Read Ebook: The Quiver 2/1900 by Various

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Ebook has 975 lines and 52408 words, and 20 pages

"I thought him very ugly and commonplace."

"If there were ever so many, aunt, I couldn't bear to marry again."

"And, pray, why not? You're only twenty-five; surely you are not going to mourn all your days for that precious husband of yours?" cried the spinster sharply.

"It is just because my first marriage was so unhappy that I never wish to marry again. As to marrying for money--I couldn't do it!"

It was not the first time May had listened to such counsels; and she was well aware that, should her aunt die prematurely, she herself would again be homeless. Miss Waller was not the woman to deny herself in order to save money for her niece. She must have the fine house and carriage, the handsome dress, and the dinner-parties which her soul loved; and she found May very useful in arranging flowers, writing letters, and making not a few articles of personal adornment for her aunt with her clever fingers.

Their nearest way home lay through the quiet street in which Harold Inglis lived--or, rather, starved--and, as he chanced to be at the surgery window mixing a powder, he saw the carriage driving by. The sinking sun was burnishing May's golden-brown hair; and her profile, beneath her gauzy hat, looked very fair and sweet. He sighed, as he went back to his powder, for the contrast between her lot and his own seemed a little too glaring. He did not know that all the time she had only sixpence in her purse, while he could actually boast of half-a-crown!

Two Heavy Hearts.

Doris was never allowed to partake of meals with Miss Waller, who disliked having to regulate her conversation according to inquisitive childish ears. The little girl lived in the upper regions with Mary, who divided the duties of lady's maid and nurse. After breakfast one morning, May, having done what was required by Miss Waller, went upstairs to give Doris the lessons which, so far, formed her sole instruction. She found the child flushed and heated after a combat with Mary.

"She's that cross, I can't do anything with her," grumbled the maid, who dutifully imitated her mistress in hating children. "She wouldn't eat her nice egg at breakfast, and she's pulled all her dolly's hair off--see."

"I'm afraid she's not well," said the mother gravely, as the child buried her face in May's skirt, sobbing fretfully. Her little hands were burning, her cheeks flushed, and red spots showed on the peach-like skin. "Ask Miss Waller if Jane may go for the doctor," May continued, dreading lest she had taken measles.

Miss Waller gave permission to summon the family physician, Dr. Ellis, who was the most fashionable practitioner in Beachbourne, and drove his carriage and pair; but Jane returned to say that both the doctor and his partner were out.

"Then go and fetch the nearest doctor at once!" commanded Miss Waller. "I must know whether it's infectious or not, so that I may take precautions. How vexing it will be," she complained to her niece, "if Doris is laid up for weeks, and the house placed in quarantine, just as all the gaieties are beginning! There's the Mowbrays' dinner next week, and Lady Lee's picnic, and the Clares' musical party--oh, dear!"

Not a word of sympathy for the poor child! May clenched her hands passionately in her struggle to restrain an angry reply. It was in moments like this that her shackles seemed absolutely intolerable.

Presently Jane returned, followed by Harold Inglis, the first disengaged doctor she could find. May was glad not to behold an absolute stranger, and stood by anxiously until he had examined the little patient, whose malady he pronounced to be chicken-pox. He wrote a prescription, gave a few simple directions, and then followed May downstairs to reassure Miss Waller, who was eager "to know the worst," as she put it.

She was very gracious at being relieved from anxiety, and remarked blandly, "It was very kind of you to come so promptly, Dr. Inglis. Our usual medical attendant is Dr. Ellis, but he was out. As it's such a trifling matter, don't trouble to see Doris again. If you will be good enough to send in your account for this visit, I will settle it at once."

And she bowed him out, as if determined to quench any hope he might entertain of being privileged to attend in Victoria Square. Although, of course, medical etiquette forbade his interfering with Dr. Ellis's patients, he felt somewhat disappointed as he went away. He was so weary of waiting in his dingy sitting-room for the patients who never came!

May ventured a word to her aunt when they were alone. "I wish we could help Dr. Inglis to find a few patients, aunt! He seems so nice and kind."

"There are far too many doctors in Beachbourne!" pronounced the spinster. "I shall certainly not leave Dr. Ellis--he gives such delightful dinner-parties!"

Harold plodded dejectedly home, to learn, as usual, that nobody had called during his absence; and, after thriftily changing his coat, he entered his little surgery, to find a packet on the table which had come by post. It was the manuscript of an article on throat affections, which he had sent to a medical paper in the hope of earning a little money. It had entailed great labour and research, only to be rejected with the curt intimation that the editor had no opening for such a subject.

"A note for you, sir," said the maid-of-all-work, appearing at the door.

A card stuck in the frame reminded him that Mrs. Ormsby-Paulet was "at home" that afternoon. "It's a tennis party--shall I go?" he debated. It seemed a mockery to mingle in a scene of gaiety with such a leaden weight at his heart; but a prosaic consideration decided him. "There'll be a good tea, at least, and if I make myself very agreeable, perhaps they'll ask me to stay to dinner. Besides, I may get to know some people who'll employ me."

