The Arbiter: A Novel

by Lady Florence Eveleen Eleanore Olliffe Bell

  CHAPTER V

  Francis Rendel came into the room with his usual air of ceremony,amounting almost to stiffness. Then, as he realised that his hostess wasalone, his face lighted up and he came eagerly towards her.

  "This _is_ a piece of good fortune, to find you alone," he said. "I wasafraid I should find you surrounded."

  "It is early yet," Lady Gore said, with a smile.

  "I know, yes," Rendel said. "I must apologise for coming at this time,but I wanted very much to see you----" He paused.

  "I am delighted to see you at any time," Lady Gore said.

  "It is so good of you," he answered, in the tone of one who is thinkingof the next thing he is going to say. There was a silence.

  "I hope you enjoyed yourself at Maidenhead?" said Lady Gore.

  "Very, very much," Rendel answered with an air of penetrated conviction.There was another pause. Then he suddenly said, "Lady Gore----" andstopped.

  She waited a moment, then said gently, "Yes, I know. Rachel has beentelling me."

  "She has! Oh, I am so glad," Rendel said. Then he added, findingapparently an extreme difficulty in speaking at all, "And--and--do youmind?"

  "That is a modest way of putting it," said Lady Gore, smiling. "No, Idon't mind. I am glad."

  "Are you really?" said Rendel, looking as if his life depended on theanswer. "Do you mean that you really think you--you--could be on myside? Then it will come all right."

  "I will be on your side, certainly," said Lady Gore; "but I don't knowthat that is the essential thing. I am not, after all, the person whoseconsent matters most."

  "Do you know, I believe you are," Rendel said. "I verily believe that atthis moment you come before any one else in the world." There was noneed to say in whose estimation, or to mention Rachel's name.

  "Well, perhaps at this moment, as you say," said Lady Gore, "it ispossible, but there is no reason why it should go on always."

  "She is absolutely devoted to you," Rendel said.

  "Rachel has a fund," her mother said, "of loyal devotion, of unswervingaffection, which makes her a very precious possession."

  "I have seen it," said Rendel. "Her devotion to you and her father isone of the most beautiful things in the world, even though...."

  "Even...?" said Lady Gore, with a smile.

  "Did she tell you what she said to me this morning?"

  "I gathered, yes," Lady Gore replied, "both what you had said and heranswer."

  "I didn't take it as an answer," said Rendel. "I thought that I wouldcome straight to you and ask you to help me, and that you wouldunderstand, as you always do, in the way that nobody else does."

  "Take care," said Lady Gore smiling, "that you don't blindly acceptRachel's view of her surroundings."

  "Oh, it is not only Rachel who has taught me that," said Rendel, hisheart very full. "It is you yourself, and your sympathy. I wonder," hewent on quickly, "if you know what it has meant to me? You see, it isnot as if I had ever known anything of the sort before. To have had itall one's life, as your daughter has, must be something very wonderful.I don't wonder she does not want to give it up."

  Lady Gore tried to speak more lightly than she felt. "She need not giveit up," she said, with a somewhat quivering smile. "And you need notthank me any more," she went on. "I should like you to know what a greatinterest and a great pleasure it has been to me that you should havecared to come and see me as you have done, and to take me into yourlife." Rendel was going to speak, but she went on. "I have never had ason of my own. It was a great disappointment to me at first; I was veryanxious to have one. I used to think how he and I would have planned outhis life together, and that he might perhaps do some of the things inthe world that are worth doing. You see how foolish I was," she ended,with a tremulous little smile.

  Rendel, in spite of his gravity, experience and intuitive understanding,had a sudden and almost bewildering sense of a change of mental focus ashe heard the wise, gentle adviser confiding in her turn, and confessingto foolish and unfulfilled illusions. He felt a passionate desire to beof use to her.

  "I should have been quite content if he had been like you," she said,and she held out her hand, which he instinctively raised to his lips.

  "You make me very happy," he said. "You make me hope."

  "But," she said, trying to speak in her ordinary voice, "--perhaps Iought to have begun by saying this--I wonder if Rachel is the right sortof wife for a rising politician?"

  "She is the right sort of wife for me," said Rendel. "That is all thatmatters."

  "I'm afraid," Lady Gore said, "she isn't ambitious."

  "Afraid!" said Rendel.

  "She has no ardent political convictions."

  "I have enough for both," said Rendel.

  "And--and--such as she has are naturally her father's, and thereforeopposed to yours."

  "Then we won't talk about politics," Rendel said, "and that will be awelcome relief."

  "I'm afraid also," the mother went on, smiling, "that she is not abreastof the age--that she doesn't write, doesn't belong to a club, doesn'teven bicycle, and can't take photographs."

