Lady Carrington and I went to St. Margaret's, Westminster, to see my father married to Lady Helen Dalrymple. I had never witnessed a marriage ceremony before, and thought it a very dull and dreary1 affair. My ideas with regard to a bride had always been that she must be exceedingly young and very beautiful, and now, when I saw Lady Helen, all drooping2 and fragile, and in my opinion quite old, not even her beautiful Honiton lace veil, nor her exquisite3 dress of some shimmering4 material, appealed to me in the very least. It was with difficulty I could keep the tears out of my eyes by fixing them firmly on the back of my father's head. I noticed again how bald he was getting, but then his shoulders were very broad, and he did not stoop in the least, and he had a splendid manly5 sort of air. As I listened to the marriage service, I could not help thinking of that other time, ages ago in his life, when he took my young mother to wife, my mother who had died when I was a baby. He was young then, and so was the bride—oh, I had no sympathy with his second marriage!
Lady Carrington insisted on my wearing a white dress, and when the ceremony was over, we all went to the Westminster hotel, where there were light refreshments6, and tea and coffee, and champagne7, which I hated, and would only take in the smallest sips8. By and by, Lady Helen went upstairs to change her dress. She came down again in a magnificent "creation"—for that was the word I heard the ladies around me describing it by—and a huge picture hat on her head. She kissed me once or twice at the very last moment, and told me to be a good child. I hated kisses as much as I hated her, but father, dear father, made up for everything. He caught me in his arms and squeezed me tightly to his breast, and said: "God for ever bless you, dear little woman!" and then they went away, and Lady Carrington and I gazed at each other.
"Now, my dear Heather," she said cheerfully, "we are going to motor back to my house in order to change our dresses, so as to be in time for Captain Carbury when he brings his car round for us. You remember, dear, that we are going to Hampton Court to-day, and we haven't a minute to spare."
"Oh, not a minute," I replied, and I tried to feel cheered up and excited.
After a time Captain Carbury made his appearance, and if I had no other reason for wishing to behave bravely just then, I would not for the world show cowardice10 before the man who had put me into his gallery of heroines.
We motored down to Hampton Court, and the Captain proved himself to be a very merry guide, so much so that I found myself laughing in spite of my sorrow, and whenever I did so Lady Carrington gave me an approving smile.
"I have been telling Heather about you and Dorothy, Vernon," she said, after we had been all over the old palace, and found ourselves having tea at one of the hotels which faced the river.
Captain Carbury gave me a quick glance, a little puzzled, a little sad, a sort of glance which amazed me at the time, and the meaning of which I was not to understand until afterwards.
"You must get to know Dorothy some day," he said. "I have her picture here"—he tapped his watch-pocket—"I will show it you by and by."
As he said this, he looked full into my eyes, and I noticed more than ever the sad expression in his. I wondered at this, and then my thoughts wandered to Lady Dorothy Vinguard. What sort of a girl was she? Was she nice enough to marry the man who occupied a place in my gallery of heroes?
I spent a fairly happy fortnight with Lady Carrington. She was kindness itself to me, and she gave me a great deal of valuable advice. She took me to see many interesting sights, and Captain Carbury came to the house almost every day. One day he brought Lady Dorothy to see me. I was seated in the inner drawing-room when a tall, very pale, slender girl, most beautifully dressed, entered the room. Her face was exactly like that of a waxen doll; it had not a scrap11 of expression in it, neither was it in the very least disagreeable. My first impression when I looked at her was that she wanted intelligence, but then I changed my mind, for her light-blue eyes were peculiarly watchful13, and she kept looking and looking at me, as though she would read me through. It was impossible to tell whether Captain Carbury was devoted14 to her or not; she ordered him about a good deal, and he obeyed her slightest behests. She kept all the conversation to herself, too, and neither he nor I could edge in a word. I never met anyone who talked so fast, and yet who seemed to say nothing at all. Each subject she began to speak about she changed for another before we had begun even to think of what we meant to reply. Thus her conversation gave me at last a feeling of intense fatigue15, and I wondered how a really clever and earnest-minded man like Captain Carbury could endure the thought of spending his life with her.
