Chapter XX: Disillusioned

AT Hollingsby Kathleen recovered her spirits, and to the dear friends, the sight of whose faces was indescribably welcome to her, she seemed her old bright self.

"Here," she thought, "John will be out of the way of temptation, and we shall be really happy. I must forget the little things which frightened me. I had been brought up so quietly, I could hardly judge for a man thirteen years my senior, and who knows so much of the gay world. It is not likely we should see eye to eye on such matters. After all, the world's opinions differ from those instilled into me. It calls many things 'mere trifles,' yet my conscience condemns them. I have had enough of it already."

Kathleen longed to resume her old mode of life, only with its usefulness enlarged, and its responsibilities deepened by a sense of the new obligations on which she had entered. Her husband, however, resumed his old habits also. Kathleen might rusticate to her heart's content, whilst he often "ran up to town" alone. If she complained, his absences became more frequent, and her deep affection proved a weapon for her punishment, because she desired his presence, and had hoped so much from association in their aims and pursuits at home.

She was ready to concede much, but she could not forget that she had given him everything, as well as her love, asking only for affection in return. Without this, she would be poor indeed.

When the time came, she had to consent to a second season in town, though she dreaded the cost, owing to Mr. Torrance's extravagant estimate as to what must be expended.

Ralph was at school. He had proved exacting and unmanageable during his father's absences.

"I knew long ago that he was a self-willed young rascal," said Mr. Torrance, with a laugh. "You tamed him for a time, but, though he loves you better than any one, he wants a stronger hand than yours, and adviser head than mine to keep him in his place. I have asked Matheson to find a school for him. He knows more of such places than I do."

This Aylmer did, and bestowed much kindly oversight on Ralph, for which, in his careless fashion, the father was grateful. Indeed, John Torrance recognized the nobility and unselfishness of Aylmer's character, and the latter found himself in the position of adviser to both husband and wife.

Torrance listened, but rarely acted on his counsel. Kathleen learned, with a feeling of humiliation, how much better it was to appeal to her old guardian than to her husband, whose only reply to a question would be, "Ask Matheson. We are in luck, Kitty, to have such a mentor. He was a victim to your charms, I know, but I cannot be jealous of him. He acts the good brother now, and will be an ideal rich uncle."

A careless laugh and look of self-satisfaction accompanied the words, for John Torrance, whilst paying this compliment, felt a contempt for what he called "Matheson's weak side as Kitty's guardian."

Kathleen had been three years married when her first baby-boy was born. He was called Kenneth Mountford, after her father, and was a beautiful child, much like herself.

"He has your eyes, Kitty," said Mr. Torrance, kissing her. "I am glad. One son like me is quite enough."

"Ralph will be pleased with the little darling," said Kathleen.

"Do not count on that. He is horribly jealous, and may show his unpleasant side. Remember how exacting he used to be."

"That was different. He must love his little brother," and Kathleen pressed her treasure to her breast with a new sense of riches, and the thought, "What a new, sweet bond our baby will be between John and me! Home will have more attraction for him now."

The result was not quite equal to her hopes.

"I can't get wildly enthusiastic about a youngster in the early stages of his existence," said John. "When he can trot about and back a pony, he will be more in my line. He is a dear little thing, of course; how could your son be anything else, Kitty? But he is your first baby, not my first son, and my memories of the troubles incidental to teething, and the ailments to which infant flesh is heir, are none of the sweetest. I was almost jealous of Ralph for absorbing his mother's attention."

The careless words pained the young wife, and tears fell on her baby's cheeks as she said, "He is our first boy, John."

"Of course, darling, and quite the most charming infant ever seen," he replied gaily.

Then he kissed her again, and said she would be better without him for awhile, and that she must not excite herself the least bit, but get strong soon, for he could not do without her society.

Kathleen thought sadly that he managed to do without it very often, and appeared well contented to go his own way. But she resolved that even her new sweet cares should be made as subservient as possible to the claims of her husband. She would watch over her baby, but John should have no cause to complain of neglect.