  "Oh, what a perfect woman!" ejaculated Rendel.

  "In fact I must admit that she has no bread-winning talent, and that incase of need she could not earn her own livelihood."

  "If she had anything to do with me," said Rendel, "I should be ashamedif she tried."

  "She is not as clever as you are."

  "But even supposing that to be true," said Rendel, "isn't that a stateof things that makes for happiness?"

  "Well," replied Lady Gore, "I believe that as far as women are concernedyou are behind the age too."

  "I am quite certain of it," Rendel said, "and it is therefore to berejoiced over that the only woman I have ever thought of wanting shouldnot insist on being in front of it."

  "The only woman? Is that so?" Lady Gore asked.

  "It is indeed," he said, with conviction.

  "And you are--how old?"

  "Thirty-two."

  "It sounds as if this were the real thing, I must say," she said, with asmile.

  "There is not much doubt of that," said he quietly. "There never was anyone more certain than I am of what I want."

  "That is a step towards getting it," Lady Gore said.

  "I believe it is," he said fervently. "You have told me all the thingsyour daughter has not--that I am thankful she hasn't--but I know,besides, the things she has that go to make her the only woman I want topass my life with--she is everything a woman ought to be--she reallyis."

  "My dear young friend," said Lady Gore, with a shallow pretence oflaughing at his enthusiasm, "you really are rather far gone!"

  "Yes," said Rendel, "there is no doubt about that. I have not, by theway, attempted to tell you about things that are supposed to matter morethan those we have been talking about, but that don't matter reallynearly so much--I mean my income and prospects, and all that sort ofthing. But perhaps I had better tell Sir William all that."

  "You can tell him about your income," said Lady Gore, "if you like."

  "I have enough to live upon," the young man said. "I don't think that onthat score Sir William can raise any objection."

  "Let us hope he won't on any other," she replied. "We must tell him whathe is to think."

  "And my chances of getting on, though it sounds absurd to say so, arerather good," he went on. "Lord Stamfordham will, I know, help mewhenever he can; and I mean to go into the House, and then--oh, then itwill be all right, really."

  At this moment the door opened and Sir William came in.

  "You are the very person we wanted," his wife said.

  "You want to apologise to me for the conduct of your party, I suppose,"said Gore to Rendel, half in jest, half in earnest, as he shook hands.

  "I'm very sorry, Sir William," said Rendel, "if we've displeased you.Pray don't hold me responsible."

  "Oh yes," said Lady Gore lightly, to give Rendel time, "one always holdsone's political adver
sary responsible for anything that happens todisplease one in the conduct of the universe."

  "I hope," said Rendel, trying to hide his real anxiety, "that SirWilliam will try to forgive me for the action of my party, andeverything else. Pray feel kindly towards me to-day."

  Sir William looked at him inquiringly, affecting perhaps a moreunsuspecting innocence than he was feeling. Rendel went on, speakingquickly and feeling suddenly unaccountably nervous.

  "I have come here to tell you--to ask you----" He stopped, then went onabruptly, "This morning, at Maidenhead, I asked your daughter to marryme."

  "What, already?" said Sir William involuntarily. "That was very prompt.And what did she say?"

  "She said it was impossible," Rendel answered, encouraged more byGore's manner and his general reception of the news than by his actualwords.

  "Impossible, did she say?" said Sir William. "And what did you say tothat?"

  "That I should come here this afternoon," Rendel replied.

  Sir William smiled.

  "That was prompter still," he said. "It looks as if you knew your ownmind at any rate."

  "I do indeed, if ever a man did," said Rendel confidently. "And I reallydo believe that it was because she was a good daughter she said it wasimpossible."

  "Well, if it was, that's the kind that often makes an uncommonly goodwife," Sir William said.

  "I don't doubt it," Rendel said, with conviction. "And I feel that ifonly you and Lady Gore----"

  He stopped, as the door opened gently, and Rachel appeared, in a freshwhite summer gown. She stood looking from one to the other, arrested onthe threshold by that strange consciousness of being under discussionwhich is transmitted to one as through a material medium. Then whatseemed to her the full horror of being so discussed swept over her. Wasit possible that already the beautiful dream that had surrounded her,that wonderful secret that she had hardly yet whispered to herself, washaving the light of day let in upon it, was being handled, discussed, asthough it were possible that others might share in it too?

  Rendel read in her face what she was going through. He went forwardquickly to meet her.

  "I am afraid," he said, putting his thoughts into words more literallythan he meant, "that I have come too soon. I hope you will forgive me?"

  "It is rather soon," Rachel answered, not quite knowing what she wassaying.

