The Career of Katherine Bush

by Elinor Glyn

  CHAPTER XIX

  The months went by. It was Easter time before Katherine Bush again sawGerard Strobridge. He went off to Egypt about the middle of January, andLady Garribardine was up in London for a few days alone before he leftseeing her grandchildren off. Katherine missed him, and unconsciouslyhis influence directed her studies. She remembered isolated sentencesthat he had used in their talk that day in the picture gallery. He hadcertainly shown a delightfully cultivated mind, and she wished thatthings had not reached a climax so soon between them. She regretteddeeply that she had caused him any pain and determined never to deviatefrom loyal friendship so that he should have no cause to suffer further.He had not forgotten about the books, and she was now the proudpossessor of several volumes on the Renaissance, including, of course,Symonds and Pater. They opened yet another door in her imagination, andon days when she was not very busy, she would wander in the picturegallery and go over all the examples of the Italian masters again andagain, and try to get the atmosphere of the books.

  Lady Garribardine watched her silently for the first few weeks after hernephew went, without increasing their intimacy. Her shrewd mind wasstudying Katherine, to make sure that she had made no mistake about her.Such a very deep creature might have sides which would make her regrethaving dropped the reserve which, accompanied by a high-handedkindliness, she showed to all her dependents.

  The great event of New Year's day had been the advent of the grey wig sobeautifully arranged with her ladyship's own snow-white hair, that thewhole thing seemed growing together! With her dark, sparkling eyes andjet brows, she now looked an extremely handsome old lady; and Katherinewho did not see her until the afternoon when they were alone, was unableto keep a faint, almost inaudible "Ah!" of admiration from escaping,when she first saw her. She was furious with herself and bit her lip,but Lady Garribardine smiled.

  "You would say something, Miss Bush? Pray speak."

  Katherine coloured a little; she felt this was one of those slips whichshe very seldom made, but frankness being always her method, sheanswered quietly:

  "I only thought how beautiful Your Ladyship looked--just like theNattier in the gallery."

  "You find my grey locks an improvement, then?"

  "Oh, yes!"

  "The Nattier was an ancestress of mine.--A French entanglement of agreat great-grandfather, which ended, as these affairs are seldomfortunate enough to do, in a marriage all correct with the church'sblessing--the husband being most conveniently killed in a duel withanother man!--So the then d'Estaire brought her here to Blissington,where she was shockingly bored, poor thing! and died a year or two afterproducing an heir for him. When I was young, I always went to fancyballs as the charming creature--it is amusing that you see the likenesseven now."

  "It is very striking."

  "I always felt a great pity for her--transplanted from Versailles andall the joys of the Court, to this quiet, English home--Have you everread Lord Chesterfield's letters to his son, girl?"

  Katherine had not.

  "Well, then, you had better read them; there is a good edition in thelibrary. They are, you will find, the most instructive things in Englishliterature. If I had had a son, I would have brought him up upon them. Iwas reminded of them now by thinking of my twice great-grandmother.Chesterfield always quotes the French nobles of that date as the _neplus ultra_ of good breeding, and rather suggests that the Englishmenwere often boors or blockheads. So although d'Estaire may have satisfiedher, the general company could not have done so, one feels."

  "I would like to see Versailles," Katherine ventured to remark.

  "You will some day--I may go to Paris after Easter--one must haveclothes."

  Katherine realised this necessity--her own wardrobe would requirereplenishing by the springtime, but she had not dreamed of Paris.

  Her immediate action after this was to get from the library theChesterfield Letters, the reading of which she always afterwards lookedback upon as being the second milestone in her career. She devouredthem, and learned countless advantageous lessons of the world therefrom.The first and chief being the value of graciousness and good manners.She now began to realise that her own were too sullen and abrupt, and amarked change in them was soon perceivable to anyone who would havecared to notice. This was during the time when she was still only onprobation in her employer's favour, but it was not lost upon that astutelady; nothing ever escaped her eagle eye. And she often smiled toherself quietly when she watched the girl.

  Now and then they would go up to the London house for a few days and"picnic," as Her Ladyship called it, which meant taking only herpersonal footman to wait on her, and a maid or two for the house.Katherine went with her nearly always, and was sent shopping and allowedto go and see her family, if she wished.

  But she did not wish, and always met Matilda at some place for tea. Thegulf between them was growing wider and wider, and while Katherine wasfar more agreeable than of old, Matilda stood in much greater awe ofher.

