Chapter XXIII: "indeed!"

GLADYS HEPBURN'S JOURNAL.

August 12. Wednesday.

SCARCELY more than a fortnight since the Romillys went away: and I am sure it seems an age.

Poor Mrs. Romilly has been so dreadfully ill. Nobody seems exactly to understand how she was hurt, except about the collar-bone, which doesn't explain her being so very ill. Mother believes that it was "a bad jar to her nervous system;" and I shouldn't wonder, for she and her little husband in their different ways seem to be made up of nothing but nerves,—as if all the bones and muscles had been left out. The wonder is that all the girls are not mere packets of nerves too! But I don't think they are,—except Elfie!

Mr. Romilly is out there still with Eustace, and there isn't the least talk of their coming back to England. Mrs. Romilly is better and out of danger. But now that Mr. Romilly has actually reached Cologne, he is settling down quite comfortably. Uncle Tom declares he "won't budge" for six months at least. And Ramsay says—"Sixteen."

Miss Con is at Beckdale, in charge of all those girls. Mother and I do pity her. She has written once to me,—a kind cheerful letter, all about the scenery of Yorkshire.

Proofs of my book are coming in fast. Correcting them is most delightful. A story looks so much nicer in proof than in MS. I wonder why.

August 14. Friday.—Mother and I went to afternoon tea at The Park to-day, to meet a few people. There was somebody whom I have never seen before, though I have heard of him,—a Captain Lenox. The Denhams met him lately at Bath, and asked him here for two or three nights.

He looks younger than Sir Keith, and he is very upright and slight and soldierly. I do like soldierly men. He reminds me just a little of the picture of my Father when he was young, the one hanging over Mother's bedroom mantelpiece. I don't generally admire fair men, and Captain Lenox is rather fair, but it isn't a hay-coloured wishy-washy fairness. He has deep-blue eyes, and light-brown hair, and a tanned complexion. And he looks as if he had an immense amount of character and firmness.

Besides, he is so polite. He was talking to Annie Wilmington and quite enjoying himself, one could see, and all at once that queer little old Miss Pursey came poking about, looking for a seat. And he was up like a shot, offering her his, though he lost the rest of his talk with Annie, and though Miss Pursey isn't the sort of person that some young men take pains to be polite to. Of course they ought, but they don't.

I should not trouble myself to write all this about a stranger, if he were a mere stranger. But he isn't. I do feel a very particular interest in this Captain Arthur Lenox,—for Miss Con's sake.

He must, I suppose, be the same that Sir Keith met at Rouen: and Maggie is sure that he and Miss Con have been friends some time or other, and that she—I don't quite know how to say it—that perhaps she has—well, has liked him a good deal. If Maggie had only said so much, I shouldn't have minded, I dare say. One person must like another, sometimes. I mean—things do begin in that way.

But when Maggie told Mother and me about Captain Lenox' name coming up, and about Miss Con turning pale, she actually laughed, and said, "Millie declares that Miss Con is desperately in love with him. And I was so angry, I could have given Maggie a good shaking. I am sure I should have said something I ought not: but Mother took it up, only saying a few words, and those exactly the right ones, about its being no business of Miss Millington's, and about Miss Millington being very wrong to speak so about Miss Con to Maggie or any of them."

"It is exceedingly bad taste," Mother said. "I hope you will take care that it does not go farther, Maggie dear."

Maggie did turn so red, and she said nothing.

But I cannot, of course, forget all this, and I am very glad to find the sort of man that Captain Lenox is,—not empty-headed, and able only to talk nonsense, but sensible and pleasant. He was rather silent part of the afternoon, but watchful and polite all the while, and when anything interested him, he brightened up and looked quite handsome. Lady Denham told Mother that he seemed to be a man of such very high principle, and that he is immensely respected in his regiment. And Mother thinks him really and truly a good man. She had such a pleasant little talk with him.

So I do believe he might be good enough for even dear Miss Conway,—if that should ever come to anything. But very likely it was only a fancy of Maggie's, and of that tiresome absurd Miss Millington.

I am afraid I was wrong in one thing that I did. Lady Denham put him by me for a talk, and I got on with him much better than I do with Sir Keith. He didn't make me half so shy.

Something made me speak of the Romillys. I said where they were gone, and we talked about Yorkshire, and all at once it came into my head to mention Miss Conway, and to notice how he looked. And I did it, without stopping to think. That is the worst of me! I am always saying things without thinking, and having to be sorry afterwards. I do wish I could get over it.

He made no answer, but listened. I quoted something she had said about Yorkshire dales, and then I said how delightful she was, and that I didn't think I had ever seen anybody like her anywhere else. There would have been no harm, if I had said it all quite naturally, and with no thought behind of how he was feeling,—but I had the thought behind, so I could not depend on myself to be perfectly natural.

He heard me, exactly as if I had been speaking of a stranger, and as if he didn't care the very least. When I stopped, he said, "Indeed!" as coldly as possible: and I was so disappointed, I felt myself turn crimson. He gave me a glance, and I grew hotter still, and he turned his eyes away, and made some careless remark about the weather. Then somebody on his other side began to talk to him: and I was very uncomfortable. I couldn't think what he must have thought.

