Mollie's Prince: A Novel

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  AN IDEALIST IN LOVE.

  "Whatever we gain, we gain by patience."

  S. TERESA.

  "Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now."

  _The Merry Wives of Windsor._

  About three weeks after Christmas Althea was sitting alone in herlibrary.

  The great room felt strangely empty that morning. There was no curlyhead to be seen bending over the writing table in Cosy Nook; no girlsecretary to answer the silver chiming of Althea's little bell. Waveneyand Doreen had gone up to town for a day's shopping, leaving Althea toenjoy the rest that she so sorely needed.

  The severe round of Christmas feastings, the lavish dispensing of cakesand ale, would have tried a robust constitution, and even Doreencomplained of unwonted fatigue; but Althea, highly strung and sensitive,had to pay the usual penalty for over-exertion by one of her painful eyeattacks, which lasted for three or four days, leaving her weak anddepressed.

  It is strange and sad how mind and body react on each other in theseattacks. A grey haze, misty and impalpable, seemed to veil Althea'sinner world, and blot out her cheerfulness. The free, healthy current ofher thoughts was checked by dimly discerned obstacles. A chilling senseof self-distrust, of rashly undertaken work, made her heart heavy.

  "It is brain-sickness," Doreen would say, to comfort her. "It will pass,my dear."

  "Yes, it will pass," returned Althea, with passive gentleness. "I knowthat as well as you do, Dorrie; but for the time it masters me. Altheaill and Althea well seem two different persons. Is it not humiliating,dear, to think we are at the mercy of our over-wrought nerves? Atrifling ailment, a little bodily discomfort, and, if we are at heaven'svery gate, we drop to earth like the lark."

  "Into our nest," returned Doreen, with a smile. "You have chosen toocheerful a simile. Larks soar perpetually, and they sing as they soar."

  "I think I am more like a blind mole at the present moment," repliedAlthea, pushing up her shade a little, that she might see her sister'sface. "Dorrie, I am ashamed of myself. I deserve any amount of scolding.I try to count up my blessings, to think of my girls' happy faces, but Iam fast in my Slough of Despond, and not all your efforts will pull meout."

  "Very well, then, we must leave you there," returned Doreen, composedly;but she gave Althea's hand a loving little squeeze as she said this. Herheart was full of tenderness and sympathy, but she was too sensible towaste words fruitlessly.

  These sick moods were purely physical, and would yield, she knew well,to time and rest. They were trials to be borne--part of Althea'slife-discipline--the cloud that checkered their home cheerfulness; forthese melancholy moods seemed to pervade the whole house.

  Althea felt much as usual that morning, though she had not quiterecovered her looks. Her face seemed longer and more sallow, and therewere tired lines round her eyes. When a woman has passed her youth,mental suffering leaves an indelible mark; and Althea looked old andworn that day, and more like Queen Elizabeth's Wraith than ever.

  "I am very idle," she was saying to herself, "but I feel that not one ofthe books that ever were written would interest me to-day. I have nospirit or energy for travels, history is too full of war and bloodshed,and biography would weary me; a novel--well, no I think not; I am not inthe mood for other people's love-stories. I wish some one would write anovel about elderly people," she went on--"middle-aged, prosaic people,who have outlived their romance. How soothing such a book would be! Icould almost write it myself. There should be plenty of incident, andvery little moralising; and it would be like one of those grey winterdays, when the sunlight is veiled in soft vapour, and every window onepasses is red with the firelight of home."

  The fancy pleased her, and she smiled at her own conceit; but it fadedin a moment when the door-bell rang.

  "A visitor at this time in the morning!" she thought, and a little frownof annoyance gathered on her brow; but it vanished when Mitchell threwopen the door and announced Lord Ralston.

  "Why, Moritz!" she exclaimed, and her voice was full of surprise andpleasure, "this is indeed a welcome sight. How long is it since you lasthonoured our poor abode? Draw that chair up to the fire and give someaccount of yourself. Even Gwen seems to have forgotten our existencesince baby Murdoch made his appearance!"

  "Ah, you may well say so," returned Moritz, with a dismal shake of hishead. "Gwen is incorrigible. I give you my word, Althea, that thebeatitude of that young woman is so excessive and so fatuous that itresembles idiocy. She fairly drivels with sentiment over that infant,and he is as ugly and snub-nosed a little chap as Gwen was herself. Hehas even got her freckles; and she calls them beauty-spots;" and LordRalston's voice expressed unmitigated disgust.

  Althea laughed.

  "I do not suppose that Madam endorses these sentiments. I should like tohear Mrs. Compton's opinion of her grandson."

