her room when it came."</p>
<p>"I shouldn't wonder if she's sorry. She had set her mind on our beating
Robb at the poll. No one seems to know who will stand for the
Conservatives. I saw Breakspeare after midnight; he was in the wildest
excitement. He thinks it's good for us."</p>
<p>"Of course you'll see Lady Ogram to-day?"</p>
<p>"I shall come at lunch-time. That'll be best, won't it?"</p>
<p>May nodded. Her eyes kept turning in the direction of the house.</p>
<p>"How very kind of you to have come out so early!" said Dyce. "All night
I've been reproaching myself for giving you the trouble, and when I saw
the rain I didn't think for a moment you would be here. I'm delighted
to be able to talk to you before seeing anyone else. Don't you think
this event has happened very luckily? Whether I am elected or not,
it'll be easier for me to get out of my false position."</p>
<p>"Why? How?"</p>
<p>"In this way. During the excitement of the election, I shall find
opportunities of speaking more freely with Lady Ogram, and who knows
but I may bring her to see that the plan she made for me was not
altogether to my advantage? Miss Bride, of course, will speak, whenever
she has a chance, in the same sense—"</p>
<p>"Are you sure of that?" asked May, casting a furtive glance at him. She
was boring the path with the point of her slim umbrella.</p>
<p>"Do you feel any doubt?" asked Dyce in turn.</p>
<p>"I really can't judge. It's such a very curious situation—and," she
added, "Miss Bride is so peculiar."</p>
<p>"Peculiar?—I understand. You don't find her very communicative. But
I'm sure you'll make allowance for the difficulty of—"</p>
<p>"Oh, I make all allowances," interrupted May, with her smile of
superiority. "And of course Miss Bride's affairs don't in the least
concern me."</p>
<p>"Except I hope in so far as they concern me."</p>
<p>Dyce spoke with insinuating humour. Both hands resting on his umbrella
handle, he held himself very upright, and looked May steadily in the
face. She, as though challenged, straightened herself and met his look.</p>
<p>"I should be sorry to see your career spoilt," she said, with rather
excessive dignity. "But you will admit that you have acted, to say the
least, imprudently."</p>
<p>"It looks so. You think I should have had <i>more courage</i>. But you will
see that it's <i>not too late</i>."</p>
<p>Speaking, he watched her face. He saw her lips twitch, and her eyes
stray.</p>
<p>"You know," he pursued, "that I <i>aim high</i>."</p>
<p>Her look fell.</p>
<p>"But no man can do without help. The strong man is he who knows how to
choose his helper, and at the right moment. I am at a crisis of my
life, and—it is to you that I turn."</p>
<p>"I of course feel that to be a great compliment, Mr. Lashmar," said
May, recovering her grand air. "I promise you to do what I can. But you
mustn't count on me for impossibilities."</p>
<p>"I count on nothing that isn't easy for <i>you</i>—with your character,
your influence."</p>
<p>"Thank you, again. My first piece of advice to you is to win the
election."</p>
<p>"I shall do my best. If I am beaten in this, I shall win another; you
are aware of that. Are you easily discouraged? I think not."</p>
<p>He smiled at her with admiration. That it was genuine, May easily
perceived; how much, or how little, it implied, she did not care to
ask. These two, alike incapable of romantic passion, children of a time
which subdues everything to interest, which fosters vanity and chills
the heart, began to imagine that they were drawn to each other by all
the ardours of youth. Their minds remarkably lucid, reviewing the
situation with coolest perspicuity, calculating each on the other's
recognised weaknesses, and holding themselves absolutely free if
contingency demanded freedom, they indulged, up to a certain point, the
primitive impulse, and would fain have discovered in it a motive of the
soul. May, who had formed her opinion as to Miss Bride's real attitude
regarding Lashmar, took a keen pleasure in the treacherous part she was
playing; she remembered the conversation last evening in the carriage,
and soothed her wounded self-esteem. Dyce, gratified by yet another
proof of his power over womankind, felt that in this case he had
something to be really proud of; Miss Tomalin's beauty and her
prospects spoke to the world at large. She was in love with him, and he
detected in himself a reciprocal emotion. Interesting and agreeable
state of things!</p>
<p>May, instead of directly answering his last question, allowed her eyes
to meet his for a second. Then she said:</p>
<p>"Some people are coming to us this afternoon."</p>
<p>"To stay? Who are they?"</p>
<p>"Sir William and Lady Amys—and Lord Dymchurch—"</p>
<p>"Dymchurch! Lady Ogram has invited him?"</p>
<p>"He would hardly come to stay without being invited," said May, archly.