  She felt, although she would not have owned it for the world, that hersister had really gone into another class, and she was not quitecomfortable with her. Katherine seemed to look more stately and refinedeach time, and Matilda gloried and grieved in secret over it.

  Gladys accompanied her on one occasion.

  "I suppose Kitten will be marrying one of them gentlemen, some day,"Matilda said on the way home to Laburnum Villa. "You'd never know shewasn't someone tip-top now, would you, Glad?"

  "No--she is quite like any of our 'real thing' lot who came intoErmantine's--they're dowdy, but you'd know they were it."

  "Well, I hope she'll be happy." Matilda sighed doubtfully.

  "Yes, she will," Gladys returned a little bitterly. "Katherine wouldnever do anything to get herself into a mess; she is quite just, and shecan be awfully kind--but she looks to the end of things and doesn't carea rush for anyone but sticks to what she wants herself. I tell you what,Tild, I used to hate her--but I don't now--I respect Katherine. She isso perfectly true."

  "She seems to talk different, don't you notice, Glad?"

  "She always did--but now more than ever; she is like our best lot--Isuppose she did learn something extra at those evening classes she wasso fond of?"

  Matilda shook her head regretfully.

  "I never did hold to them--she'd have been happy at home now and engagedto Charlie Prodgers all comfortable, but for that nonsense."

  "Oh! but, Tild, I expect what she has got is better even than that."

  "What! to be a grand lady's servant, Glad! My! I'd far rather be Mrs.Prodgers, junior, a lady myself, and keep my own general! Mabel'sforever saying Katherine can't be anything but a slave--And Mabelknows--her cousin's aunt's daughter who married that gentleman with thelarge city business was presented at Court!"

  But Mrs. Bob Hartley only sighed. Life was growing particularly grim forher just now. She felt horribly ill, and had to stand about all day, andconceal every sensation to keep up the appearances that all was fair.

  Katherine reflected deeply upon the moral of the situation, after hersisters had left her. What martyrs many women were in life! and whathideous injustice it all seemed--and more than ever she saw howmerciless nature is to weaklings.

  About three weeks before Easter, Lady Garribardine was alone down atBlissington; she had lately taken to having her secretary with hersometimes on her frequent visits to her cottagers.

  She would start in a rough, short suit, and a pair of thick boots, witha serviceable walking-stick, and would tramp for miles carrying abasket, in which were sweets and medicines. She was worshipped by herpeople, arrogant, commanding, kindly great lady!

  On one of these occasions they had the motor to meet them at the end ofthe home village, and drove six or seven miles to another in heroutlying property.

  She was very gracious as they went along.

  "What books have you been reading lately, girl? If they are theChesterfield Letters I think I may tell you that you have profited bythem. Your manners
generally are greatly improved."

  Katherine reddened with pleasure.

  "I have read them over and over again. I have found them moreinstructive to me than any other book."

  "In my young days they were considered highly immoral and pernicious, bymost of the canting Victorian hypocrites--when, of course, everyone ofthe world knew that Chesterfield's advice on all points was the mostsensible and sagacious that could be given--but hypocrisy had risen to acolossal height in the sixties and seventies."

  "I suppose so."

  "Nowadays not one person in ten thousand reads them, more's the pity. Ifthe young men with their great personal beauty--which sport and suitablefeeding have produced--could have been brought up to understand theadvantage of cultivating 'the graces,' what godlike creatures they wouldbe!"

  Katherine thought of Lord Algy; he must have done so unconsciously, shefelt.

  "People are so apt to judge such a book upon the letter, not thespirit--naturally one must make allowances for the different customs andhabits of the times; but the spirit of the advice adapted to modernrequirements would make any man or woman into an eminent person if itwas faithfully followed. I recommend it to you strongly, since I believeyou are steadily trying to educate yourself, Miss Bush."

  "I am, indeed--I hope I am not overconfident in believing that if oneprobes the meaning of everything, and can see the faults in oneself,including those of instinct, it is possible to do, by will, what onlythe evolution of centuries accomplishes by natural process. TheChesterfield Letters have encouraged me in my belief."

  "Of course, it is possible, but people will hardly ever face the truth,and would not dream of examining their own instincts; it would woundtheir self-love; they would rather be mediocre and blinded to theirstupidities, than teach themselves any useful lesson. Your determinedeffort interests me deeply, child."

