Chapter III: A Speedy Return

"Those things that a man cannot amend in himself
or in others, he ought to suffer patiently
until God orders things otherwise."—Thomas à Kempis.

IT was a bright spring afternoon in town. Colonel Douglas was wending his way from his club in Pall Mall to his rooms in a quiet street off Piccadilly. He was due at his sister's house in Palace Gate at five, and he was inwardly pitying himself for the ordeal of sipping tea and making conversation amongst the society men and women generally to be found at Mrs. Talbot's "At home" days. His thoughts were somewhat after this fashion—

"Wish I could get back to the wilds again. And yet, after ten years' absence, England has an extraordinary fascination for me. I think I'll go into the country for a bit. It is restful, and I can work at my papers in peace. I am thankful that this personally-conducted tour will fall through. Women of fashion are too much responsibility for a single man. Wish Railton would come out."

Here a flower-girl thrust forward a button-hole of Neapolitans. He shook his head and walked on.

"That was a funny little episode down in that marsh country. Wonder what she was after? I should like to know how my half-crown benefited her. A bewitching little creature, with her rebellious longings after a wider life. Her grandfather is a Tartar at home, I fancy. I mustn't forget he has invited me down next week. He's a clever old chap. I quite enjoyed running up against him yesterday in the Museum. Think I shall make that my excuse to Norah for getting out of town."

He let himself into his lodgings with his latch-key, but his landlady appeared in the hall.

"If you please, sir, a lady is waiting to see you. I said I thought you would be in soon."

Colonel Douglas lifted his eyebrows.

"What name?" he asked shortly.

"She did not give her name, sir."

He opened his sitting-room door sharply, and when he confronted Jean, was too much surprised to speak. She stood up with no sense of the unconventionality of her action, only relief and hope seemed to lighten her face when she saw him.

"I was afraid I might not meet you," she said simply. "I got your address from Mr. Railton, for I didn't know it, and I want to know when you and your sister are going to start on this tour through Egypt and Palestine."

"I think it is knocked on the head," he replied, courteously. "My sister has cried off it, and I am not very keen on it myself. I suppose your grandfather is staying on in town. How do you like the change?"

He talked on, for he saw the blank look of dismay on Jean's face, and the rush of colour to her cheeks.

"I did not understand you were up in town. Are you seeing any of the sights, or does your grandfather restrict your dissipation to the British Museum?"

Then Jean found her voice.

"I am not with him. I have made a mistake. It is of no consequence. I thought your trip was settled."

She turned to the door with averted face, but Colonel Douglas caught sight of tears brimming over. He was puzzled and uneasy, especially when he heard her add, almost in a whisper, "I don't know what to do."

"Where are you staying?" he asked kindly. "Do I know your friends? At all events, let me walk back with you."

Jean hurried out of the house, then as she saw him by her side she swallowed her disappointment, and with an effort said—

"Thank you. I don't know London very well. I want to go back to Charles Street. I have left my grandfather altogether. I—I am staying with Rawling's sister. It's a long way from here—in the City, they call it. I came by omnibus."

"I am afraid you are in a difficulty, are you not? Let us take a hansom, and then you can tell me all about it."

"I do want help dreadfully," acknowledged Jean, when she found herself seated side by side with him in the cab. "But you're almost a stranger, and I expect you will think me half crazy."

"Indeed, I shall not. Two heads are better than one. Make me your father confessor."

He spoke lightly, but Jean drew up her young head proudly.

"I have done nothing wrong; at least, I hope I have not. Grandfather is hard and cruel. He has forbidden me to paint, he won't let me read. He told me I could leave him if I liked, and so I did. I left home yesterday. I thought perhaps your sister would take pity on me, and let me join this tour. I want to earn my own living; I shall have to. I have no money, but I know I can earn some. I mean to begin at once. Mrs. Toppings, Rawling's sister, is very kind; she has managed a bedroom for me, and they're most respectable people. I never found their house till ten o'clock last night—there seemed so many Charles Streets in London—but she took me in at once. And if I can't go with you, I shall try something else. I shall go to a registry office, and get a mother's help' situation, or companion. Oh, I shall do very well, I am sure. It is only just at first, and of course, I didn't know about you. I thought you lived with your sister, or had a wife. I hope I shall get on. I mean to. I never shall go back to grandfather again—never, never!"