"But I thought you most likely knew. Didn't Lady Ogram mention it to
you?"</p>
<p>"Not a word," answered Dyce. "No doubt she had a reason for saying
nothing. You, possibly, could suggest it?"</p>
<p>His face had changed. There was cold annoyance in his look and in his
voice.</p>
<p>"It must have been mere accident," said May.</p>
<p>"That it certainly wasn't. How long will Dymchurch stay?"</p>
<p>"I have no idea, Mr. Lashmar.—I must leave you. Many thanks for taking
so much trouble to bring me the news."</p>
<p>She held out her hand. Dyce took and detained it.</p>
<p>"I am going to stay on at Hollingford," he said, "at the hotel. I shall
run up to town this evening, but be back to-morrow. At lunchtime to-day
I shall see you, but of course that doesn't count; we shan't be able to
talk, Wednesday, to-morrow; on Thursday morning meet me here again,
will you?"</p>
<p>"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Lashmar," she answered with
self-possession; trying, unobtrusively, to withdraw her hand.</p>
<p>"I beg you to! Indeed, you must."</p>
<p>He tried the power of a smile meant to be at once virile and tender,
but May was steadily drawing away her hand; he had not the courage to
hold it forcibly.</p>
<p>"We shall find other opportunities of talking about the things that
interest us," she said, moving a step back.</p>
<p>"It surprises me that you came this morning!" Dyce exclaimed, with a
touch of sarcasm.</p>
<p>"Then," May answered loftily, "you will be spared a second surprise."</p>
<p>She turned and left him. Dyce, after watching for a moment her graceful
figure, strode in pursuit. They were near the summer-house.</p>
<p>"You are forgetting," he said, "that you have left the key in the door."</p>
<p>May uttered an exclamation of alarm.</p>
<p>"How foolish of me! Thank you so much!"</p>
<p>"I fear I must give you the trouble of walking back, to let me out."</p>
<p>"Why, of course."</p>
<p>They returned to the door, and Dyce again took the offered hand.</p>
<p>"I shall be here at eight on Thursday," he said. "Unless it rains. In
that case, on the first fine morning."</p>
<p>"I don't promise to meet you."</p>
<p>"I will come without a promise."</p>
<p>"As you like," said May, slowly closing the door upon him. "But don't
prepare for yourself another surprise."</p>
<p>She regained the house, having met no one but a gardener. Within, she
encountered no one at all. Safe in her room, she reflected on the
morning's adventure, and told herself that it had been, in a double
sense, decidedly dangerous. Were Constance Bride or Lady Ogram to know
of this clandestine rendezvous, what a storm would break! On that
account alone she would have been glad of what she had done. But she
was glad, also, of Lashmar's significant behaviour and language. He
perceived, undoubtedly, that the anonymous letter came from her, and,
be the upshot what it might, their romantic intimacy gave life a new
zest. May flattered herself that she knew the tremours of amorous
emotion. "If I liked, I <i>could</i> be really, really in love!" This was
delightful experience; this was living! Dangerous, yes; for how did she
mean to comport herself in the all but certain event of her receiving
an offer of marriage from Lord Dymchurch? Mrs. Toplady was right; Lady
Ogram had resolved upon this marriage, and would it be safe to thwart
that strong-willed old woman? Moreover, the thought was very tempting.
A peeress! Could she reasonably look for such another chance, if this
were lost? Was she prepared to sacrifice it for the sake of Dyce
Lashmar, and the emotional joys he represented?</p>
<p>She thought of novels and poems. Browning was much in her mind. She saw
herself as the heroine of psychological drama. How interesting! How
thrilling! During her life at Northampton, she had dreamed of such
things, with no expectation of their ever befalling her. Truly, she was
fortune's favourite. Destiny had raised her to the sphere where her
powers and sensibilities would have full play.</p>
<p>So it was with radiant face that she appeared at the breakfast table.