He dressed himself carefully, and sallied forth; informing the servant of his destination, in case anybody should send for him. Despite his thin cheeks, there was not a better-looking man at "The Dene" that afternoon; for he looked a gentleman to the backbone, and as such, his hostess--who was very short of men--smiled upon him graciously.

"So glad you were able to come," she cooed. "Miss Waller," to the spinster, who had just arrived, "may I introduce my friend, Dr. Inglis?"

"I have already made his acquaintance," was the suave answer; and then Harold, to his surprise, was greeted by Mrs. Burnside, looking very fair and sweet in a cool white linen gown. He had not expected to meet her; he naturally supposed her place to be by the bedside of her sick child. In truth, she was only present at her aunt's urgent entreaty.

"I'm afraid she must be rather heartless," thought the young doctor, feeling oddly disappointed. He had not hitherto attributed want of feeling to the owner of those pathetic blue eyes. Nevertheless, as sets were being made up, he asked her to be his partner, she being famed in Beachbourne as a tennis-player.

She complied; but the set was not a success. He could not have believed that Mrs. Burnside could play so badly; they were beaten by six games to two.

"I am so sorry," she said humbly, as they quitted the court. "I know it was all my fault; but I really couldn't play--I was thinking of Doris all the time."

Her lips quivered, so that he could no longer imagine her heartless. "Your little girl will be well in a few days--there is really no cause for anxiety," he answered gently, angry with himself for having misjudged her.

"That is what Aunt Caroline says, and she insisted on my coming," plaintively returned May; but just then Miss Waller appeared, resplendent in mauve satin, with a stout, black-haired, middle-aged, and shrewd-looking man, very carefully dressed, in tow.

"I came to look for you, dear," she began very sweetly to her niece, merely giving a cold bow to Harold. "I want to introduce Mr. Lang to you. He knows our friends the Wingates in town."

"Manners Maketh Man."

"Do you mind my smoking?" began Mr. Lang, after a moment's keen scrutiny of the graceful figure beside him. Hardly waiting for permission, he produced a gold case and lighted a cigarette. "Been playing tennis, haven't you?" he continued in an off-hand way. "Stupid game, not half so good as golf--you should try golf."

"I have tried it, and I don't like it."

"Beginners seldom do. It's a fine game, for all that. You live with your aunt, don't you?"

"Yes, in Victoria Square."

"Do you like Beachbourne?"

She hesitated a moment before replying, "Yes."

"I suppose it's like all these provincial towns--heaps of gossip and scandal, eh? But you should be in London now, Mrs. Burnside. There hasn't been as gay a season for years. I shouldn't be here now, I can tell you, but I got a touch of fever last time I was at Johannesburg, and, as I can't quite shake it off, my doctor ordered me complete rest for a fortnight. So I came down here to stay with the Stevensons. I met them last year at Homburg, and ever since they've been pestering me with invitations to Beachbourne."

"Oh, have you been out in Africa?" returned May, thinking it best to ignore his flattering reference to his entertainers.

"Spent nearly twenty years there. I can remember when there wasn't a gold mine on the Randt. And, though I've come back to England for good now, I generally run over about twice a year. It's just a nice little trip to the Cape, and they really do you very well on the mail steamers," he condescendingly added, as he lighted another cigarette. "By-the-bye, this case is made of African gold--a nugget I found myself in the claim which was the beginning of the Springkloof Mine. You've heard of the Springkloof, of course?"

She shook her head, and he looked at her with evident pity for her ignorance. "I didn't think there was anybody nowadays who hadn't heard of the Springkloof!"

"I'm afraid you'll think us rather behind the times at Beachbourne," she said, as she rose, hoping to shake off her new acquaintance; but he rose, too, and kept by her side as she strolled through the beautiful grounds, speaking first to one friend and then to another.

"Not many pretty girls here, I must say," he observed disparagingly, as they approached the house, in quest of the tea-room.

"Are you an admirer of beauty?" asked May, with a rather sarcastic glance at his tubby figure.

"Quite so. I love the best of everything there is. As soon as I can find a girl pretty enough, I intend to marry," he replied with perfect gravity. "It's rather lonely all by myself in Palace Gardens. Do you like the Palace Gardens houses, Mrs. Burnside?"

"I've never been in one, and I don't even know where they are. I know very little about London, and very few people there--just the Wingates, and one or two others."

"Are the Wingates any relation?"

"Oh, no, only old friends of my aunt's. I hardly know them."

"May."

"And, by Jove, it suits you! So often girls' names don't. You find Lily as black as a crow, and Rose as sallow as she can be, and Queenie a little, insignificant dowdy with a turned-up nose!"

"What a waste!" was on the tip of May's tongue, as she thought how useful even a tenth of that sum would be to herself. The tea was cosily set out on a number of little tables in the spacious, old-fashioned dining-room. Gay groups were seated at each, and not far off was Harold Inglis, talking cheerfully with two of his host's daughters. May glanced from him to her companion, noticing how common and plebeian Mr. Lang looked when contrasted with him.

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