Jean talked fast and nervously, and Colonel Douglas listened with a grave, quiet sympathy that soothed her. But he was greatly startled and perplexed, and concerned at the young girl's innocence and inexperience.

"My dear Miss Desmond," he said, when she paused for breath, "I have seen a little more of the world than you have, and I beseech you, to think of what you are doing. I am perfectly certain your grandfather would be most desperately anxious and distressed, if he knew that any hasty words of his had driven you to such an extremity as this. A friendless young woman in London will never be able to support herself. You little know the pitfalls for youth and inexperience. Have you no relations in town who might advise you?"

"I have no relations," said Jean, with a look of dismay in her eyes. "Not one, but grandfather, and he doesn't care for me; he doesn't want me. Oh, Colonel Douglas, I must paint! It is life to me! It is cruel to keep me from it!"

"Listen!" the Colonel said, trying to speak lightly, though he knew that this was an important crisis in the girl's life. "I am going to stay at your home next week, and shall not like it at all, if you are not there to welcome me. I promise you, I will do my best to persuade your grandfather to let you follow your beloved art. People say I have a knack at persuasion. I have tackled more difficult subjects than your grandfather in my time, and have come off conqueror. If you wish to study painting, you will want money. Your grandfather is the one who must give you that. Promise me to go straight home, and I venture to say that you and I together will be able to get round your grandfather. If you are quick, you will be able to catch the express from St. Pancras, and I will come and see you off myself."

"I can't! Oh, I can't!" exclaimed Jean, struggling with tears and mortification.

Colonel Douglas laid his hand lightly on hers. Jean often wondered afterwards whether there was mesmerism in his touch. Perhaps it was his tone as well, that made her yield.

"You can and you will, for you have enough determination and good principle to carry you through. Is this the house? I will wait in the hansom while you collect your luggage. Have you money to pay your landlady?"

Jean assented proudly. She went into the house as if in a dream, but very soon returned. Colonel Douglas smiled, as he saw her small handbag. But when she was driving to St. Pancras Station with him, she burst out passionately—

"Colonel Douglas, I shall never forgive you, if you don't help me to get away! I made my plans with such care. I hoped your sister might help me. I was counting on your taking this tour. I put all my trust in you, and you have utterly failed me. I shall never get over it, if you don't persuade grandfather to give me more liberty. I daresay you think me rash and foolish to build upon what you said at all, but when you bought my violets and never asked questions, it made me believe in you. I couldn't help it, and now you're shattering all my plans to pieces!"

"I am wanting you to build with bricks instead of cards," said the Colonel, smiling, and feeling it was quite impossible to help taking an interest in this impetuous unconventional little person. "You wait till my visit to you comes off, and then you will acknowledge, I have been your good genius."

Jean looked almost tearful when the train was starting. Colonel Douglas nodded brightly to her:

"Keep up your spirits. We shall meet again soon."

Half an hour afterwards, he was on his way to his sister's, and was severely reprimanded by her, when he arrived for his late appearance.

"Now, sir," she said to him when her guests had disappeared, and only she and her great friend, a Mrs. Gower, were left. "Give an account of yourself to-day. Why did you fail me?"

"An errand of—of mercy kept me," said the Colonel, leaning back in an easy chair and looking at his sister with a humorous twinkle in his eye.