He went out of the room after a time, and then she told me, with a great yawn, that he was a perfect lover, and that she herself was intensely happy.
"You, of course, will fall in love and get engaged some day," she said. "You are rather good-looking, in the old-world style; personally, I admire the up to date sort of beauty myself, and so, I know, does Vernon. He hates the people who are, as he expresses it, 'all fire and flash in the pan.' That is, I am sure, how he would describe you, if he troubled himself to describe you at all."
"I don't think he would," I said, turning very red. I longed to tell this haughty16 girl that I was in his gallery of heroines, but I felt instinctively17 that such a piece of information would only make her jealous, and therefore I refrained.
By and by Captain Carbury returned, and they both went away. She certainly was very dainty. She was like a piece of exquisite china, and, as I said afterwards to Lady Carrington, when she wanted to get my opinion with regard to her:
"I felt almost afraid to look at her, for fear she should break."
Lady Carrington laughed at my description, and said she did not know that I was such a keen observer of character.
This was my very last day with my kindest of friends, for on the next I was to go to Lady Helen's house in Hanbury Square. I knew nothing whatever with regard to this part of London, nor where the smartest houses were, nor where the "classy people," as they called themselves, resided, but Lady Carrington informed me that Hanbury Square was in the very heart of the fashionable world, and that Lady Helen's house was one of the largest and handsomest in the whole square.
"But why is it called Lady Helen's house?" I asked. "Surely it is my father's."
"Of course it is," she replied, and she looked a little grave, just as though she were holding something back. How often I had seen that look in her face—and how often, how very often, had it puzzled me, and how completely I had failed to understand it. I did love Lady Carrington; she was good to me, and when I bade her good-bye the next morning the tears filled my eyes.
"Now understand, Heather," she said, "that whenever you want me I am at your service. A new life is opening before you, my child, but I shall, of course, be your friend, for your dead mother's sake, and for——"
"Yes, yes?" I cried. "Say the rest, say the rest!"
"And, little Heather, for the memory of what your father was."
"I don't understand you," I said; "you hint and hint things against my own darling father—oh! don't do it again! Speak out if you must, but don't hint things ever again!"
"Think nothing of my words," said Lady Carrington; "forget that they were uttered. Don't turn against me, little Heather; you may need my friendship."
I was, indeed, to need that friendship, and right soon. But I felt almost angry with Lady Carrington as I drove away.
Certainly the house in Hanbury Square was very smart; it had all been newly got-up, in preparation for the bride. There was new paint outside, and new paint and beautiful wainscots and soft papers within, and there were flower-boxes at every window, and the floors were covered with heavy-piled carpets, and there were knick-knacks and flowers and very costly18 furniture greeting one at each turn. It was a big house, in short a mansion19, with front stairs and back stairs, and rooms innumerable. A very lovely room had been set aside for me. It was called the "Forget-me-not" room, and was on the first floor. I had a bathroom, with hot and cold water laid on, quite to myself; I also had a dressing-room, with a wonderful toilet table and wash-hand stand and appliances for the toilet. And in my bedroom was a great wardrobe made of walnut20 wood, and the beautiful little bed had lace-trimmed pillow-slips and sheets. Until I entered this room I had never even imagined such luxury.
A very neat, quiet-looking girl, who told me her name was Morris, met me on the threshold of my room.
"I am your special maid, miss," she said. "Lady Helen said I was to do everything in my power to help you."
"But you are not Anastasia," I replied.
The girl started back, and stared at me.
"Who is Anastasia, miss?" she asked, after a minute's pause.
"Oh," I answered, "Anastasia is my dear old nurse; she brought me home from India years and years ago, and afterwards I lost her. I want father to find her again for me, for I really wish her to be my maid."
"Why so?" I asked. "I shall speak to my father, Major Grayson."
"Perhaps, miss," she said, after a pause, "I had best begin to unpack22 your trunks, for her ladyship and the Major may be here by tea time, and, of course, you will like to be ready to meet them, and you'd wish me to arrange your hair, and help you on with your afternoon frock before they come."
I took some keys out of a little bag I wore at my side.
"Do as you please," I said.