I have told Mother all this, and she says it is far wiser to leave things alone, and not to interfere. One is so apt to blunder. So I shall take very great care in the future, and never speak of anything of that sort, unless somebody else begins it.

Mother is not so sure as I was at first that his looking cold and grave, when he heard her name, proves him not to care at all. She says we can't possibly judge, as we don't in the least know the real facts of the case.

August 15. Saturday.—Only think!—We had quite a long call from Captain Lenox this afternoon. I felt shy at seeing him again, but he seemed to have for all about my awkwardness. So I hope it didn't look so bad as it felt.

He said he had found that Mother once knew an uncle of his, so he thought he might call. But I don't believe that was his real reason. For the uncle was not talked about at all, after the first moment. He is staying at The Park till Monday, and then he goes north for the rest of his furlough,—into Yorkshire. I don't know what part. It seems that Lady Denham and Sir Keith may go there soon, and they have actually secured some lodgings, and are paying for them. And Captain Lenox is to use these lodgings for as long as he likes.

Mother and I wonder where the lodgings are, for he did not tell us. But we asked no questions, and, as Mother says, we must not ask the Denhams. For it is not our business; and as they said nothing yesterday, they most likely don't wish us to know.

I had made up my mind not to say one word about Miss Conway; and then, just out of sheer nervousness and shyness, I found myself letting slip something about her, at least three times. I was so provoked; and Mother says I really must learn to have myself better in hand. Not that any harm was done; but one never ought to be drawn into saying a thing which one has resolved not to say.

I noticed that each time I said "Miss Conway," Captain Lenox turned half towards me, and then looked at Mother in a quiet polite way, as if he were asking about her. But nobody could have guessed from his manner whether he felt anything more than just a passing interest in a stranger. And he scarcely said a word himself, when her name came up. He only seemed to expect Mother to say something.

Mother managed beautifully,—so much better than I could. She didn't blush or look conscious, but she spoke of Miss Conway as a friend of Mrs. Romilly's and of ours too. We found that he had once seen Mrs. Romilly for five minutes,—he didn't say where or when,—and that he thought her "a beautiful woman." I am sure I don't think her so. But then Miss Conway does; and to my surprise Mother said so. And I had to slide my chair back, for fear Captain Lenox should see what I was thinking.

He didn't look the least conscious, but asked if we had a photograph of Mrs. Romilly. Mother opened my book, which was on the little table close at hand, and showed him all the likenesses of the Romillys that I have. And presently I heard Mother say—

"That is Miss Conway, whom we mentioned just now."

He certainly did look at that photo longer than at any of the rest; and he made one remark—

"Rather a fine face."

"Very good-looking," Mother said; and I could not help exclaiming—

"Oh, Miss Conway is much more really beautiful than Mrs. Romilly!"

Captain Lenox said, "Ah!" and gave a little pull to each side of his moustache, as if it wanted arranging.

"That may be a matter of opinion," Mother said, and I saw him making believe to examine the photo of Nellie on the opposite page, and giving little glances at Miss Con every other moment.

"Taken recently, I suppose," he said, as if it didn't signify at all, only he had to say something.

"Not Nellie Romilly," Mother answered. "I believe Miss Conway was taken some months ago,—before she came to Glynde."

Captain Lenox shut the album, and put it aside. Then he and Mother talked about all sorts of things for half-an-hour. I do think he must be a really and truly good man,—if only one could be quite sure that he has treated Miss Conway rightly. But that is the puzzle!

August 18. Tuesday.—A letter from Maggie to-day. She says they find that Lady Denham and Sir Keith have taken rooms in a farm-house, quite near Beckdale House.

Then that must be where Captain Lenox is going!

Does Captain Lenox know? And does Miss Con know? And would either of them care?

Maggie doesn't write a word about Captain Lenox. She only speaks of the Denhams: and she seems to be in such a state of excitement about Sir Keith and his mother going. How odd Maggie is!

Miss Pursey said last week to me that everybody in Glynde expected Sir Keith to marry Nellie some day. And she seemed to think that he only had to ask Nellie, and Nellie would be sure to say "Yes." That vexed me; and besides I don't believe there is the least chance of such a thing.

Of course if it were for Nellie's happiness, I should be very glad,—only not for my own sake. For if she had a husband, I could not write to her comfortably about everything, as I do now. I should always fancy him peeping over her shoulder at my letters while she read them. Still I would not be so selfish as to think of that: only I don't believe Nellie admires Sir Keith particularly.

Mother says we must be very careful not to make mischief about Captain Lenox going to Yorkshire. So we do not mean to whisper one word about it to anybody, least of all to any of the Romillys.

Part of Maggie's letter is filled up with particulars of a new story she has in hand. She says she has "written to two well-known authoresses," asking them how she is to get it into print.

I don't quite see what the authoresses are to do. If the story is worth printing, some publisher would be almost sure to take it: and if not, the authoresses can't make it so. But perhaps they might give her some useful hints.