Constance and she shook hands as usual; with everyday words. It seemed
to her that she saw disquiet in the secretary's countenance—after all,
what was Miss Bride but a salaried secretary? Lashmar's betrothed might
well suffer uneasiness, under the circumstances; <i>she</i>, it was obvious,
did not regard the engagement as a mere pretence. No, no; Constance
Bride was ambitious, and thought it a great thing to marry a man with a
parliamentary career before him. She was of a domineering, jealous
nature, and it would exasperate her to feel that Lashmar merely used
her for his temporary purposes. Noble self-sacrifice, indeed! Lashmar
himself did not believe that. Best of all things, at this moment, May
would have liked to make known her power over Lashmar, and to say, "Of
course, dear Miss Bride, he is nothing whatever to me. In my position,
you understand—"</p>
<p>There had been a few moments' silence, when Constance asked:</p>
<p>"Do you ever hear of Mr. Yabsley?"</p>
<p>Was the woman a thought-reader? At that instant May had been
thinking—the first time for weeks, perhaps—of her Admirable Crichton
in the old Northampton days, and reflecting with gratification on the
vast change which had come upon her life and her mind since she
followed Mr. Yabsley's spiritual direction. Startled, she gazed at the
speaker.</p>
<p>"How odd that you should have remembered his name!"</p>
<p>"Not at all. I heard it so often when you first came here."</p>
<p>"Did you?" said May, pretending to be amused. "Mr. Yabsley is a
remarkable man, and I value his friendship. You remind me that I really
ought to write to him."</p>
<p>Constance seemed to lose all her interest in the matter, and spoke of
something trivial.</p>
<p>In the course of the morning there happened a singular thing.</p>
<p>Lady Ogram rose earlier than usual. Before leaving her room, she read
in the <i>Hollingford Express</i> all about the sudden death of Mr. Robb.
The event had kept her awake all night. Though on the one side a
disappointment, for of late she had counted upon Robb's defeat at the
next election as an all but certain thing, the fact that she had
outlived her enemy, that he lay, as it were, at her feet, powerless
ever again to speak an insulting word, aroused all the primitive
instincts of her nature. With the exultation of a savage she gloated
over the image of Robb stricken to the ground. Through the hours of
darkness, she now and then sang to herself, and the melodies were those
she had known when a girl, or a child, common songs of the street. It
was her chant of victory and revenge.</p>
<p>Having risen, she went into the drawing-room on the same floor as her
bedchamber, and summoned two menservants. After her first serious
illness, she had for a time been carried up and down stairs in a chair
made for that purpose; she now bade her attendants fetch the chair, and
convey her to the top story of the house. It was done. In her hand she
had a key, and with this she unlocked the door of that room which had
been closed for half a century. Having stood alone within the garret
for a few minutes, she called to the men, who, on entering, looked with
curiosity at dust-covered forms in clay and in marble. Their mistress
pointed to a bust which stood on a wooden pedestal some three feet high.</p>
<p>"You are to clean that. Bring water and soap. I will wait here whilst
you do it."</p>
<p>The task was quickly performed; the marble shone once more, and its
pedestal of lustrous black looked little the worse for long seclusion.
Lady Ogram sat with her eyes fixed upon the work of art, and for a
minute or two neither moved nor spoke.</p>
<p>"Who is that?" she inquired suddenly, indicating the head, and turning
her look upon the two men.</p>
<p>"I think it is yourself, my lady," answered the bolder of the two.</p>
<p>Lady Ogram smiled. That use of the present tense was agreeable to her.</p>
<p>"You are to take it down to the green drawing-room. Carry me there,
first, and I will show you where to place it."</p>
<p>Arrived at the ground-floor, she quitted her chair and walked into the
drawing-room with step which was almost firm. Here, among the flowers
and leafage, sat May Tomalin, who, surprised at her aunt's early
appearance, rose forward with an exclamation of pleasure.</p>
<p>"How well you look this morning, aunt!"</p>
<p>"I'm glad you think so, my dear," was the pleased and dignified reply.
"Be so kind, May, as to go into the library, and wait there until I
send for you."</p>
<p>The girl turned pale. For a moment, she thought her escapade of this
morning had been discovered, and that terrible things were about to
happen. Her fright could not escape Lady Ogram's observation.</p>
<p>"What, have I frightened you? Did it remind you of being sent into the
corner when you were a little girl?"</p>
<p>She laughed with discordant gaiety.</p>
<p>"Really, for the moment I thought I was being punished," replied May.
