Part 68 (1/2)

”Yes--it's December,” said Boden, smiling, to Lady Tatham; ”but perhaps”--the accent was ironical--”when she comes back the seasons will have changed!”

The session broke up in excited conversation, of which Faversham was the centre.

”This is final?” said Undershaw, eying him keenly. ”You intend to stand by it?”

”'Fierce work it were to do again!'” said Faversham, in a quotation recognized by Undershaw, who generally went to bed with a scientific book on one side of him, and a volume of modern poets on the other. Faversham was now radiant. He stood with his arm round Lydia. Victoria had her hand.

Meanwhile in the Italian garden and through the yew hedges, Daphne fled, and Apollo pursued. At last he caught her, and she sank upon a garden seat. He put the shawl round her, and stood with his hands in his pockets surveying her.

”What was the matter, Felicia?” he asked her, gently.

”It is ridiculous!” she said, sobbing. ”Why wasn't I asked? I don't want a guardian! I won't have you for a guardian!” And she beat her foot angrily on the paved path.

Tatham laughed.

”You'll have to go back and behave nicely, Felicia. Haven't you any thanks for Faversham?”

”I never asked him to do it! How can I look after all that! It'll kill me. I want to sing! I want to go on the stage!”

He sat down beside her. Her dark head covered with its silky curls, her very black eyes and arched brows in her small pink face, the pointed chin, and tiny mouth, made a very winning figure of her, as she sat there, under a garden vase, and an overhanging yew. And that, although the shawl was huddled round her shoulders, and the eyes were red with tears.

”You will be able to do anything you like, Felicia. You will be terribly rich.”

She gazed at him, the storm in her breast subsiding a little.

”How rich?” she asked him, pouting.

He tried to give her some idea. She sighed. ”It's dreadful! What shall I do with it all!”

Then as her eyes still searched him, he saw them change--first to soft--then wild. Her colour flamed. She moved farther from him, and tried to put on a businesslike air.

”I want to ask a question.”

”Ask it.”

”Am I--am I as rich as any girl you would be likely to marry?”

”What an odd question! Do you think I want money?”

”I know you don't!” she said, with a wail. ”That's what's so horrid! Why can't you all leave me alone?”

Then recovering herself fiercely, she began again:

”In my country--in Italy--when two people are about equally rich--a man and a girl--their relations go and talk to each other. They say, 'Will it suit you?'--the man has so much--the girl has so much--they like each other--and--wouldn't it do very well!”

She sprang up. Tatham had flushed. He looked at her in speechless amazement. She stood opposite him, making herself as tall as she could, her hands behind her.

”Lord Tatham--my mother is ill--my father is dead. You're not my guardian yet--and I don't think I'll ever let you be! So there's n.o.body but me to do it. I'm sorry--I know it's not quite right, quite--quite English.

Well, any way! Lord Tatham, you say I have a _dot_! So that's all right.