Golden Face Part 11

Fortunately, Geoffry was something of a bookworm, and studious of temperament, or the bringing-up he had received, and the aimless life which it entailed upon him, would have sent the boy straight to the dogs. As it was, he was cut out by Nature for a college don rather than for a country squire, and during his University career he was known essentially as a reading man.

It may be imagined, then, that when he returned home at the end of the summer term, after taking a brilliant double first, the pride and delight of his reverend parent knew no bounds, and by a series of festivities, unparalleled since the distinguished youth's coming of age, was Lant-Hanger at large, and particularly its "County Society," bidden to share the parental joy.

But, alas! that the latter should be so short-lived. The object of all this fun and frolic seemed in no way to relish it at all. Instead of returning home cheerful, overflowing with spirits, thoroughly enjoying life with the zest of the average young Englishman who has just scored a signal success, and sees a congenial and rose-bestrewn future before him, poor Geoffry seemed to have parted with all capacity for enjoyment.

He was pale and listless, absent, bored, and--shall we own it?--at times excessively irritable, not to say peevish. His father was deeply concerned, and his mother, who read off the symptoms as briefly as the village doctor would diagnose a case of incipient scarlet fever, felt more of anger than concern.

"I really don't know what to do about the boy," said the Rev. Dudley, dejectedly, coming into his wife's morning-room the day after the last of their house party had dispersed. "It's dreadful to see the poor fellow in such low spirits. He must have been working too hard, whatever he may say to the contrary. It's hard to part with him so soon, the dear fellow, but we positively must send him abroad to travel for the summer. Nothing like travel."

"Try him, and see if he'll go," was the short reply.

"We must insist upon it. We must get medical advice--a doctor's opinion to back us up. The boy will be ill--ill, mark me. He eats nothing. He doesn't sleep, for I hear him moving in his rooms far into the small hours. He looks pale and pulled down, and doesn't even care for his books. Then, when all the people were here, he would steal away from everybody, and wander about and mope by himself all day. We had some nice people, too; and pleasant, good-looking girls. Come, hadn't we?"

"Oh, yes; a most complete party. Only one ingredient left out."

"And that?"

"Yseulte Santorex." And Mrs Vallance shut down the envelope she was closing with a vicious bang.

"G.o.d bless my soul! you don't say so? Surely it hasn't gone so far as that?"

"It has gone just as far as that abominable girl could carry it," was the uncompromising reply. "Surely you are not simple enough to imagine that the daughter of that hybrid Spanish atheist would neglect such an opportunity? The girl has simply made a fool of him."

"You dislike her to that extent?" said Mr Vallance, vacantly, his mind full of the woeful plight into which his son was plunged. "I don't know. Sometimes I think her not a bad sort of girl considering the fallow in which her mind has been allowed to lie. And Geoffry might do worse."

"Oh, yes. He might, but not much. A forward, bold, masculine minx, tramping the countryside, fis.h.i.+ng and shooting. And she is utterly devoid of respect for her elders, and as for principle or religion-- faugh! I beg leave to think, Dudley, that he hardly could do worse."

This spitefulness on the lady's part was not wholly devoid of excuse.

For her elders, as represented by Mrs Dudley Vallance, Yseulte certainly had scant respect. And then, if she became their son's wife, the day might come when Mrs Vallance would have to abdicate Lant Hall in her favour, whereas no such calamity could in the nature of things ever befall its reverend squire. Of course Geoffry must marry somebody or other one day; but Geoffry's mother could contemplate such a contingency with far more equanimity than that of being dispossessed by a girl whom she detested, and whom she knew despised her.

"Well, well! we won't say that; we won't say quite that," rejoined Mr Vallance. "Perhaps you are a little hard on poor Yseulte. She is young, remember, and at a thoughtless age. But she is thoroughbred in the matter of birth, and will be well off. We must not expect everything at once. And the girl is very pretty, with all her faults.

I am not surprised at Geoffry's infatuation."

"No more am I," was the short reply.

"Oh, but you must look at a question of this kind apart from prejudice.

And then I can't bear to see poor Geoffry simply eating his heart out like this. I am becoming seriously alarmed about him; and I tell you what it is, my dear, as he really has staked his happiness on this girl, he shall have her. I'll see Santorex about it this very day."

"Oh, well, if you have quite made up your mind, the sooner you do so the better," answered his spouse, resignedly.

"Very well, then, that's settled," said the Rev. Dudley, with a sigh of relief.

There was just one thing they forgot, this worthy couple, namely, that before settling a matter of the kind so comfortably and out of hand, it might be necessary to obtain the concurrence of the party most concerned, to wit Yseulte Santorex herself. But that Yseulte might unhesitatingly decline the honour of the projected alliance never occurred to them for one moment, and any suggestion of the bare idea of such a contingency would have thrown them into a state of wild amazement.

