CHAPTER X
IN THE FIRELIGHT
Again there was a silence, but it was not the kind of silence thatgives consent. On the other hand his look of severity was positivelydiscouraging.
"If I may inquire, what do you know about this place--this ColmereAbbey?" he finally asked. "I mean, do you know anything of it in thiscentury--whether it's still standing or not--or anything at all savewhat your imagination pictures?"
It was a rather lawyer-like query, and I shook my head, feelingsomewhat nonplused.
"No--nothing!"
"Then, if you should go to England, how would you set about findingout?"
"Oh, that wouldn't be so bad. In fact, I believe it would be a uniqueexperience to go journeying to a spot with nothing more recent than aWashington Irving sketch as guide-book."
He looked at me half pityingly.
"You might be disappointed," he said gently. "For my part, I havenever taken up a moment's time mooning about people's ancestralestates--I've had too much real work to do--but I happen to know thatresidents often fight shy of tourists."
I had a feeling of ruffled dignity.
"Of course--tourists!" I answered, bridling a little.
"Because," he hastened to explain, "the owners of the places can sooften afford to live at home only a short season every year. Many ofthem are poor, and the places they own are mortgaged to the turrets."
"And the shut-up dilapidation would not make pleasant sight-seeing forrich Americans?"
He nodded.
"I happen to have heard some such report about this ColmereAbbey--years ago," he said.
"Are you sure it was the same place?" I asked, my heart suddenlybounding. "Colmere, in Lancashire?"
"Quite sure! I was brought up in Nottingham, and have heard of theestate, but have never seen it."
"Then it's still there--my house of dreams?"
For a moment I waited, palpitatingly, for him to say more, but he onlylooked at me musingly, then back into the fire. After a second heleaned forward, shaking his unruly hair back, as if he were trying torid himself from a haunting thought.
"I--I can't talk about 'landed gentry,'" he said, turning to me with aquick fierceness. "I grow violent when I do! You've no idea howhateful the whole set is to a man who has had to make his own way inthe world--against them!" Then, after this burst of resentment, hismood seemed to change. "But we must talk about England," he added,with a hasty gentleness. "There are so many delightful things we candiscuss! Tell me, have you been there? Do you like it?"
I nodded an energetic affirmative.
"I have been there and--I love it! But it was a long while ago, and Iwasn't old enough to understand about the things which would interestme most now."
"A long while ago?"
"Yes--let me see--ten years, I believe! At all events it was thesummer after we sold the rosewood furniture--and the piano. Mother wasso amazed at herself for having the nerve to part with the grand pianothat she had to take a sea-voyage to recover herself."
"But what a happy idea!" he commented seriously, as he looked around."A grand piano would really be a nuisance in this cozy room."
For a long time afterward I wondered whether my very deepest feelingof admiration for him had been born at the moment I looked at himfirst, or when he made this remark. But I've found it's as hard toascertain Love's birthday as it is to settle the natal hour of amedieval author.
"How long have you been in America?" I next asked, abruptly; and helooked relieved.
"Ten years--off and on," he answered briskly. "Most of the time inPittsburgh, for my grandfather had chosen that place for me. He wouldnot have consented to my going back to England often, if he had lived,but I have been back a number of times, for I love journeying over theface of the earth--and, strange as it may seem, I love England. Someday--when things--when my affairs--are in different shape over there Ishall go back to stay."
The tea things were finally arranged by Cicely's nervous dusky hands,and with a cordial showing of the letter-but-not-spirit-hospitality,mother appeared, in the wake of the steaming kettle.
Her expression said more plainly than words that she would do thedecent thing or die.
"I was--" she began freezingly, as we both arose to greet her, "Iwas--"
She took in at a glance Maitland Tait's gigantic size, and shrankback--a little frightened. Then his good clothes reassured her. Agiant who patronizes a good New York tailor is a _cut_ above anordinary giant, she evidently admitted.
"--detained," she added, with the air of making a concession. Sheaccepted the chair he drew up for her, and his down-to-the-belt gracebegan making itself conspicuous. She looked him over, and herjaundiced eye lost something of its color.