I sat on a low chair and watched her. Then I said, suddenly:
"I am horribly sick of dress!"
"Oh, miss!" remarked Morris, raising her placid23 face to mine, for she was on her knees by this time, unfastening my largest trunk, "I did think that young ladies lived for their dress."
"Well, I am not one of those young ladies," was my reply. "I never thought of dress until a few weeks ago. I used to put on the dress I was to wear when I first got up in the morning, and I never thought of it again until I took it off to go to bed."
"You must have lived in a very quiet way, miss."
"I lived in a sensible way," I replied.
"I should not like it for myself, miss."
"Perhaps not, perhaps you are vain—I can't bear vain people."
The girl coloured, and bent24 again over the trunk. I rested my elbows on my knees, pressed my hands against my cheeks, and stared at her.
"I don't wish to offend you, Morris," I said; "I want us two to be friends."
"Thank you, miss."
"But I do wish to say," I continued, "that I consider it awfully25 frivolous26 to have to put on a special dress for morning, and another dress for afternoon, and yet another dress, just when tea comes in, and another dress for dinner. Privately27, I think it quite wicked, and I am sure you must agree with me."
"It is what's done in society, miss," answered the girl. "They all do like that, those who move in the best society."
She began to unpack rapidly, and I watched her. I reflected within myself that I had left Hill View with no clothes except the ones I was wearing, and what were contained in my tiny trunks. Now I had several big trunks, and they were crammed28, pressed full, with the newest and most wonderful dresses; and besides the dresses there were mantles29, and coats, and opera cloaks, and all sorts of the most exquisite, the most perfect underclothing in the world. Morris was a quick lady's maid; she evidently understood her duties thoroughly30 well. She had soon unpacked31 my trunks, and then she suggested that I should wear a dress of the palest, most heavenly blue, in order to greet her ladyship and Major Grayson. I said, "Is it necessary?" and she replied, "Certainly it is," and after that I submitted to her manipulations. She helped me into my dress, arranged my hair in a simple and very becoming manner, and then she looked at me critically.
"Am I all right now?" I asked.
"Yes, miss, I think you will do beautifully."
I thanked her, and ran downstairs. There were three, or even four drawing-rooms to the house, each one opening into the other. I chose the smallest drawing-room, ensconced myself in an easy-chair, and tried to imagine that I was about to enjoy everything; but my heart was beating horribly, and I came to the conclusion that every one of the four drawing-rooms was hideous32. They were not the least like the reception rooms at Lady Carrington's. There the furniture was rich, and yet simple; there was no sense of overcrowding, the tables were not laden33 with knick-knacks, and there were comparatively few chairs and lounges, only just enough for people to use. The walls were undecorated, except by one or two pictures, the works of masters. There were not more than two pictures in each room, for Lady Carrington had assured me that pictures were the richest ornaments34 of all, and I fully9 agreed with her. Now these rooms were totally different—the chairs, the tables, the sofas, the lounges, the grand piano, the little piano, the harpsichord35, the spinning-wheel, the pianola, gave one a sense of downright oppression. The walls were laden with pictures of every sort and description—some of them I did not admire in the very least; and there was old china and old glass, very beautiful, I had little doubt, but to me extremely inharmonious. I discovered soon that what these rooms needed was a sense of rest. There was not a single spot where the eye could remain quiet; wherever one looked one felt inclined to start and exclaim, and jump up and examine. I came to the conclusion that I preferred Aunt Penelope's very plain little drawing-room at home to this.
By and by an exceedingly tall young man in smart blue livery threw open the folding doors, and another equally tall young man in the same livery entered with a silver tray. The man who first came into the room pulled out a table and placed the tray on it, and presently a third man appeared with quantities of food. The first man poked36 up the fire, the second acquainted me with the fact that tea was quite ready, and afterwards the three left the room, closing the door softly behind them. Their velvet37 tread oppressed me; I wanted the door to bang; I wanted to hear a good, loud, wholesome38 noise.