  Katherine turned a radiant face of gratitude; this was praise indeed!

  "I will do all I can to merit Your Ladyship's goodness to me."

  "No, I am not good--I have no altruistic or humanitarian proclivities--Iwould not bother with you for five minutes if you were not sointelligent that I have grown to take a kind of pride in you."

  "I can't say how I appreciate Your Ladyship's kindness."

  Lady Garribardine turned and looked at her for a second, and then shesaid slowly:

  "I am going to ask you a question not strictly justifiable--and you neednot answer it if you would rather not--but you may have formed someopinion of my integrity in these months, which will perhaps allow you tobe frank with me--Did my nephew, Gerard Strobridge, make violent love toyou when he spent Christmas with us? It seemed to me at the time, andafterwards, that he grew considerably depressed."

  Katherine felt a twinge of distress.

  "Mr. Strobridge showed some interest in me which I felt it wiser todiscourage--He was very kind to me though, and agreed to be my friend,and sent me some books."

  For a second, Lady Garribardine felt irritated. Her precious Gerard tohave been a suppliant to this dependent in her house!--And then thebroad justice of her nature regained its mastery; the girl was worthy ofthe homage of a king.

  "I think he must have been extremely hard hit--I am quite devoted tohim, as you know. I rely upon you not to hurt him more than you canhelp, when he comes back."

  "I never wished to hurt him at all--I did wish to talk to him, though,because he is so clever, so at first I was glad to attract hisattention. I know now that that was wrong."

  Lady Garribardine looked at her secretary critically. She was astonishedat this frank avowal which she realised not another woman in a millionin Katherine's situation would have made.

  "You deliberately attracted him then, girl, eh?----" her voice wasstern.

  "Yes--on the afternoon he first spoke to me when we typed the charitypapers. I was so anxious to learn about books and art, and before thathe had not noticed me at all."

  "You did not calculate that it might hurt him?"

  Lady Garribardine wondered at herself that she did not feel angry.

  "No. I never thought about that--he seemed older and of the world, andable to take care of himself, and he was married."

  "None of which things ever saved a man when Eve offered the apple--Isuppose I ought to be very annoyed with you, child--but I believe it hasdone him good; he wanted rousing, he is, as you say, so clever.

  "He could have done brilliantly, but he is lacking in perseverance--Ifhe had married a woman like you, he would have risen to great things.The finest gift of God is an indomitable purpose _to do_. My nephewdrifted, I fear."

  Then their talk branched off to other things, and this proud oldaristocrat, having made up her mind now once for all that Katherinepossessed a character and qualities after her own heart, she from thisday treated her as an equal and a valued companion whenever they werenot in actual relation of employer and secretary; when in that, shewould always resume her original aloof manner of one in command.

  Katherine delighted in this _nuance_, and appreciated the subtle tributeto her own sense of the fitness of things, and never once took the ellwhen she was given the inch, showing in this the immeasurable distanceshe had risen above her class.

  And so Easter came, and with it a large party--and Gerard Strobridge. Atfirst sight, he did not appear at all changed. Katherine saw him fromthe window of the schoolroom just at sunset on the Thursday afternoon,when the guests arrived. He was walking in the rose garden with a tall,beautiful woman. The lowering globe of fire was making a blaze ofreflected light from striking the row of mullioned windows of thepicture gallery on the opposite side, and the flower-beds were a mass ofdaffodils and hyacinths. It was a nice background. He looked up, soKatherine saw his face plainly--then she stepped behind the curtain andthe pair went on.

  She felt very glad to see him, and wondered when they would meet. Atthese huge parties she never came down, even to pour out the tea if HerLadyship's hand ached, as at the smaller family Christmas one. So unlesshe made the chance deliberately, it was quite possible no words would beexchanged.

  This uncertainty added to the interest, and made her decide when Sundayshould come to take especial pains with her appearance for church--UnderGladys' direction, she would be most simply and charmingly garbed, in anew blue serge suit, and becoming black hat. Before Saturday when theyactually met, however, she had seen Gerard twice, once from the galleryas she was leaving Lady Garribardine's sitting-room, and he was talkingto the same beautiful lady in the hall--and once from her window when hepaced the rose garden alone.

  Katherine was familiar with the names and characteristics of all theguests, for had she not written their invitations and read theiranswers? Did she not type the cards which slipped into the little plateson their doors, and those for their places at dinner?--And on Saturdaynight a message came for her that she was to print two more, and goimmediately to Bronson with a fresh arrangement of the table, as twoextra men were going to turn up by motor at the last moment, guardsmenquartered at Windsor.