"I was sure of it!" young Mrs. Talbot exclaimed, turning to her friend. "There never was such a man for laying himself out for impostors. He always has been like it, Jessie, from the time he was found helping a drunkard into a public-house when he was four years old. 'Poor man is firsty!' he explained when his nurse dragged him off. Some one told me he was nicknamed in his regiment 'The humbug's hope.' Last week, he was accosted by a German female in the streets. She had landed that day in a strange country, she said, and she had lost her purse. She appealed to the 'Herr,' for she said she saw 'honour in his eye.' Don't laugh; that was a fact. He told me so himself—didn't you, Phil?"

"Our feelings were mutual," said Colonel Douglas, smiling. "I saw truth in her eye."

"Do tell us about your case to-day," Mrs. Gower said, trying to restrain her laughter. "You have such a self-satisfied expression that I am sure you are convinced that you have successfully relieved distress."

"Yes," the Colonel said quietly. "I hope I have prevented disaster coming to an inexperienced child. If you promise to listen sympathetically, I will tell you about her, for I want Norah's help in the matter."

In a few brief words, he laid Jean's hasty impulsive escapade before them, and for a wonder, his sister did not laugh. She grew keenly interested. "Poor little soul! Why didn't you bring her to me? How can a man try to manage a girl in these days! I mean her grandfather, not you. Does he not see that forbidding her to touch a pencil or brush is the very way to stimulate her to do it? What brutes men can be! Is she a presentable little creature, Phil? Would she like to come up to town and pay me a visit?"

"That would do her no good."

"Thank you! Perhaps you will tell me how I can help you, then?"

"I think," said the Colonel slowly, "that if you know some quiet nice woman who would board her, and mother her, and let her attend some school of art or studio, I might persuade her grandfather to send her up to town for a time. She does not wish to go into society; her heart is in her work."

Mrs. Talbot shrugged her shoulders.

"I am too giddy to have the care of her! I have a great mind not to aid you in this business. But I do happen to know of the very person for her—Frances Lorraine."

"Frances Lorraine!" repeated the Colonel in wonder. "Is she in London? Has she left her old home?"

"She was turned out of it. It's the old story of the brother's wife supplanting the sister. Poor Frances has not much to live upon. She has taken a small house in Kensington, and asked me the other day, if I knew any girls or students who would like to board with her. She's just the sort of a person for a troublesome granddaughter. Cheery and sensible and not too prim. So when you tackle the irate grandfather, tell him she will uphold his authority through thick and thin. Frances always was a most uncomfortably conscientious person!"

Colonel Douglas smiled.

"She always had a knack of getting people to do the right thing, I remember. Well, it will be good for both, I believe, if we can bring them together. The grandfather is the chief obstacle at present."

And it was of her grandfather that Jean was thinking as she was whirled away in the train. She wondered if she should get home before he did, and whether the old servants had been perturbed at her absence. She had made her escape very quietly, putting a note on her grandfather's writing-table in the library. But she had taken no one into her confidence, and now as she realised the frustration of all her schemes she was glad she had not done so.

"It is dreadful going back! I wish I had not given in, but that Colonel Douglas is so determined, I felt I could not resist him. And I think it would have been just as dreadful staying on in London. I couldn't have done it, for I should not have had enough money. It was a mad idea! Thinking over it calmly now, I was silly to imagine it would turn out all right. I might have known it would be difficult—impossible to change one's life and slip into another so easily. How am I to meet grandfather? What can I say! Perhaps I may not have to tell him. And yet I must. I can't deceive!"

This was the substance of her thoughts. She felt very small as she alighted at the country station, and refusing the offer of the only fly, tramped sturdily along the flat highroad towards home. She could hardly believe it was only the day before that she had left it—as she thought then for ever—and as she gazed about on all the familiar landmarks she exclaimed—

"I do believe I am glad to see it again. That London seems a nightmare!"

Elsie met her at the hall door with a little scream of delight.