Yes, I was at home in my father's house, but truth to tell, I had never felt less home-like in the whole course of my life. I poured myself out a cup of tea, and ate a morsel39 of bread and butter. Suddenly, before I had finished my first cup of tea, I heard quick sounds in the hall; there were footsteps, and several voices speaking together; people seemed to be rushing hither and thither40, and I heard a staccato voice mingling41 with the tones of a deep one, a deep one that I knew and loved. Then the voices and the footsteps came nearer, until a big man and a lady entered the outer drawing-room and came straight into the little room where I was sitting. The man smiled all over his face, said, "Hallo, little woman!" caught me up in his arms and kissed me; the lady said coldly, "How do you do, child? Pour me out a cup of tea, and be quick; I am fainting with exhaustion42. Gordon, will you go upstairs and take your great-coat off, and then come down and have tea like a Christian43?"
"Oh, but he must stay," I answered, for I was feeling his face and kissing him over and over, and rubbing my cheek against his.
"Gordon, please go at once," said his wife.
My hands were released, the blue eyes of Major Grayson looked full into mine. Certainly father's eyes were the most wonderful in all the world. They seemed to me to hold within their depths a mixture of every sort of emotion, of fun, of reluctant, half ashamed, half pleased, half boyish penitence44, of sorrow, of a pathos45 which was always there and always half hidden, and also of a queer and indescribable nobility, which, notwithstanding the fact that I had not seen him for years, and notwithstanding the other fact that he had married a worldly woman when he might have made me so happy, seemed to have grown and strengthened on his face. He kissed one of his hands to me, raised Lady Helen's jewelled hand to his lips, bowed to her, smiled, and departed.
"He has charming manners," she said, and then she turned to me.
"Bring me food, child," she said; "I want you to wait on me to-day; I am tired; we had a very rough crossing. To-morrow I shall take you in hand, but you are tremendously improved already. Yes, your father has delightful46 manners—we shall win through yet; but it will be a battle."
"What do you mean by 'winning through'?" I asked.
"Nothing that you need interfere47 about," she answered, a little sharply; "only listen to me once for all. I am not Lady Helen Dalrymple for nothing, and when I stoop to conquer I do conquer. Now then, fetch me the cake basket; I am ravenously48 hungry and have a passion for chocolate."
I gave her what she required, and she ate without looking at me, her sharp eyes wandering round and round the room.
"Why, how hideous!" she suddenly exclaimed. "How more than wrong of Clarkson! I gave orders that the curtains in this room were to be rose-pink; those dull blue abominations must come down; we won't have them—they'd try anyone's complexion49. Child, for goodness' sake don't stare! And yet, come and let me look at you. That blue dress suits you; but then you are young, and you have a complexion for blue."
She patted my hand for a minute, then she yawned profoundly.
"I am glad to be home," she said. "A honeymoon50 when you are no longer young is fatiguing51, to say the least of it, and I am sick of hotel life. I have already sent out my 'At Home' invitations, and for the next few days the house will be crammed every afternoon. You will have to be present—why, of course, you will—don't knit your brows together like that. I mean to be a good stepmother to you, Heather. Ah, here comes Gordon. Gordon, you look very presentable now. Sit close to me on this sofa, and let Heather give you some tea. It's nice to have one's own girl to wait on one, isn't it?"
"Profoundly nice," said the Major; "exquisitely52 nice. To think that we have a child of our very own, Helen!"
"I don't think about it," replied Lady Helen. "It isn't my custom to wear myself out going into raptures53, but, Gordon, I am very seriously displeased54 about those curtains."
"But I do. I told Clarkson's people rose-colour, soft rose-colour, and they sent blue—I will never get anything at Clarkson's again."
"They must be changed, sweetest one," replied my father.
I was giving him a cup of tea just then, and my hand shook. My stepmother noticed this; she said, in a sharp voice:
"Heather, get me a fan; that fire will spoil my complexion."
I fetched her one. She held it between herself and the fire.
"By the way, Gordon," she said suddenly, "we had better tell the child now."
"Oh, what?" I asked in some astonishment56 and also alarm.
"Really, Heather, you need not give way to such undue57 excitement. A year of my training will completely change you. I only wished to mention the fact that your name is no longer Grayson; in future you are Heather Dalrymple. Your father and I have agreed that you both take my name; that is a thing often done when there is a question of money. I hold the purse strings58. I am a very generous person as regards money; Major, dear, you can testify to that."