  "But you don't say whether you forgive him or not, Rachel," said SirWilliam, whose idea of carrying off the situation was to indulge in thetime-honoured banter suitable to those about to become engaged.

  "Don't ask her to say too much at once," Lady Gore said quickly,realising far better than Rachel's father did what was passing in thegirl's mind.

  "I'm afraid I can't say very much yet," Rachel said hesitatingly.

  "I don't want you to say very much," said Rendel, "or indeed anything ifyou don't want to," he ended somewhat lamely and entreatingly.

  "Miss Tarlton!" announced the servant, throwing the door open.

  The four people in the room looked at each other in consternation.Events had succeeded each other so quickly that no one had thought ofproviding against the contingency of inopportune visitors by saying LadyGore was not at home. It was too late to do anything now. Miss Tarltonhappily had no misgivings about her reception. It never crossed her mindthat she could be unwelcome, especially to-day that she had brought withher some photographs taken from the Gores' own balcony some weeksbefore, on the occasion of some troops having passed along Prince'sGate. She had half suggested on that occasion that she should come, inorder that she might have a post of vantage from which to take some ofthe worst photographs in London, and the Gores had not had the heart torefuse her. If she had had any doubt, however--which she had not--abouther hosts' feelings in the matter, she would have felt that she had nowmade up for everything by bringing them the result of her labours, andthat nothing could be more opportune or more agreeable than her entranceon this particular occasion.

  Miss Tarlton was a single woman of independent means living alone, adestiny which makes it almost inevitable that there should be aluxuriant growth of individual peculiarities which have never needed toaccommodate themselves to the pressure of circumstances or ofcompanionship. She was perfectly content with her life, and none theless so although those to whom she recounted the various phases of itwere not so content at second hand with hearing the recital of it. Shewas one of those fortunate persons who have a hobby which takes theplace of parents, husband, children, relations--a hobby, moreover, whichappears to afford a delight quite independent of the varying degrees ofsuccess with which it is pursued. Unhappily the joy of those who thuspursue a much-loved occupation is bound to overflow in words; and ifthey have no daily auditor within their own four walls, they are drivenby circumstances to choose their confidants haphazard when they go out.Miss Tarlton's confidences, however, were all of an optimisticcharacter: she inflicted on her hearers no grievances against destiny.She recorded her vote, so to speak, in favour of content, and therebyestablished a claim to be heard.

  To see her starting on one of her photographing expeditions was to beconvinced that she considered the scheme of the universe satisfactory,as she went off with her felt hat jammed on to her head, with an air,not of radiant pleasure perhaps, but of faith in her occupation ofunflinching purpose. With her camera slung on to her bicycle and her fatlittle feet working the pedals, she had the air of being the forerunnerof a corps of small cyclist photographers. Life appealed to Miss Tarltonaccording to its adaptability to photography. For this reason she wasnot preoccupied with the complications of sentiment or of the softeremotions which not even the Roentgen rays have yet been able to reproducewith a camera.

  "How do you do, Lady Gore?" she said as she came in. "I am later than Imeant to be. I was so afraid I should not get here to-day, but I knewhow anxious you would be to see the photographs."

  "How kind of you!" Lady Gore said vaguely, for the moment entirelyforgetting what the photographs were.

  Miss Tarlton, after greeting the other members of the party, and makingacquaintance with Rendel, all on her part with the demeanour of one whoquickly despatches preliminaries before proceeding to really importantbusiness, drew off her gloves, displaying strangely variegated fingers,and proceeded to take from the case she was carrying photographs invarious stages of their existence.

  "I have brought you the negatives of one or two," she said, holding oneafter another up to the light, "as I didn't wait to print them all. Ah,here is one. This is how you must hold it, look."

  Lady Gore tried to look at it as though it were really the photograph,and not the equilibrium of a most difficult situation, that she wastrying to poise. Sir William was about to propose to Rendel to come downwith him to his study, but Miss Tarlton obligingly included everybody atonce in the concentration upon her photographs which she felt thesituation demanded.

  "Look, Sir William," she said. "I am sure you will be interested in thisone. That is Lord X. He is a little blurred, perhaps; still, when oneknows who it is, it is a very interesting memento, really. Look, MissGore, this is the one I did when we were standing together. Do youremember?"

  "Oh! yes, of course," Rachel said. She did, as a matter of fact, verywell remember the occasion, the length of time that had been necessaryto adjust the legs of the camera, which appeared to have a miraculouspower of interweaving themselves into the legs of the spectators; thepiercing cry from Miss Tarlton at the feather of another lady's hatcoming across the field of vision just as the troops came within focus;and a general sense of agitation which had prevented any one in thephotographer's immediate surroundings from contemplating with a detachedmind the military spectacle passing at their feet.

  "These plates are really too small," said Miss Tarlton; "I have beenwishing ever since that I had brought my larger machine that day." Herhearers did not find it in their hearts to echo this wish. "Of course,though, a small machine is most delightfully convenient. It is soportable, one need never be without it. I
am told there is quite a tinyone to be had now. Have you seen it, Sir William?"

  "No, I haven't," said Sir William, in an entirely final and decidedmanner. Miss Tarlton turned to Rendel as though to ask him, but saw thathe was standing apart with Rachel, apparently deep in conversation. Shefelt that it was rather hard on Rachel to be called away when she mighthave been enjoying the photographs.

  "Do you know whether Mr. Rendel photographs?" she said to Lady Gore, ina more subdued tone.

  "I really don't know; I think not," Lady Gore said, amused in spite ofherself at her husband's rising exasperation, although she was consciousof sharing it.

  "Rendel," said Sir William, obliged to let his feelings find vent inspeech at the expense of his discretion, "Miss Tarlton is asking whetheryou photograph?"

  "I'm afraid I don't," said Rendel.

  "Ah, I thought not," said Sir William, giving a sort of grunt ofsatisfaction.

  "It is only..." said Miss Tarlton, who had relapsed into her photographsagain, and was therefore constrained to speak in the sort of absent,maundering tone of people who try to frame consecutive sentences whilethey are looking over photographs or reading letters--"ah--this is theone I wanted you to see, Lady Gore----"

  "Oh! yes, I see," said Lady Gore, mendaciously as to the spirit, if notto the letter, for she certainly did not see in the negative held up byMiss Tarlton, which appeared to the untutored mind a square piece ofgrey dirty glass with confused black smudges on it, all that MissTarlton wished her to behold there. Then she became aware of a welcomeinterruption.

  "How do you do, Mr. Wentworth?" she said, putting down the photographwith inward relief, as a tall young man with a fair moustache and merryblue eyes came into the room.

  "Photographs?" he said, after exchanging greetings with his host andhostess, nodding to Rendel and bowing to Rachel.

  "Yes," said Lady Gore. "Now you shall give your opinion."

  "I shall be delighted," he said. "I have got heaps of opinions."

  "Do you photograph?" said Miss Tarlton, with a spark of renewed hope.

  "I am sorry to say I don't," answered Wentworth. "I believe it is acharming pursuit."

  "It is an inexhaustible pleasure," said Miss Tarlton, with conviction.

  "I congratulate you," said Wentworth, "on possessing it."

  "Yes," said Miss Tarlton solemnly, "I lead an extremely happy life. Itake out my camera every day on my bicycle, and I photograph. When I gethome I develop the photographs. I spend hours in my dark room."

  "It is indeed a happy temperament," said Wentworth, "that can findpleasure in spending hours in a dark room."

  "Have you ever tried it?" said Miss Tarlton.

  "Certainly," said Wentworth. "In London in the winter, when it is foggy,you know."

  "Oh," said Miss Tarlton, again with unflinching gravity. "I don't thinkyou quite understand what I mean. I mean in a photographic dark room,developing, you know."

  "I see," said Wentworth. "When I am in a dark room in the winter Igenerally develop theories."

  "Develop what?" said Miss Tarlton.

  "Theories, about smuts and smoke, you know; things people write to thepapers about in the winter," said Wentworth, whose idea of conversationwas to endeavour to coruscate the whole time. It is not to be wonderedat, therefore, if the spark was less powerful on some occasions than onothers.

  "Oh," said Miss Tarlton, not in the least entertained.

  Wentworth, a little discomfited, could for once think of nothing to say.

  "I suppose," said Miss Tarlton, still patiently pursuing herinvestigations in the same hopeless quarter, "you don't know the name ofthat quite, quite new and tiny machine?"

  "Machine? What sort of machine?" said Wentworth.

  "A camera," said Miss Tarlton, with an inflection in her tone whichentirely eliminated any other possibility.

  "No, I'm afraid I don't," said Wentworth. "I don't know the name of anycameras, except that their family name is legion."

  "What?" said Miss Tarlton.

  "Legion," said Wentworth again, crestfallen.

  "Oh," said Miss Tarlton.

  "Pateley would be the man to ask," said Wentworth, desperately trying toput his head above the surface.

  "Pateley? Is that a shop?" said Miss Tarlton eagerly. "Where?"

  "A shop!" said Sir William, laughing. "I should like to see Pateley'sface"--but the door opened before he completed his sentence, and hiswish, presumably not formed upon aesthetic grounds, was fulfilled.