  She was coming from the dining-room down the passage which led to herstaircase, and also the smoking-room, when Gerard emerged from there,and met her at the foot of the stairs.

  He put out his hand with cordial friendliness, while he cried gaily:

  "At last I can greet you!--I would not go to dress on purpose, because Isaw you rush down the passage, and I knew you would have to comeback--It is good to see you again!"

  She answered suitably and would have passed on, only he barred the way.

  "I thought you were going to let me be a friend," he said reproachfully,"and here you snub me at once and want to run away."

  "No--but you will be late."

  "I care not a jot!--When can I possibly see you to-morrow?"

  His eyes began to grow hungry; he was taking in the subtle improvementin her--which had happened even in these few months. His interest in herhad not diminished, he discovered, much as he had hoped that he hadcrushed it to within bounds.

>   "I cannot say--in church, I suppose."

  "That is small comfort! May I not come up the stairs just for half anhour before lunch?"

  "Yes, if you find it possible--remember, I trust you not to do anythingunwise."

  "I promise--if you prefer it, I will ask my aunt's permission."

  "Do as you think best--but now I must go. Good-night!"

  He took her hand and kissed it--his lips were burning. Then he watchedher as she went up the stairs, never looking back. And a sudden anguishcame over him. How hopeless the whole thing was! He had better not haverelied upon his self-command, and have stayed away.

  He did not go to church on the Sunday. Katherine rather wondered atthis, as she walked back alone across the park. In the country, LadyGarribardine expected the inmates of her house to be very orthodox.

  The fine spring wind had blown two faint pink roses into her cheeks, bythe time she reached the schoolroom, and there found Mr. Strobridgeseated in her favourite armchair reading a book!

  He rose eagerly as she entered, but he did not shake hands.

  "I thought possession would be nine points of the law, so I ensconcedmyself here, and awaited you, and I am going to stay until you turn meout."

  "Very well--that will be at ten minutes to one--at five minutes to,Thomas comes to lay the table for my lunch."

  "That gives us just under half an hour--Katherine, you beautiful thing,let me look at you!"

  And now he took both her hands and pulled her to the light.

  "You have grown much prettier, you know--and are more attractive thanever, alas!"

  "If you are going to talk like that, although you may stay, I shallleave you alone."

  "No, I am going to be reasonable. Tell me everything, what you have beendoing, and reading, and thinking, since I went away?"

  "I have been doing my work--and reading all the books you gave me--andmany others--and thinking about life."

  "Never once of me, I suppose?"

  "Yes--you are part of my life--my one friend."

  He started forward.

  "Darl----" but he checked himself before the word came quite out, andsaid instead:

  "Ah! that is joy to hear! And now I want to know what you thought ofSymonds and Pater and the rest?--You will have quantities of things todiscuss with me, I am sure."

  Katherine began taking off her hat and coat, and then put them neatly onthe long, hard sofa; she never glanced in the glass or patted herhair--She was boyish in her unconsciousness.

  Gerard Strobridge watched her, and then suddenly looked away; the insanedesire was rising in him again to take her in his arms. So he exertedextra control over himself, and spent the rest of the time in trulyfriendly converse, in which he assumed the character of stern tutor,examining a promising pupil upon a holiday task performed in hisabsence.

  Katherine was enchanted, and when ten minutes to one came, she wished hehad not to go.

  "It has given me so much pleasure to talk to you--I am so glad you havecome back." But she held her hands behind her when he would have takenthem again, in gladness at her words.

  "So much touching is undesirable if we are going to remain friends," shetold him.

  "When may I come again?"

  "You must arrange that."

  "After tea, just until it is getting dark enough for Martha to be comingto draw the curtains?"

  "Yes, perhaps."

  And with this he left comforted.

  But when he had gone, Katherine Bush went and looked out of the window,and very slowly shook her head in perplexity.

  "It will certainly hurt him--and what will Her Ladyship say? She maythink I am not playing the game."

  And then she remembered Lord Chesterfield's advice in one of his maxims:

  When a man of sense happens to be in that disagreeable situation in which he is obliged to ask himself more than once, "What shall I do?"--he will answer himself--"Nothing." When his reason points out to him no good way, or at least no one way less bad than another, he will stop short and wait for light.