"Oh, Miss Jean, whatever have you been a-doing! We have been in such a state of fright about you. Rawlings had a telegram first thing this mornin' from his sister to say you were with her, but for pity's sake, don't be playing no such tricks agen. Master isn't back, but he's comin' to-night. He has stopped to dine at Mr. Railton's on his way from the station. What a blessing 'tis to see you agen, and how could you go up by yourself to that awful, wicked London! Why, I've heard awful tales of young girls disappearin' right away from the time they stepped out of the train, and never being heard of no more! Human nature is so shocking in big cities. I'll away to the kitchen to ease Mary's mind, and p'raps you'll tell us what you went for, when you've had some dinner. For you do look dead beat!"

Jean dashed upstairs to her room. Elsie's chatter was unbearable to her.

And when she had locked her door and saw everything in her room exactly as she left it, the humorous side struck her and she laughed aloud.

"How little I thought all my passionate longings for a freer life, my attempt to launch out into the world, would result in a journey up to London, a bad half-hour or so trying to find Mrs. Toppings' house, a meal and a bed there, and then to-day a journey back again! Not one glance at any of the shops, not a glimpse of a picture gallery. All a hopeless failure, but at all events, I have been saved the humiliation of being dragged back by grandfather. How could Mrs. Toppings be so treacherous! Yes, Colonel Douglas has saved me from that!"

She changed her travelling things, then sped downstairs remembering the note she had left on her grandfather's table. She found it in the same place as she had left it, and with a rueful smile she opened it and read it before she tore it up.

"MY DEAR GRANDFATHER,—I have left you. I feel I must use the talent that has been given to me. I shall do nothing rash, but would rather not tell you what my plans are till later on. I hope to make my fortune by painting. I don't expect to get rich suddenly, but I shall work my way gradually, and when I am independent I shall write to you again."

"Your affectionate granddaughter,"
"JEAN."

"I'm afraid," she said slowly, as she turned and left the room, "I'm afraid, I have acted like a fool!"

Then she rang the bell, and spoke with great dignity when John appeared.

"I hope Mary can give me some dinner. Ask her to send it up, as soon as possible."

"We'll do the best we can," responded John, looking at her keenly; "but you've put us about sorely, Miss Jean."

Jean was silent. When she had dined, she went out into the garden, but kept away from Rawlings. It had been a long day. She was determined to speak to her grandfather before she went to bed, but it seemed to her as if he would never return. At last she heard his footstep in the hall, and went forward to meet him.

"You ought to be in bed, Jean," were his first words. "Has everything gone on well during my absence?"

"I want to speak to you, grandfather," Jean said, quietly, though her heart began to beat rapidly. "I have something to tell you."

Her grandfather looked at her through his bushy eyebrows, and led the way to his library. For the time he had forgotten how they had parted, but he was beginning to recall it now.

"I should like to tell you what I've been doing," said Jean, throwing back her little head with more pride than submissiveness. "You remember how you spoke to me and what you said. Yesterday, I left this house, as I thought, for good. I went up to London."

Mr. Desmond glared at her in silence.

"I—I thought," continued Jean bravely, "that I might be able to go out to the East with Colonel Douglas and his sister; and I went to ask him about it, but I found it was all given up. I came back this afternoon, and I wish to tell you that I am sorry I went away. I ought not to have done it."

"Will you have the goodness to state where you slept last night?"

Mr. Desmond's tone was icy. His eyes never left her face.

"I went to Mrs. Toppings. She was very kind—she is Rawlings' sister—but he didn't know anything about it. I didn't do anything improper, grandfather, don't look at me so! I am sorry. I can say no more."

"But I can say a great deal more," said Mr. Desmond sternly, "I would have you remember what I said to you the other day. If you once leave this roof, you do not come back to it. I am not one to be trifled with in this manner. However, I am not going to waste words with you to-night. You can leave me. I will see you again on this matter."

Jean left him. Never had her grandfather spoken to her with such cold, hard determination in his tone. He had been passionately angry with her many times, but there was now a look upon his face that made the girl shiver.

"I believe," she said to herself, as she lay her tired head on her pillow that night, "that he hates me, as he hated my mother."