Mr. Torrance's predictions about Ralph proved only too true. The boy regarded his baby brother as an intruder, and towards Kathleen he was by turns loving as of old, and angry when, as unavoidably happened, she was unable to give him all the attention he wished. It was a relief when the holidays were over and Ralph back at school.

To Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine the little one was a source of immense interest. All that the most loving mother and sister could have done they did, and their near neighbourhood was the greatest possible comfort to Kathleen.

"We shall be granny and maiden aunt to your boy, Kitty," said Geraldine. "What a pleasure it is that when real kindred are few and far-away, we can be adopted into new relationships!"

"I have always counted on having aunty as 'granny' to my boy, but I don't want you to be the maiden aunt, dear Ger," said Kathleen. "I always hope—"

"Hush, Kitty! There is room neither for hope nor fear. I have chosen my role, I shall never change it."

Kathleen durst say no more. Yet she had hoped and longed that her cousin might make up to Aylmer for the disappointment she had caused him. Each, however, seemed to find happiness in a life of unostentatious good-doing, and, in Geraldine's case, in filial duty also.

Kathleen knew no more than others did, that Aylmer had lately asked Geraldine to be his wife.

He had always been profoundly impressed by the beauty of her character, and since his great love for Kathleen had been all in vain, he had begun to ask himself, if esteem might not be a sufficiently firm foundation on which to build his hope of wedded happiness.

To Geraldine Aylmer's offer was at once a temptation and a trial. Her heart was his, and yet when he asked her to share his lot she refused his offer.

"I am too romantic, too much of a woman to marry on your terms, Aylmer," she replied to his honest confession, for he had told her all the truth.

"Still, dear Geraldine, with such a foundation, and the certainty that our hopes, aims, and labours would be in perfect accord, might we not reasonably expect more than the average amount of happiness?"

"Perhaps so, but not the highest and best of all. Not the kind that God's laws have ordained as the condition of a perfect union. I could not be satisfied for you to have anything less than the best that is possible, and you would not have this ideal union, as the husband of one whom you regard only as a dear friend. I know you feel respect and a kind of affection for me, but the inner sanctuary of your heart is barred against me and all the world beside."

"But if I can make you happy, and you can give me—" Aylmer began.

A crimson flush overspread Geraldine's face as she pleaded, "Please do not go on. Surely, in such a case, a man should not ask more than he can give, and a woman ought to refuse anything less than an equivalent for what she bestows."

Then, as if realizing the implied confession she had made, Geraldine covered her face with her hands to hide tears of mingled pain and humiliation.

"Forgive me that I have offered you less than the best, dear Ger," said Aylmer. "Be my friend still. In friendship we shall owe each other nothing."

"Friends now and always, Aylmer," replied Ger, looking bravely up and extending her hand.

He took it almost reverently, lifted it to his lips, and then left her. He felt that her decision was the only one possible to such a nature, and was never so near loving Geraldine as at the moment after she had refused to be his wife.

After the birth of Kathleen's boy, Aylmer could not help recalling to mind the fact that owing to the deed by which she had persisted in conveying the freehold to her husband, Ralph would inherit the Mountford estate as well as an equal share of personalty with the younger child, in case John Torrance died intestate.

"I will speak to Kathleen first, then to Torrance if necessary," said Aylmer. "If he has not made a will, he ought to be reminded of the need for so doing."

Aylmer again spoke of the position to Kathleen, and asked if Mr. Torrance had named the subject.

"John seldom speaks of business matters. Surely you do not mean that my little darling, my own boy, would not inherit this place—my home—and the lands that were my father's?" asked Kathleen. "I remember aunt spoke to me about this, but I never realized it until now. I ought to have been guided by wiser heads than my own."

"That depends on your husband, Kathleen. He ought to insure the inheritance to your child, whilst making some provision for Ralph. You would not object to this?"