  "Well, she vows he is a fine child, and he has got Jack's eyes. But, allthe same, I heard her tell Gwen that a plain baby often became ahandsome man. So we can make our own deductions from that. 'Murdoch hashis good points,' she went on, 'and he will improve.' And, would youbelieve it? that idiotic Gwen became as red as a turkey-cock.

  "'There is no improvement wanted,' she said, indignantly. 'My preciousbaby is perfect. He is beautiful in his mother's eyes, whatever hiscross old grandmother chooses to say!' And then she hugged the littlechap and cried over him, and all the time Madam sat beaming on themboth, with her fine old face tremulous with happiness.

  "It is Ruth and Naomi over again," finished Moritz. "Madam still findsfault with Jack sometimes, but never with Gwen, and the way Gwen toadiesher passes belief."

  "Gwendoline is very happy, certainly. Never was there a better-matchedcouple than she and Jack Compton." Althea spoke in a tone of warminterest. She had forgotten her distaste for other people's love-storiesat that moment, and the thought of her young cousin's happiness waspleasant to her. "Dear Gwen, I am so fond of her. I am glad that one manhad the sense to fall in love with her, in spite of her plain face; butyou know, Moritz, that I always thought Gwen's ugliness quite charming."

  "Yes, but I could not have done it in Jack's place," returned Moritz,rather thoughtfully. "I am too great an admirer of beauty." And then hechanged the subject a little abruptly. "Jack and Gwen and their son andheir have been staying with me at Brentwood. I had a house-party forChristmas and the New Year, and I wanted Gwen to play hostess. It was anawful bore, and I got pretty sick of it, but they had both beenlecturing me on the duties I owed to my fellow-creatures. Well, I haveplayed my Lord Frivol long enough, and now I am plain Mr. Ingram again."

  "What, still masquerading? Isn't it time for you to unmask?" But heshook his head.

  "No, not yet; but there is method in my madness. We have not quitecompleted our little comedy, but I think the closing scene will beeffective." He shut his eyes as though to picture the scene, and thenopened them abruptly. "I have not been to Cleveland Terrace for an age.In fact, I only came up from Brentwood this morning, and on my way uphere I passed Doreen and Miss Ward."

  "Oh, then you knew I was alone?"

  "To be sure I did. That is why I appear in my true character. Isuppose"--his voice changing perceptibly--"that Miss Mollie and herfather and my friend the humourist are well?" But Moritz did not look atAlthea as he put this question, and so did not see the little smile onher lips.

  "They were quite well when Waveney went home on Sunday. She said Molliewas a little pale and tired; but then, she had been taking too long awalk. She spent a night here on the evening of our girls' entertainment.It was quite amusing to see how they all admired her. She was the MayQueen in one of the _tableaux_. It was the prettiest thing imaginable."

  "I wish I had seen it;" and Lord Ralston's eyes were dark and bright. IfAlthea had not guessed his secret long ago, she would have guessed itnow. With one of those sudden impulses which were natural to her, sheput her hand gently on his arm.

 
"Moritz," she said, in her sweet, womanly way, "does Gwen know. Have youmade her your confidante?"

  Just for a moment Moritz drew himself up a little stiffly--as though heresented the question; but the kindness in Althea's eyes disarmed him,and perhaps his need of sympathy was too great.

  "There was no need to tell her," he returned, in a low voice; "shefound it out for herself. Gwen is very acute about such things."

  "And she approves?"

  "Oh, we have not come to that point yet"--speaking in his old, airymanner--"but she was very much interested, and as good as gold. Shelaughed at me a little for what she called my fantastic chivalry; but,all the same, she seemed to like it."

  "But, Moritz, why are you so afraid of appearing in your true colours? Ido not see that Viscount Ralston is a less interesting person than Mr.Ingram."

  "Perhaps not," he returned, drily; "but we all have our whims. I am anIdealist, you must remember that, and I have a wish to stand on my ownmerits as a man, and not to make myself taller by posing on my pedestalof thirty thousand a year. It may be a foolish whimsie, but it is aharmless one, and affords me plenty of innocent amusement."

  Althea smiled, but she knew it was useless to pursue the argument.Moritz and Gwendoline were both utterly unmanageable when they had acrotchet in their head. They cared nothing about the world's opinion,and as for Madam Grundy, or any other madam, they had simply no regardfor them. Already Viscount Ralston was considered a most eccentricperson, and sundry matrons had admonished their daughters on no accountto contradict him. "He is a little odd, certainly," one of themremarked, "but I am told he is really clever and original, and that sortof thing wears off after a time. Your father is very much taken withhim, so you may make yourself as agreeable as you like to Lord Ralston."