"I can, Helen. There never was your like, you are wonderful."
"You therefore are little Heather Dalrymple in future," continued my stepmother, "and your father and I are Major and Lady Helen Dalrymple. It's done, child, it's settled; the lawyers have arranged it all. Grayson is a frightful59 name; you ought to be truly thankful that it is in my power to change it for you. You need not even wait for your marriage; the change takes place at once."
"But I prefer my own name," I answered. "I don't want to have your name. Father, please speak—father, I am not Heather Dalrymple!"
"Oh, make no fuss about it, child," replied my father. "I have long ago come to the wise conclusion that nothing wears one out like making a fuss. Now, my dear, good, sweet, little Heather, I grieve to have to tell you that your disposition60 promises to land you in old age before your time. You fuss about everything. You fussed yourself almost into your grave when I was obliged to leave you with Penelope Despard, and yet how good poor old Pen was to you all the time! And then you were very impolite to your new mother when you heard that I was about to be married."
"Oh, I am willing to forget and forgive all that," said Lady Helen. "The child was young and taken by surprise. We enter to-day a new world. I do my best for her; she must do her best for me. If you are a good girl, Heather, you will see what a happy life you will have as my daughter."
"Please, please, father," I said, suddenly, "may I have Anastasia to be my maid? There is a girl upstairs who calls herself Morris, and she says she is my maid, but I really do want Anastasia back."
"Ask her ladyship, and do it in a pretty way," said my father, and he gave my hand a playful pinch.
"And this carpet," muttered Lady Helen. "I particularly said that the carpet was to be of a pale green, that sort of very soft green which sets off everything, and it is—goodness gracious!—it is a sort of pale blue, not even the tone of the curtains. How atrocious! Yes, Heather, yes—what is it?"
"I do want to ask you, please," I said, "if Anastasia may come back?"
"Anastasia?" said Lady Helen. "I have never heard of her. Who is she?"
"She used to be my nurse when I was in India, and she sailed with father and me in the good ship Pleiades. Oh, father! don't you remember the charm you gave me, and how we talked of gentle gales61 and prosperous winds? And, father, here's the charm, the dear old charm!"
"When you talk to me," said Lady Helen, "you will have the goodness to look at me. You want the woman—what did you say her name was?"
"Anastasia. It's quite a nice name," I answered. "I want her to be my maid instead of Morris."
"To be your maid?"
"Please, please, Lady Helen."
"Can she sew? Can she make blouses? Can she arrange hair fashionably? Can she put on your dress as it ought to be put on? I may as well say at once that I don't intend to take a pale, gawky girl about with me. You must look nice, as you can and will, if you have a proper maid, and I attend to your clothes. Can she alter your dresses when they get a little outré? In short, is the woman a lady's maid at all?"
"I cannot possibly have her back. Don't speak of it again. And now, Heather, I have something else to say. When you address me you are not to call me 'Lady Helen,' you are to say 'Mother.' The fact is, I can't stand sentimental63 nonsense. Your own mother has been in her grave for many years. If I am to act as a mother to you, I intend to have the title. Now say the word; say this—say, 'Please, mother, may I go upstairs to my private sitting-room64, and may I leave you and father alone together?' Say the words, Heather."
I turned very cold, and I have no doubt my face was white.
"Yes, Heather, say the words," cried father.
His blue eyes were extremely bright, and there was a spot of vivid colour on both his cheeks. He looked at me with such a world of longing65, such an expression of almost fear, that for his sake I gave in.
"I will do what you wish for my father's sake," I said, slowly. "I am not your child, and you are not my mother. My mother is in her grave, and when she lived her name was Grayson, not Dalrymple; but if it makes father happy for me to say 'mother,' I will say it."
"It makes me most oppressively happy, my little Heather," cried my father.
"Then I will do it for you, Daddy," I said.
Lady Helen frowned at me. I went slowly out of the room.
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1
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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laden
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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harpsichord
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| n.键琴（钢琴前身） | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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ravenously
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| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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