"It is what I should wish," said Kathleen, "though Ralph would be safe in my hands. Aylmer, I ought to have listened to your advice. I was proud to trust John with everything. I never looked beyond myself, but thought I alone could suffer if he went wrong, and I should die of grief. Now I do not love John less, but there is my own baby-boy to think of. Besides, my father trusted me. I have indeed done wrong."

"You must make the best amends possible. Put everything before your husband. He must see what he ought to do."

Kathleen hesitated to ask Aylmer to undertake this task. She was staying, with her child, at Monk's How, Mr. Torrance having gone to town, "just to see a few fresh faces."

"Will you remind John of my boy's rights, and explain the position?" she said to Aylmer. "Having been my guardian, it would seem natural for you to do it. It would be dreadful for me to appear as if I were calculating on what would happen if he died. Ralph is so jealous of baby that he is not to be trusted now. This is a great trial."

"It is; but I believe Ralph will yet reward you," replied Aylmer. "For the rest, I will speak to Torrance."

Kathleen's mind was greatly relieved by this promise, and never doubted that good would come of Aylmer's intervention.

John Torrance returned two days later, not in the best of humours, though he said nothing to account for his gloomy manner.

"Have you not enjoyed the change, John?" asked Kathleen.

"Town is as dull as Hollingsby," was the ungracious reply.

Aylmer drew his own conclusions from Mr. Torrance's answer. He had cause to fear that old associates and habits had regained their influence over Kathleen's husband. With ruin confronting him, it had been easy to make good resolutions, and old associates could gain nothing by seeking him. Now that John Torrance's pockets had been refilled, he was again surrounded by them. Not that he would have insulted Kathleen by bringing these men to Hollingsby, or even naming them to her; so he met them in town, as the lesser evil.

Aylmer could estimate the importance of this choice, and talked, sadly enough, with Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine of the evil influence that would be exercised on the fortunes and happiness of Kathleen and her boy.

He felt the task of speaking to John Torrance a difficult one, and at the first mention of his making a will to secure the rights of his wife and her baby, the husband showed signs of temper that augured ill for his success.

"So," said Mr. Torrance, "Kitty is counting her chances as a well-dowered widow. I hardly expected such a message from her, with you as messenger."

The tone was aggressive, and a sneering expression was on the speaker's face; but Aylmer would bear much for Kathleen's sake.

"You wrong your wife, Torrance," he said. "She has proved her disinterestedness. I, as her late guardian, think it right to place her position and the child's before you. Remember, you wished to settle the estates and part of the personalty upon her, but she persisted in executing the conveyance, and thus leaving herself wholly in your hands."

"Ah, yes, poor Kitty! She was deeply in love, and as trustful, generous, and blind, perhaps you would say, as love makes people."

"I say nothing of the kind. Only, as you wished to make a settlement before marriage, how could I imagine you unwilling to do so now? There are double claims; those of the wife, so nobly trustful, and the child, who ought to succeed to the heritage which was his mother's."

"You were a good friend too, Matheson. I do not forget. What would you have me do?"

"To make a will, leave Kenneth the estates, and, in accordance with Kathleen's express wish, make a provision for Ralph out of the personalty," replied Aylmer.

"A will may be destroyed by the testator."

"But honour would forbid that, if he pledged himself to certain conditions. Besides, Ralph would be cared for."

"Better than he deserves, for he has behaved ill to Kitty. He is safe, in any case."

"Therein lies the injustice. Without a will, you being now absolute owner of the estate, Ralph would take all but part of the personalty and that which the law would give to Kathleen," replied Aylmer, with some warmth.

"I must think the matter over. No need to hurry. The personalty is not what it was. Naturally, after being kept down so long, I wanted a little fling after I was married. I was rather extravagant."

"You are a few thousands poorer than—well—than you ought to be, I suppose," said Aylmer.

Mr. Torrance nodded. "Besides," he added, "I have been unlucky in some ventures lately."

Aylmer judged that the ventures were of the kind by which, says a wise writer, "men try to make money without effort, at the cost of other men." Only in such would John Torrance engage.

A promise "to think about it" was all Aylmer could obtain, and he returned home feeling far from happy.