  "And when may I ask him to marry me?" returned the daughter, to whomthis Machiavellian speech had been addressed; for Lady Ginevra hadplenty of spirit, and was clever enough to read between the lines."Mother was terribly put out," she informed her younger sisterafterwards. "She lectured me for ten minutes on what she called mycoarseness and vulgarity; but, as I told her, I prefer vulgarity tohypocrisy. 'You and father want me to marry Viscount Ralston,' I toldher, 'because he has Brentwood Hall and a fine house in town and thirtythousand a year, and it does not matter one bit if I care for him ornot; if he holds out the sceptre to me I am to touch it.' But, thankheavens, Jenny, these are not the Dark Ages, and though mother frownedand stamped her foot, there was no 'Get thee to a nunnery!'" And LadyGinevra laughed and went off to put on her habit, for it was the hourwhen she and her father rode in the park.

  Althea had a word to say before she let the subject drop.

  "At the theatre you spoke of needing my help, Moritz. I hope you willlet me know when my assistance is wanted."

  "Oh, I was going to speak to you about that," he returned, quickly. "Yousee, my dear cousin, that there are circumstances in which a man isbound not to be selfish. Miss Mollie"--how his voice always softened ashe said the name!--"is so simple and childlike; she knows so little ofthe world, and her life has been so retired, that I dare not hurrymatters. She must learn to know and trust me before I can venture tomake my meaning plain."

  "Yes, I can understand that."

  "Gwen quite agrees with me, but all the same I think--at least, Ihope--that Monsieur Blackie's probation will soon be over, but Gwen andI have all our plans in readiness. What do you say to a picnic party atBrentwood about the middle of next month?"

  "My dear Moritz, are you crazy? Really, an Idealist in love is aterrible being. A picnic in the middle of February! Do you want thethree grim sisters, snow and hail and frost, to be among your guests?"

  "Pshaw! nonsense!" he replied, impatiently. "There are lovelyspring-like days in February. Besides, with the sort of picnic I mean,weather will not signify. You had better hear my programme first,Althea."

  "Oh, go on," she returned, in a resigned voice. "I will try to forget mycommon-sense while I listen to you."

  But he only twirled his moustache triumphantly.

  "The party will be small and select; just you and the two Misses Wardand Gwen and myself."

  "And not Noel?" in some surprise.

  "Noel! Oh, dear, no! My friend the humourist would be decidedly _detrop_. He is too acute and wide-awake a youth, and Monsieur Blackiewould be found out in a moment."

  "But I thought Lord Ralston was to be our host!" Althea spoke in apuzzled tone. Then Moritz patted her in a soothing manner.

  "Keep calm, I entreat you," he said, gently. "In the presence of greatthoughts we should always keep calm. Lord Ralston is my intimate friend,please understand that. We are like brothers, he and I, and it is forthe corner of his picture-gallery, at Brentwood, that King Canute wasbought; Miss Ward and her sister will be interested to see it again. Andas Brentwood Hall, with its Silent Pool, is a show place--a picnic therewill be the most natural thing in the world."

  "And the master is absent."

  "Yes, he is absent--but he may return at any moment;" and here there wasa strange glow in Moritz's eyes. "We must leave town early," he went on,briskly, after a moment's pause--"and I think we could reach Brentwoodby midday. Gwen has promised to meet us at the Hall, and we shall haveplenty of time to see the picture-gallery, and more of the rooms beforeluncheon. I shall coach the servants carefully, so there will be no_contretemps_. After luncheon there will be the conservatories and theSilent Pool, and then tea in the blue drawing-room; it will be lightuntil half-past five, so you may as well tell Doreen not to expect youhome until eight. Oh, I forgot one important part of the programme: Gwenmeans to carry you off to Kingsdene, either before or after tea, to seebaby Murdoch and Madam; she is staying with them at present."

  It was evident, from Althea's amused look, that the picnic at Brentwoodwould meet with her approval, and she was just about to give a cordialassent when Mitchell entered to tell her that luncheon was ready; and atthe same time she handed her a telegram.

  "It is for Miss Ward, ma'am," she said; "and the boy is waiting."

  "Then I suppose I had better open it," returned Althea. "There was sometalk of their going to Cleveland Terrace to have tea with Mollie, ifthey finished their shopping in time. Perhaps this is to say that she isout or engaged." And then Althea opened the yellow envelope. But hercountenance changed as she read the telegram.

  "Do not come," was all it said. "Mollie is ill--will write." It was fromEverard Ward.