Mrs. Dorriman Volume Iii Part 30

"I think you may remove one cover," said Lady Lyons, "only two are going to dine to-night."

The waiter looked surprised and hesitated, then the door opened, and Grace, beaming, entered, followed by Paul.

CHAPTER X.

Mrs. Dorriman was not a little perplexed just then by the delay in her brother's arrival. She had lost much of her dread in connection with those papers which had at one time weighed so heavily upon her, and the affection which had sprung up between her and her roughly-spoken brother made her feeling in regard to a possible fault he might have committed sink into the background. But all through her little daily duties, rendered sweeter and pleasanter because of Margaret's companions.h.i.+p, when she was reading or working, walking by the burn-side, or gliding along on the sea in a boat, whatever her occupation was there was a subtle indefinable consciousness of something impending, which did not actually make her unhappy, but which kept her in a state of suppressed mental excitement.

Mr. Stevens had something to do with her not dwelling upon this coming explanation unduly. He seemed to be ubiquitous, flying here and there and everywhere at one and the same moment. He seemed to think so little of what he called running up to London, but he managed to spend a great deal of his time at Inchbrae.

There was a great deal he consulted Margaret about, but she was quick enough to see that business was not always the real reason of his visits. It often happened that a letter might have done just as well, and nothing but a dread of seeming inhospitable, made Margaret refrain from saying so.

Margaret was so accustomed to find that without any effort on her part those few specimens of mankind she had met always managed to fall in love with her, that she was afraid now of this being the case, and she puzzled Mr. Stevens by becoming all at once distant and reserved with him--her manner became changed and cold.

It was only natural that she should become her own heroine, now she had no Grace to think of, and that all interest centred in herself.

Mrs. Dorriman spoiled and petted her. Jean thought her perfection; the people liked her manner, which was both gentle and courteous to them; and when they discovered that she was a "giving" lady their respect and affection rose to enthusiasm. The few outsiders knew that she had faced a tragedy; and the death of her child, her husband's insanity, everything combined to surround her with the halo of suffering, which sets a woman apart from other women.

There was little in the surroundings of Inchbrae to draw out her sympathies. The people were not badly off, the crofter question had not cropped up, and the soil was fertile. Now and again a sick woman wanted soup and she got it, or a child was in need of some garment which gave occupation, but this was all.

Margaret was essentially a loveable woman, and had that air of dependence which (though frequently misleading enough) appeals so forcibly to the chivalrous side of mankind, and, with the claim it establishes, so often creates, an affection besides.

She was what people call sentimental, but not in the mis-used sense of that very ill-used word. Just as the commonest objects in life, a broken bough, a shallow pool, the faded leaf upon the gra.s.s, resolve themselves into pictures to the eye of an artist, so where the poetic faculty exists (more especially when it has been developed by suffering) all the various incidents of life, all the impulses and influences of personal life, become unwritten poems. Margaret had suffered terribly; the suffering was healing under the influence of time, but leaving a vivid imagination. She lived much over again, she dwelt morbidly upon her own shortcomings, and she began to be dangerously near an all-absorbing selfishness.

There was one pleasure that never palled upon her--the effect of natural beauty is so different upon different temperaments. The freshness of a sea-bound coast, the tints of grey and green, the harmony of all, is felt by some who recognise the quickened circulation, and call it health-giving; and so it is.

To a poet, however, this harmony of nature says something more--there is a deeper and fuller meaning in it all, whether the faculty of expression be given or not. Heaven and earth do not seem far apart when the soul is stirred to its very depths. The secret of those forces that carry awe when manifested in their grandest power, has a key-note, which, begun here, is carried upwards. Margaret had the power of expression, and her poems became to her the best and highest part of her life; she no longer cared to publish them; so much of herself was in them that she shrank from letting any one read them. She lived in a world of her own, a world full of beauty, but one in which self entered too much.

Grace's letter, with its violent expressions of remorse, and its incoherent account of having left Paul, broke in upon her self-absorbed feelings with rather a rude shock.

She knew Grace too well to doubt the despair of which her sister wrote, as though it and remorse henceforward were to be her portion; but she could not doubt her sincerity about the money; the cry was too natural, and Margaret's own sentiments were in such complete accordance with it.

It had been painful to her the ease with which Grace had accepted the money, and she felt thankful now that they had this point in common.

In her own mind the argument she had used seemed conclusive. "I vowed a vow I could not keep, and the benefit arising from a broken vow cannot justly be mine."

She rose to answer this letter, which had disturbed her, and, opening the door, found Mr. Stevens just coming into the hall.

"Can you spare me a moment?" he said, with some anxiety.

She answered "Yes," trusting that his business was really business.

"I have had such an extraordinary letter from Mr. Sandford," he began.

"I wrote to him about money matters, and his answer is, that he is not in a position to advance a penny anywhere. I am afraid things have gone very wrong; have you heard anything?"

"Nothing to this effect. Mrs. Dorriman cannot imagine why he does not come."

"He says, '_I am utterly penniless, and can do nothing!_' It is most extraordinary!"

"I wonder if Mrs. Dorriman knows anything? shall I go and find her?"

"No; I have written to Mr. Sandford for an explanation; till I hear again there is no use making her unhappy."

"It will affect her?" Margaret asked, with real interest.

"It will affect her. She told me once she had no settlements, and was entirely dependent upon her brother."

"I am so grieved."

"It will, of course, affect you also, Mrs. Drayton. It seems very hard upon both of you."

"And my sister is giving up that money; Paul Lyons cannot bear her having it."

"I have made up my mind. I am going to ask you a great favour, Mrs.

Drayton."

"Pray do not," said Margaret, much distressed, and turning rosy red.

"Why?" he asked, astonished, and very much offended with her.

"We had better ... do let us remain friends," she said, pleadingly.

"What else do I want?" he asked, very much astonished at her changing colour.

"Oh," said Margaret, drawing a long breath and speaking with evident relief; "of course I will do anything for you."

He looked suspiciously at her.

"You young ladies are so cautious in these days; you answered as though I was going to ask you to lend me ten thousand pounds, or lay a proposal of marriage at your feet."

Again Margaret coloured violently, but she laughed also; she felt she had so nearly made herself supremely ridiculous.

"What I want you to do," continued Mr. Stevens, earnestly, "is nothing very remarkable. I want you to manage that I shall have a little time alone with Mrs. Dorriman. I have something to say to her, and it so happens that I never can see her alone; you are always there, you know."

How Margaret laughed to herself!

"My dear Mr. Stevens," she said, all the former charm and cordiality of her manner once again in full force, "how dreadfully sorry I am that I have been so blind and so stupid. I am afraid I have been dreadfully in your way."

"Well, you have rather," said Mr. Stevens, who was disappointed to find her manner, capricious; he had thought her above that sort of thing.

Margaret laughed again, but she went upstairs, put on her things, and then found Mrs. Dorriman, who was still weighing in her own mind the respective merits of cranberry or blackberry jam for the pudding that evening.

"Which does Mr. Stevens like best? for I think he will dine here to-night," Margaret said, with a smile the little lady did not understand.

"Have you asked him, my dear?" she asked placidly; "I did not know he was here."