During the above debate, the subject thereof was doing exactly as his father had said; wandering about by himself--and moping. Strolling down the cool mossy lane, shaded between its high nut-hedges, he found himself upon the river-bank. It was time to go home. They would be wondering what had become of him; perhaps sending everywhere in search of him. In his then morbid frame of mind, Geoffry shrank from being made a fuss over. Mechanically he turned to retrace his steps.

"Great events from little causes spring." The little cause in this instance was a little flock of sheep, which a farmer's lad, aided by his faithful collie, was driving into the lane from an adjacent field. The animals were kicking up a good deal of dust; Geoffry was no fonder of walking in a cloud of dust than most people. The lane was narrow, and sheep are essentially idiotic creatures; were he to try and pa.s.s these, they would, instead of making room for him, inevitably scamper on ahead as fast as their legs could carry them, thereby kicking up about ten times more dust. That decided him. He would extend his walk.

Over a rail, an unexpected flounder into a dry ditch, and he stood up to his neck in brambles and nettles. But the sting of the latter was hardly felt; for his eyes fell upon an object which set his knees trembling and his heart going like a hammer. A moment earlier and he would have missed the phenomenon which evoked this agitation, but for the sheep. What was it? Only a broad-brimmed straw hat, and beneath it a great knot of dark brown hair rippling into gold.

It needed not this, nor the supple figure in its cool light dress which became visible, as with an effort poor Geoffry staggered up from his th.o.r.n.y hiding-place, to reveal the ident.i.ty of this new feature of the situation. She was standing with her back towards him, about fifty yards away, taking a fis.h.i.+ng-rod to pieces, and she was alone.

At the tearing and rustling noise caused by his efforts to free himself from the clinging brambles, she turned quickly, the half-startled look upon her features giving way to a wholly amused one as she took in the situation. Geoffry, noting it, felt savage, reckless, mad with himself and all the world. Could he never appear before her but in a ridiculous light--the central figure of some absurd situation?

"Why, Mr Vallance, you seem to have fallen among thorns," she cried, adding, with a merry laugh, "and the thorns have sprung up and choked you. But never mind. Sit down and rest here in the shade, while I do up my tackle, and then we can walk home together as far as our ways lie."

The tone was kind and sympathetic, and Geoffry felt soothed. Red and perspiring, he cast himself down with a grateful sigh upon a mossy bank, in the shadow of the great oak beneath which she was standing.

"That'll be some consolation," he replied ruefully. "It was nothing, though--the tumble, I mean. I must have caught my foot in something, and came a cropper. But, it was well worth while."

Yseulte smiled, trying hard not to render the smile a mischievous one.

"Well, you're the best judge of that. And now, have all your visitors left?"

"Yes, and a good job too," was the fervent reply.

"How ungrateful! I'm sure they did their best to make themselves agreeable, especially to you. Confess; you are dreadfully bored now that they are gone."

"Not in the very least. _You_ are here--and--and--" He broke off, helpless and stuttering.

"But I shall not be much longer. I am going away too."

He sprung to his feet as if he had been stung.

"What? You are going away? When?"

"Very soon. In a week or ten days; perhaps not quite so soon." Already she wished she had not told him. It would have been better, for every reason, that he should have heard the news at second hand.

"In a week or ten days!" he echoed. "But not for long--Yseulte, say it will not be for long!"

If at times the girl had been guilty of a touch of feminine spitefulness in the reflection that she had completely subjugated--and through no artful intent--the hope of this family whom, not without reason, she detested, a.s.suredly she felt sorry and ashamed of it now, as she noted the pitiable effect which her announcement produced upon her admirer.

His face was as pale as death.

"But what if it will be for long?" she answered, gently. "For months, perhaps--or a year."

"Then I'll go and hang myself."

Poor Geoffry! For weeks--for months--he had been antic.i.p.ating such a moment as this; had revolved every kind of set speech; every form of the most moving entreaty; every promise to devote his life to her happiness and welfare; all in the most impa.s.sioned language that the earnestness of his love could suggest: and had s.h.i.+vered with apprehension lest his nervousness and misgiving should intervene to mar the effect and leave him stuttering and looking an a.s.s; yet now that the critical moment had come, all his carefully-planned oratory had resolved itself into the brusque, pa.s.sionate statement--"Then I'll go and hang myself." Yet never was declaration more exhaustive.

She understood his meaning; she did not wish him to say more; and her tone was very gentle, very pitiful, as she replied:

"Be a man."

The utterly wretched expression upon his face, showed that he had understood her. Never was proposal more terse; never refusal more prompt and decisive. It was impossible for each to misunderstand the other.

"Have I no chance, Yseulte?" he said, the eager trepidation of his former tone having given way to one of dull hopelessness, which moved her infinitely.

"No," she answered, gently. "It would be cruel to leave you in any doubt. There are many reasons against it--insuperable reasons."