Chapter XIII: Olive's Happiness

JACK seemed rather annoyed to find that I was not alone, though Alan Faulkner immediately decided that it was time he went to his morning's work and rode off. Jack wanted me to ride with him later in the day, and was vexed when he learned that Mr. Dicks was going to take me for a drive. His ill-humour increased when I told him that I had promised to ride with Mr. Faulkner on the following day.

"It is too bad!" he said morosely. "You might have kept the last day for me!"

"The last day?" I said.

"Yes," he said, "you know I go up for my exam on Monday."

I had forgotten that the day was so near. I felt almost frightened as I realised it.

"Oh, Jack, I do hope you will do well!" I said. "Do you feel fairly ready?"

"I don't feel in the least fit," he said. "I believe I shall make a horrid mess of it again, and then you will have nothing more to say to me, I suppose. In that case I shall just enlist as a Tommy."

"Don't talk nonsense!" I said severely. "You will not fail this time; you cannot, and must not. You really have worked, you know."

"Thanks for giving me so much credit," he said, "but that has really little to do with it. I am unlucky at these things. The old fogeys who prepare the papers are sure to hit upon questions that will bowl me out."

"Rubbish!" I said. "Make up your mind to succeed, and you will come out all right."

"You might have let me have a last ride with you," he said reproachfully.

"It won't be the last, I hope, but there is nothing to hinder you from joining us to-morrow," I said, feeling, however, rather blank as I made the suggestion.

"Thank you very much," he said sarcastically; "but I have not the least desire to make an unwelcome third."

"Make a welcome fourth, then," I said. "I dare say Agneta will be pleased to come too."

But this did not do either. He was in a very perverse mood that morning. It was a relief to me when he had departed, having lingered till it was necessary for him to ride at break-neck speed into Chelmsford if he would arrive punctually at his tutor's. I felt very anxious that he should do well in his examination, and gave him every wise admonition that my own experience could suggest. For his own sake, and for his father's, it would be a thousand pities if he failed again. Foolish boy as Jack often showed himself to be, I knew that he was brave and manly, and I believed, with my father, that he would make a fine soldier.

Hobbes had graciously given me permission to gather any flowers I pleased from his garden, so when Jack had gone I busied myself in making a nosegay, which I carried to the village and left at the door of the house which had been converted into a sanatorium for Paulina's benefit. On the way I encountered Mr. Dicks wandering aimlessly along. He was so changed that I hardly knew him. His air of almost aggressive self-complacency, as if he were for ever exulting in the thought of his own smartness, had vanished, and he looked profoundly melancholy. When he lifted his hat I saw that even the wisp of hair on his forehead, usually erect, lay flat and limp. His appearance inspired me with the fear that some alarming change in Paulina's condition had occurred, but it was not so. He was merely brooding on the idea that since, through scarlet fever, he had lost his wife and little son, it would probably rob him of his daughter also.

He seemed pleased to meet me, and turned back with me.

"I am looking for Poole," he said. "He ought to be here by now. If he sees the least cause for fear, I shall telegraph at once for one of the first physicians from London."

When we reached the gate of "Ivy House," he pointed out to me the windows of the room in which Paulina lay. Just then Miss Cottrell's head appeared above one of the muslin blinds. She smiled and nodded briskly as she saw us.

"She looks cheerful," I remarked. "I don't think she can be very uneasy about her patient."

"I hope not," he said, brightening. "She is a good woman, an excellent woman. I know she will watch over Pollie like a mother."

The words struck me as significant, and I could not help thinking that Miss Cottrell would have liked to hear them. As I turned from the house Dr. Poole's carriage came in sight driving rapidly towards it, so I had no more of Mr. Dicks's company at that time.

The morrow brought me a delightful letter from mother. She had been very sorry, she wrote, to learn of the outbreak of illness at "Gay Bowers." She had much sympathy for aunt and Mr. Dicks, and still more for the sufferer herself. It was perhaps wise of aunt to turn me out of the house for a while, but she was convinced that I had run little risk of taking the malady, and I was not to allow myself to think of such a thing. So sure was mother of my immunity from danger, that she told me I might come up to town on Monday and spend a couple of days at home, thus completing my week of quarantine.

"We all want to see you badly," she said, "and we have surprising news for you. I cannot do justice to it in a letter, and besides, I believe that Olive would like to tell you all about it herself."

I was delighted at the thought of going home, and mother's mysterious hint filled me with the liveliest curiosity. What could this surprising news be? Evidently it was something in which Olive was greatly interested; but although I made many surmises, I did not hit upon the truth. But when I spoke of it to Aunt Patty, she said quietly:

"I expect it means that Olive is engaged."

"Oh, auntie," I exclaimed, and the colour flew into my face, "what can make you say so? That is a most unlikely thing."

"Is it?" aunt asked with a smile. "You are paying Olive a nice compliment. It seems to me likely enough."

"But Olive!" I gasped. "Olive! Oh, I don't think it can be that!"

The idea was more startling than agreeable. How could we do without Olive? She seemed as truly a pillar of the house as either father or mother. Certainly I had never supposed that she would remain single all her days, but that within the near future she would marry and leave us was a prospect which appalled me, and I tried to persuade myself that it could not be as Aunt Patty imagined.

I could see that my aunt thought it rather rash of mother to have me home at this time, but I troubled little about that. When Jack heard that I was going up to town on Monday, he insisted that we must travel together; so it was under his escort that I arrived at Liverpool Street that afternoon, and found Peggy awaiting me on the platform.

Peggy looked lively as ever. She never was shy—art students seldom are, I think—and she was soon chattering away to Jack. She appeared shorter than usual as she stood looking up at him, and she complained to me afterwards that conversing with him had given her a pain at the back of her neck. He was in no hurry to reach his destination, and insisted on accompanying us to Moorgate Street, and seeing us into the train for Clapham.

All this while I was longing to put a certain question to Peggy, but not till we had reached Clapham and were walking home from the station was I able to do so.

"Peggy," I said as we reached the edge of the common, and stepped within the welcome shade of trees, "Olive is not engaged to be married, is she?"

Peggy glanced quickly at me.

"Why, who told you, Nan?" she asked in surprise. "I mean what made you think of such a thing?"

"Then it is true?" I groaned. "Tell me who he is, Peggy?"

"I was told not to say a word about it," Peggy replied. "Olive was going to tell you herself, but since you know so much already—"

"Yes, yes," I broke in impatiently, "you must tell me about him. I can hear Olive's story later. Is he good enough for her?"

"She thinks so," said Peggy significantly. "She puts him on so high a pedestal that I tell her he must topple off some day. His name is Percival Smythe."

"What!" I exclaimed. "Mrs. Smythe's nephew! Olive wrote me that he had come back from India, and was staying there. She said they had been cycling together, but I never thought— He must be a great deal older than she is."

"And why, pray?" Peggy asked with a smile.

"Oh, I see," she added. "Olive probably omitted to explain that he was Mrs. Smythe's grand-nephew. The old lady always speaks of him as her nephew. As a matter-of-fact, he is twenty-nine."

"Oh!" I said disconsolately. "And is Olive very fond of him?"

Peggy laughed.

"I shall leave you to find that out for yourself," she said. "You won't have much difficulty."

"Do you like him, Peggy?" I asked anxiously.

"Oh, yes, we all like him," she said cheerfully, "and not least Master Fred. He has been making a good deal of Fred. He proposed taking him to the Zoo on Saturday week, and then with serpentine cunning suggested that Olive and I should go too. I fell into the snare, like the dear little innocent I am. Soon after entering the gardens, Mr. Smythe provided Fred with a big bag of buns, and led us to the bears' den. Fred was soon engaged in exciting endeavours to induce the big bear to climb his pole, and I was watching lest he should precipitate himself into the pit, when I became aware that the other two had vanished. If you will believe it, we saw nothing more of them till it was almost time to go home, and I had all of taking Fred from house to house, and helping him to spend the half-crown Mr. Smythe had given him, in rides on every animal that could possibly be mounted."

"Poor Peggy! They did treat you badly!" I said, unable to keep from laughing, though I did not feel exactly merry. "I hope they duly apologised."

"They told me they were sorry, but they certainly disguised their feelings well," she said, with twinkling eyes, "for I never saw two mortals look so supremely happy. The hours in which I had been growing hot and weary had passed like a blissful dream with them, and they could not believe it was so late. Of course, I guessed what it meant, and the next day he came to see father, and the thing was settled."

The news did not please me at all. It was selfish of me; but I could not welcome the shadow of approaching change. I should have liked to find everything at home going on as usual. Before I could question Peggy further we were in the old familiar road, and in another minute mother was giving me her cheery greeting.

Olive had not yet returned from Mrs. Smythe's, so I had a little quiet chat with mother first. She told me that she and father were satisfied that Olive would have a good husband and were glad that this happiness had come to her. But though she spoke so bravely, I could see that mother shrank sorely from the thought of parting with her eldest child. While we talked Olive came in, accompanied by her fiancé. I had made up my mind to dislike Percival Smythe; but his appearance disarmed my prejudice. I saw at once he was a gentleman, and I soon knew that Olive had not given her heart to one unworthy of the gift.

As I looked at my sister I marvelled at the change I saw in her. Always bright and winsome, her face was now radiant with happiness. Olive had always been remarkable for her unselfishness, and now she loved with the strong, pure, whole-souled devotion which forgets self in loving.

I shared her room, and we had a long, long talk ere we slept that night.

As I listened to the glowing words in which she described the man she loved, I found it hard to believe that he was quite the heroic being she painted him; but I felt that he was a happy man to have won such love and trust, and that he must be the better for it. I tried to be glad for Olive's sake, but I am afraid that I still cherished a grudge against him.

"Of course you will not be married for some time yet," I said.

"Not till next year," she said softly, "he has to return to India in the spring."

"To India!" I cried sharply. "Oh, Olive, you don't mean to say that he is going to take you to India?"

"Why, naturally," she said with a smile, "since he has a post there and is only home on furlough. What are you thinking of, Nan?"

"I had not thought of that," I said. "Oh, Olive, I cannot bear to think of your going right away to India."

"Oh, nonsense, Nan," she said smilingly. "India is not such a very great way off; at any rate people can easily get back."

How lightly she said it! It struck me as strange that Olive, who had always seemed to be so fond of mother and home and all of us, should now be so willing to leave us and go to the other side of the world with a man of whom she had known nothing when I left home.

"So, Olive," I said in a tone of mournful conviction, "he is more to you than any of us?"

A grave, sweet look came to Olive's face.

"Why, yes, he certainly is," she made reply, "but you must not suppose, dear old Nan, that I care less for any one because of this new and precious love. It is quite otherwise. My heart goes out to every one of you, as it never did before, just because I am so glad—so glad and so thankful to God for this rich gift of love."

"Yet you are ready to go away with him to the ends of the earth!" I said.

"Yes," she said quietly, and I cannot describe her expression as she said it, "I am ready to go with him wherever he goes. We belong to each other henceforth. Ah, Nan, you cannot understand it now; but you will some day."

But it seemed to me that I was beginning to understand it already.