Mr. Torrance thought, and became very angry. He was vexed at his "ill luck," that is, at the loss of what ought not to have been risked—not at himself for risking it. Then he grew angry at Kathleen, on account of Aylmer's intervention. He entered the room where she was sitting, and she instantly rose, holding up her boy to be kissed.

"See, John. I am sure he knows you. He is holding out his arms," she said.

Torrance did not speak, but pushed the child back, gently enough, but still in a manner that pained Kathleen deeply.

As she began, "Oh, John, do not push the darling from you in that way. What have I done? for it cannot be his fault if something has displeased you."

"Don't be absurd, Kathleen," he replied in an impatient tone. "When a man is worried about important things, he cannot be in the mood for admiring an infant prodigy, even though it happens to be his own."

He threw himself into a chair, and as Kathleen gazed at him in wonder, she was shocked at the expression on his face. She turned away, and rang for the nurse to take the child, then sat down, silent and indignant, as well she might be. Ever since her marriage she had fought hard against her naturally impetuous temperament, and had not been easily provoked. But the old quick nature¹ was still there, and at this moment ready to break into a flame again.

¹Unchanged by Divine grace

At first Kathleen resolved not to speak until John addressed her. Love for her husband was, however, stronger than temper, and at length she said—

"You tell me you are worried, John. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You can let me alone," was the cold reply.

"But, John, surely I should know what troubles you. Are we not one?"

It had cost Kathleen an effort to speak gently, and she was ill-prepared for her husband's response.

"I thought so once, but, after what I have heard, I can hardly congratulate myself on the fact. It seems that you have already begun to calculate the chance of your being my widow, and free from the worthless encumbrance you now call husband."

"What do you mean?" said Kathleen, with flashing eyes.

"Ask yourself what errand you entrusted to Matheson."

"Do you mean about securing my property to your son and mine?"

"No. It was the request that I would make a will, and secure my property to our son. You forget, Kathleen, that by your deliberate act and deed you gave all you had absolutely to me. In that, you only followed the example of Ralph's mother. She gave me her all, yet she never reproached me, or reminded me of the fact."

"Neither have I," said Kathleen, angrily. "Until now."

"No. Matheson is a convenient cat's-paw, and he can plead most eloquently on behalf of his late ward. Adela would have died before she would have speculated on the chances of my death."

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner?" said Kathleen. "So long as I stood alone, I neither suggested your making a will nor asked a friend to do so. Even now it was Aylmer who, in his kind thought for my baby-boy, hinted at the wisdom of doing it. I care nothing for myself, but I do say that if you do not secure what was mine to our child, you will be guilty of cruel injustice to us both."

"Adela would not have—"

"Don't talk to me of Adela. Did not she trust you with everything, and how did you merit the trust? Did you care for the child she bore you, or did you waste his mother's fortune and the inheritance which came to you from your forefathers, until all was gone and—"

"Spare me a second hearing. The story is too familiar, and not pleasant. I made full confession to you."

"You did, and you promised—"

"Not to make a will, but I wanted a marriage settlement made, which you refused."

"Yes. I never thought that, as Adela left Ralph, I might have to answer for neglecting a child's interests. I ought to have read her story, and profited by it."

"Then on your shoulders be the blame, not mine. Come down from your stilts, and be reasonable. You will not drive me, though when angry you look so handsome that I bear the penalty for the sake of the picture, Kitty dear."

The jesting words stung Kathleen, but for her child's sake she forbore to retort.

"You did tell me all when you asked me to be your wife. You so spoke that I believed you hated the past, and that we should begin a pure, happy life together."

If John Torrance had not been in a perverse mood, harassed by losses and angry at himself, he would probably have been touched by Kathleen's pathetic tone and words. She was right, he knew; but he who is displeased with himself must vent his anger on some one else.

John Torrance did this by saying in a bantering the way, "By the way, Kitty, you spoke just now of my asking you to be my wife. You have forgotten the real facts attending our engagement, and I must correct your mistake, dear. I never did ask you to be my wife."