"--_unavoidably_," she plead, with a regretful prettiness.
Then she made the tea, and when she saw how caressingly the big man'ssmooth brown hands managed his cup, the remaining thin layer of iceover her cordiality melted, and she became the usual charming motherof a marriageable daughter. While she was at all times absolutelyloyal to Guilford, still she knew that a mother's appearance is adaughter's asset, and she had always laid up treasures for me in thismanner.
"You were at Mrs. Walker's Flag Day reception yesterday Grace tellsme?" she inquired as casually as if a bloody battle of words had notbeen waging over the occurrence all morning. "And Mrs. Kendall wastalking with me this morning on the telephone about her dance Fridaynight--"
She paused, looking at him interrogatively, because that had been Mrs.Kendall's own emotion when mentioning the matter.
Mr. Tait glanced toward me.
"Ah, yes--I had forgotten! You will be there?"
"Yes," I answered hastily, and mother came near scalding the kitten onthe rug in the excess of her surprise. All morning, through the smokeof battle, I had sent vehement protestations against having my whitetissue redraped for the occasion, declaring that nothing could induceme to go.
"I find that one usually goes to no less than three social affairs ona trip like this--and I--well, I'm afraid I'm rather an unsocialbrute! I select the biggest things to go to, for one has to talkless, and there is a better chance of getting away early," heexplained.
Mother left the room soon after this--the sudden change of decisionabout the dance had been too much for her. Even perfect clothes andwell-bred hands and a graceful waist-line could not make her forgivethis in me. She made a hasty excuse and left.
Then our two chairs shifted themselves back into their formerpositions before the fire and we talked on in the gloaming. Somehow,since that outburst of anger against the present-day owners of ColmereAbbey, the vision of the big man--the cave-man--in the coat ofgoatskins, with the bare knees and moccasins, had come backinsistently.
Yet it was just a vision, and after a few minutes it vanished--afterthe manner of visions since the world began. He looked out the windowat the creeping darkness and rose to go.
"Then I'm to see you Friday night?" he asked at parting.
"Yes."
"I'm--I'm glad."
There had been a green and gold sunset behind the trees in the parkacross the way, and after a moment more he was lost in this weirdradiance; then he suddenly came to view again, in the glow of electriclight at the corner.
A car to the city swung round the curve just then, and a dark figure,immensely tall in the shadows, stepped from the pavement. I heard theconductor ring up a fare--a harsh metallic note that indicated_finality_ to me--then silence.
"He's gone--gone--gone!" something sad and lonesome was saying in myheart. "What if he should be suddenly called back to Pittsburgh and Ishouldn't see him again?"
To see the very last of him I had dropped down beside the front door,with my face pressed against the lace-veiled glass, and so intent wasI upon my task that I had entirely failed to hear mother's agitatedstep in the hall above.
I was brought to, however, when I heard the click of the electricswitch upon the stair. The lower hall was suddenly flooded with light.I
scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could. Mother's face, peeringat me from the landing, was already pronouncing sentence.
"Grace, I was just coming down to tell you that--well, I am compelledto say that you _amaze_ me!" she emitted first, with a tone of utterhopelessness struggling through her newly-fired anger. "Down on yourknees in your new gown--and gowns as scarce as angels' visits, too!"
"Ah--but--I'm sorry--"
"What on earth are you doing there?" she kept on.
I turned to her, blinking in the dazzling light.
"I was--let me see?--oh, _yes_!" A brilliant thought had just come tome. "--I was looking for the _key_!"
Now, I happen to hate a liar worse than anything else on earth, and Ihated myself fervently as I told this one.
"The key?" she asked suspiciously.
"It--it had fallen on the floor," I kept on, for of course whateveryou do you must do with all your might, as we learn in copy-book days.
"And it never occurred to you to turn on the light?" she demanded,coming up and looking at me as if to see the extent of disfigurementthis new malady had wrought. "Down on your knees searching for akey--and it never occurred to you to turn on the light?"
"No," I answered, thankful to be able to tell the truth again. "No, itnever once occurred to me!"
Amazing Grace, Who Proves That Virtue Has Its Silver Lining Page 10