And she too laughed, a melodious trill.</p>
<p>A quarter of an hour passed. Lady Ogram presented herself at the
library door, and saw May reading, whilst Constance Bride sat writing
at the table.</p>
<p>"Come, both of you!"</p>
<p>Surprised at the look and tone with which they were summoned, the two
followed into the drawing-room, where, guided by Lady Ogram's glance,
they became aware of a new ornament. They approached; they gazed; they
wondered.</p>
<p>"Who is that?" asked their conductress, turning to Miss Bride.</p>
<p>Constance felt no doubt as to the person whom the bust was supposed to
represent, and her disgust at what she thought the shameless flattery
practised by the sculptor hardly allowed her to reply.</p>
<p>"Of course," she said, in as even a voice as possible, "it is a
portrait of Miss Tomalin."</p>
<p>Lady Ogram's eyes shone; on the point of laughing, she restrained
herself, and looked at her niece.</p>
<p>"May, what do <i>you</i> think?"</p>
<p>"Really, aunt, I don't know what to think," answered the girl, in a
happy confusion. "If Miss Bride is right—it's very, very kind of you.
But how was it done without my sitting?"</p>
<p>This time, the old lady's mirth had its way.</p>
<p>"How, indeed! There's a mystery for you both, my dears!—May, it's true
you are like me, but don't let Constance make you conceited. Go near,
and look at the date carved on the marble."</p>
<p>"Why, aunt, of course it is you yourself!" exclaimed the girl, her
averted face long-drawn in mortification; she saw the smile with which
Miss Bride had received this disclosure. "How wonderful!"</p>
<p>"You can hardly believe it?"</p>
<p>Some incredulity might have been excused in one who turned from that
superb head, with its insolent youth and beauty, to the painted
death-mask grinning there before it. Yet the marble had not flattered,
and, looking closely enough, you saw a reminiscence of its contour in
the bloodless visage which, since that proud moment, had chronicled the
passions of three-score years.</p>
<p>"How stupid not to have understood at once," said May, the epithet
privately directed towards Constance.</p>
<p>"It's a magnificent bust!" declared Miss Bride, examining it now with
sincere interest. "Who was the sculptor, Lady Ogram?"</p>
<p>"My husband," answered the old lady, with pride. "Sir Quentin had much
talent, and this was the best thing he ever did."</p>
<p>"And it has just come into your possession?" asked May.</p>
<p>"No, my dear. But I thought you would like to see it."</p>
<p>An hour later, Dyce Lashmar arrived. He was conducted at once to the
drawing-room, where Lady Ogram still sat with May and Constance.</p>
<p>"I expected you," cried the senile voice, on a high note.</p>
<p>"I heard the news at dinner-time yesterday;" said Lashmar. "Just caught
the last train, and sat up half the night with Breakspeare."</p>
<p>"I sent you a telegram the first thing this morning," said Lady Ogram.
"Had you left Alverholme before it arrived?"</p>
<p>"I was in town," answered Dyce, only now remembering that he had to
account for his movements. "A letter called me up yesterday morning."</p>
<p>The old autocrat was in no mood for trifling explanations. She passed
the point, and began to ask the news from Hollingford. Who would be the
Conservative candidate? They talked, said Dyce, of a stranger to the
town, a man named Butterworth, one of Robb's private friends.</p>
<p>"It's Butterworth of the hoardings—Butterworth's jams and pickles, you
know. He's made a million out of them, and now thinks of turning his
energies to the public service. Robb, it seems, didn't mean to face
another election, and of late had privately spoken here and there of
Butterworth."</p>
<p>"Jams and pickles!" cried Lady Ogram, with a croaking laugh. "Will the
Hollingford Tories stand that?"</p>
<p>"Why not? Robb evidently thought they would, and he knew them.
Butterworth is a stout Unionist, I'm told, and if he makes another
million he may look for a peerage. Jam has not hitherto been thought so
respectable as ale or stout, but that's only a prejudice. Robb's
enlightened mind saw the budding aristocrat. Breakspeare is thinking
out an article on the deceased champion of aristocratic traditions, to
be followed by another on the blazonry of the jam-pot and pickle-jar.
We shall have merry reading when decorum releases our friend's pen."</p>
<p>As his eyes stole towards May Tomalin, Dyce perceived the marble bust.
He gazed at it in silent surprise. The looks of all were upon him;
turning, he met smiles of inquiry.</p>
<p>"Well?" said Lady Ogram, bluntly.</p>
<p>"Who is that? Is it a new work?" he inquired, with diffidence.</p>
<p>"It looks new, doesn't it?"</p>
<p>"I should have thought," said Dyce, reflectively, "that it represented
Lady Ogram at about the same age as in the painting."</p>
<p>"Constance," exclaimed the old lady, vastly pleased, "congratulate Mr.
