Bird of Paradise Part 22

"Which Mary?"

"Oh, Bertha! what a question! As if I'd write about William and Mary, or--er--er--I beg your pardon--I mean the other Mary. No, Mary, Queen of Scots, is the only one who's any good for a play."

"Well, go on, Clifford."

"Well, it's a little about"--he spoke in a low, gruff voice--"at least partly about hawking. You know, the thing historical people used to do--on their wrists."

"Oh yes, I know, I know! I beg your pardon, Clifford."

"With birds, you know," he went on. "Oh, and I wanted to ask you, what time of the year _do_ people hawk?"

"What time of the year? Oh, well, I should think almost any time, pretty well, whenever they liked, or whenever it was the fas.h.i.+on."

"I see." He made a note. "Well, I hope you won't be fearfully bored, Bertha."

"I say, Cliff, don't apologise so much. Get on with it."

"Well, you see, it's a scene at a country inn to begin with."

"Ah, I see. Yes, it would be," she murmured.

"At a country inn, and this is how it begins. It's at a country inn, you see. 'Scene: a country inn. The mistress of the inn, a buxom-looking woman of middle age, is being busy about the inn. It is a country inn.

She is making up the fire, polis.h.i.+ng tankards, etc., drawing ale, etc.

On extreme L. of stage is seated, near a tankard, a youth of some nineteen summers, who is sitting facing the audience, chin dropped, and apparently wrapped in thought.'"

"Excuse me a moment, old chap, but that sounds as if his chin was wrapped in thought."

"So it does; I'll change that. Thanks awfully for telling me, Bertha."

"Not at all, dear."

"But it is frightfully decent of you."

"All right. Get on."

"'At the back of the stage R. are seated two men; one of some eight and twenty summers the other of some six and twenty years old. They are seated in the corners of the stage and in apparently earnest conversation.' (Now the dialogue begins, Bertha, listen):

"'YOUTH: Are you there, mistress? Is my ale nigh on ready? Zounds, I'm mighty thirsty, I am.'

"'MISTRESS: Ay, ay, great Scot! here's your ale. You can't expect to be served before the quality.'"

"What did Pickering think of this?" interrupted Bertha.

"Pickering! Oh! I wouldn't show it to a chap like that. At any rate, not unless you think it's all right, Bertha."

"Why, my dear boy, you'd better tell me the plot, I think, before you read me any more."

"Mr. Nigel Hillier," announced the servant.

Nigel sprang brightly in (just a little agitated though he managed to hide it), Bertha took her toes off the sofa, Clifford took up his play and shoved it into his pocket with a slight scowl.

CHAPTER XVI

A SECOND PROPOSAL

The day after Madeline's engagement two letters were handed to her. One in Charlie's handwriting, short and affectionate; full of the exuberance of the newly affianced, touchingly happy. The other one she opened, feeling somewhat moved, as she recognised the handwriting of Rupert Denison. To her utter astonishment she found it was four sheets of his exquisite little handwriting, and it began thus:

"MY DEAR, MY VERY DEAR MADELINE,--The last note I had from you--now nearly a month ago--came to me like a gift of silver roses. I did not answer it, but during the dark days in which I have not seen you, I have been learning to know myself. You wondered, perhaps, how I was occupied, why you did not hear from me again--at least I hope you did. ("I didn't, for I knew only too well," Madeline murmured to herself.) Now I have learnt to understand myself. Sometimes almost inhumanly poetic you have seemed to me, and others; when I remembered your simple refined beauty you suggested the homelike atmosphere that is my dream."

She started and went on reading.

"Madeline, do you understand, all this time, though perhaps I hardly knew it myself, I loved you. I love you and shall never change. It is my instinct to adore the admirable, and I know now that you are the most adorable of creatures. No words can describe your wonderfulness, so I send you my heart instead.

"I think, dear, our life together will be a very beautiful one.

It will be a great joy to me to lead you into beautiful paths.

How glad I shall be to see the bright look of your eyes, when you greet me after this letter! What a perfect companion you will be! Write at once. I have much more to say when we meet.

When shall this be? Your ever devoted and idolising

"RUPERT.

"_P.S._--I propose not to make our engagement public quite yet, but to keep our happiness to ourselves for a few weeks, and be married towards the end of the summer. What do you say, my precious Madeline?"

Madeline was at once delighted and horrified. How characteristic the letter was! Why had she not waited? There was no doubt about it, she had made a mistake. Rupert was the man she loved--notwithstanding his taking everything so for granted. Charlie must be sacrificed. But she must tell Rupert what had happened, of course.

After sending a telegram to Rupert asking him to meet her at a picture gallery, for she could not bear asking him to call until everything was settled up, the bewildered girl rushed off to see Bertha.

Bertha took in the situation at once. Madeline had only accepted Charlie in despair, thinking and believing that Rupert cared for another girl.

It was madness, equally unfair to herself and to Charlie, to go on with the marriage now. Bertha quite agreed, though she grieved for the boy, and regretted how things had turned. ... But, after all, Madeline cared for Rupert and she could not be expected to throw away her happiness now it was offered to her.

Bertha advised complete frankness all round. The only thing at which she hesitated a little was Madeline's intention of telling of her engagement to Rupert. She feared a little the effect on the complicated subtlety of that conscientious young man. ... However, it was to be.

Fortunately no one as yet knew of the engagement except the very nearest relatives. Madeline's mother would only regret bitterly that Madeline could not accept them both, it being very rare nowadays for two agreeable and eligible young men to propose to one girl in two days.

Nigel was furious and had no patience with these choppings and changings, as he called them.

Charlie took it bravely and wrote Madeline a very generous and n.o.ble letter, which touched her, but it did not alter her intention. She had just received it when she went to meet Rupert.

The day which had dragged on with extraordinary excitement and with what seemed curious length had just declined in that hour between six and seven when the vitality seems to become somewhat lowered; when it is neither day nor evening, the stimulation of tea is over and one has not begun to dress for dinner.

At this strange moment Madeline burst in again on Bertha and said: