Along the street of Clubs, where a bruised fancy may see black balls raining, the narrow way between ducal mansions offers prospect of the sweep of greensward, all but touching up to the sunset to draw it to the dance.
Formerly, in his very early youth, he clasped a dream of gaining way to an alliance with one of these great surrounding houses; and he had a passion for the acquisition of money as a means. And it has to be confessed, he had sacrificed in youth a slice of his youth, to gain it without labour—usually a costly purchase. It had ended disastrously: or say, a running of the engine off the rails, and a speedy re-establishment of traffic. Could it be a loss, that had led to the winning of his Nataly? Can we really loathe the first of the steps when the one in due sequence, cousin to it, is a blessedness? If we have been righted to health by a medical draught, we are bound to be respectful to our drug. And so we are, in spite of Nature’s wry face and shiver at a mention of what we went through during those days, those horrible days:—hide them!
The smothering of them from sight set them sounding he had to listen. Colney Durance accused him of entering into bonds with somebody’s grandmother for the simple sake of browsing on her thousands: a picture of himself too abhorrent to Victor to permit of any sort of acceptance. Consequently he struck away to the other extreme of those who have a choice in mixed motives: he protested that compassion had been the cause of it. Looking at the circumstance now, he could see, allowing for human frailty-perhaps a wish to join the ranks of the wealthy compassion for the woman as the principal motive. How often had she not in those old days praised his generosity for allying his golden youth to her withered age—Mrs. Burman’s very words! And she was a generous woman or had been: she was generous in saying that. Well, and she was generous in having a well-born, well-bred beautiful young creature like Nataly for her companion, when it was a case of need for the dear girl; and compassionately insisting, against remonstrances: they were spoken by him, though they were but partial. How, then, had she become—at least, how was it that she could continue to behave as the vindictive Fury who persecuted remorselessly, would give no peace, poisoned the wells round every place where he and his dear one pitched their tent!
But at last she had come to charity, as he could well believe. Not too late! Victor’s feeling of gratitude to Mrs. Burman assured him it was genuine because of his genuine conviction, that she had determined to end her incomprehensibly lengthened days in reconcilement with him: and he had always been ready to ‘forget and forgive.’ A truly beautiful old phrase! It thrilled off the most susceptible of men.
His well-kept secret of the spacious country-house danced him behind a sober demeanour from one park to another; and along beside the drive to view of his townhouse—unbeloved of the inhabitants, although by acknowledgement it had, as Fredi funnily drawled, to express her sense of justice in depreciation, ‘good accommodation.’ Nataly was at home, he was sure. Time to be dressing: sun sets at six-forty, he said, and glanced at the stained West, with an accompanying vision of outspread primroses flooding banks of shadowy fields near Lakelands.
He crossed the road and rang.
Upon the opening of the door, there was a cascade of muslin downstairs. His darling Fredi stood out of it, a dramatic Undine.
CHAPTER VI. NATALY
He crossed arms, toning in similar recitative, with anguish, ‘Dove volare!’
They joined in half a dozen bars of operatic duet.
She flew to him, embraced and kissed.
‘I must have it, my papa! unlock. I’ve been spying the bird on its hedgerow nest so long! And this morning, my own dear cunning papa, weren’t you as bare as winter twigs? “Tomorrow perhaps we will have a day in the country.” To go and see the nest? Only, please, not a big one. A real nest; where mama and I can wear dairymaid’s hat and apron all day—the style you like; and strike roots. We’ve been torn away two or three times: twice, I know.’
‘Fixed, this time; nothing shall tear us up,’ said her father, moving on to the stairs, with an arm about her.
‘So, it is…?’
‘She’s amazed at her cleverness!’
‘A nest for three?’
‘We must have a friend or two.’
‘And pretty country?’
‘Trust her papa for that.’
‘Nice for walking and running over fields? No rich people?’
‘How escape that rabble in England! as Colney says. It’s a place for being quite independent of neighbours, free as air.’
‘Oh! bravo!’
‘And Fredi will have her horse, and mama her pony-carriage; and Fredi can have a swim every Summer morning.’
‘A swim?’ Her note was dubious. ‘A river?’
‘A good long stretch—fairish, fairish. Bit of a lake; bathing-shed; the Naiad’s bower: pretty water to see.’
‘Ah. And has the house a name?’
‘Lakelands. I like the name.’
‘Papa gave it the name!’
‘There’s nothing he can conceal from his girl. Only now and then a little surprise.’
‘And his girl is off her head with astonishment. But tell me, who has been sharing the secret with you?’
‘Fredi strikes home! And it is true, you dear; I must have a confidant: Simeon Fenellan.’
‘Not Mr. Durance?’
He shook out a positive negative. ‘I leave Col to his guesses. He’d have been prophesying fire the works before the completion.’
‘Then it is not a dear old house, like Craye and Creckholt?’
‘Wait and see to-morrow.’
He spoke of the customary guests for concert practice; the music, instrumental and vocal; quartet, duet, solo; and advising the girl to be quick, as she had but twenty-five minutes, he went humming and trilling into his dressing-room.
Nesta signalled at her mother’s door for permission to enter. She slipped in, saw that the maid was absent, and said: ‘Yes, mama; and prepare, I feared it; I was sure.’
Her mother breathed a little moan: ‘Not a cottage?’
‘He has not mentioned it to Mr. Durance.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mr. Fenellan has been his confidant.’
‘My darling, we did wrong to let it go on, without speaking. You don’t know for certain yet?’
‘It’s a large estate, mama, and a big new house.’
Nataly’s bosom sank. ‘Ah me! here’s misery! I ought to have known. And too late now it has gone so far! But I never imagined he would be building.’
She caught herself languishing at her toilette-glass, as, if her beauty were at stake; and shut her eyelids angrily. To be looking in that manner, for a mere suspicion, was too foolish. But Nesta’s divinations were target-arrows; they flew to the mark. Could it have been expected that Victor would ever do anything on a small scale? O the dear little lost lost cottage! She thought of it with a strain of the arms of womanhood’s longing in the unblessed wife for a babe. For the secluded modest