Lashmar."</p>
<p>"Then I am right," cried Dyce, encountering Constance's look. "What a
fine bit of work! What a magnificent head!"</p>
<p>He moved nearer to it, and continued freely to express his admiration.
The resemblance to May Tomalin had struck him, he thought it probable
that some sculptor had amused himself by idealising the girl's
suggestive features; but at this juncture it seemed to him more
prudent, as in any case it would be politic, to affect to see only a
revival of Lady Ogram's youth. It startled him to find that his tact
had guided him so well.</p>
<p>He continued to behave with all prudence, talking through luncheon
chiefly with the hostess, and directing hardly a remark to May, who, on
her side, maintained an equal discretion. Afterwards, he saw Lady Ogram
in private.</p>
<p>"You mean to stay on at the hotel, no doubt," she said. "Yes, it'll be
more convenient for you than if you came here. But look in and let us
know how things go on. Let me see, to-morrow is Wednesday; don't come
to-morrow. On Thursday I may have something to tell you; yes, come and
lunch on Thursday. You understand—on Thursday. And there's something
else I may as well say at once; the expenses of the election are my
affair."</p>
<p>Dyce began a grateful protest, but was cut short.</p>
<p>"I say that is my affair. We'll talk about it when the fight is over.
No petty economies! In a day or two, when things are in order, we must
have Breakspeare here. Perhaps you had better go away for the day of
Robb's funeral. Yes, don't be seen about on that day. Spare no useful
expense; I give you a free hand. Only win; that's all I ask of you. I
shan't like it if you're beaten by jams and pickles. And lunch here on
Thursday—you understand?"</p>
<p>Dyce had never known the old autocrat so babblingly iterative. Nor had
he ever beheld her in such a mood of gaiety, of exultation.</p>
<p>"Go and have a word with Constance," she said at length. "I rather
think she's going into the town; if so, you can go together. She's in
great spirits. It isn't her way to talk much, but I can see she feels
very hopeful. By the bye, I'm expecting Sir William before dinner—Sir
William Amys, you know. He may be here still when you come on Thursday."</p>
<p>Why Lady Ogram should be so careful to conceal the fact' that Lord
Dymchurch was expected, Dyce found it difficult to understand. But it
was clear that Dymchurch had been invited in the hope, perhaps the
certainty, that he would propose to May Tomalin. That he was coming at
all seemed, indeed, decisive as to his intentions. Plainly, the old
schemer had formed this project at the time of her visit to London,
and, improbable as the thing would have appeared to any one knowing
Dymchurch, she was carrying it successfully through. On the one side;
but how about May? Dyce tried to assure himself that, being in love
with <i>him</i>, May would vainly be wooed by anyone else. But had she the
courage to hold out against her imperious relative? Could she safely do
so? The situation was extremely disquieting. He wished it were possible
to see May alone, even for a minute. But he did not see her at all,
and, as Lady Ogram had suggested, he found himself obliged to return to
Hollingford in Constance's company. They drove in the landau. On the
way, Dyce made known to his companion Lady Ogram's generous intentions.</p>
<p>"I knew she would do that," said Constance, regarding him with the
smile which betrayed her inmost thoughts.</p>
<p>Because of the proximity of their coachman, they talked in subdued
tones, their heads close together. To Lashmar this intimacy meant
nothing at all; Constance, in his busy thoughts, was as good as
non-existent. He had remarked with vexation the aspect of renewed
vigour presented by Lady Ogram, and would have spoken of it, but that
he felt ashamed to do so.</p>
<p>"Don't you think," asked his companion, "that everything is going
wonderfully well with you?"</p>
<p>"It looks so, for the present."</p>
<p>"And, after all, whom have you to thank for it?"</p>
<p>"I don't forget," Dyce replied, wondering whether she alluded to the
fact of her having introduced him to the mistress of Rivenoak, or to
the terms of their engagement.</p>
<p>"If you win the election, don't you think it would be graceful not only
to feel, but to show, a little gratitude?"</p>
<p>She spoke in a voice which once more reminded him of the summer-house
on that rainy morning, a voice very unlike her ordinary utterance, soft
and playfully appealing.</p>
<p>"Don't be so severe on me," answered Dyce, with a laugh. "I am not
<i>all</i> self-interest."</p>
<p>He added what was meant for a reassuring look, and began to talk of
electioneering details.</p>
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