Part 26 (2/2)
”What is the time of your return, Leo? And you know what will be then? You will find on the stage another Grace Mainwaring, who will sing always out of tune, and be so stupid that you will have fury and will complain to the Manager. Ah, there is now no one to speak with you from behind a fan--only a dull heavy stupid. Misera me!
What shall I do? All the poetry departed from Harry Thornhill's singing--there is no more fascination for him--he looks up to the window--he sings 'The starry night brings me no rest'--and he says 'Bother to that stupid Italian girl!--why am I to sing to her?'
Poor Leo, he will be disconsolate; but not for long. No; Miss Burgoyne will be coming back; and then he will have some one for to talk with from behind the fan.
”Now, Leo, if you can read any more, I must attend to what you call _beesness_. When Miss Burgoyne returns, I do not go back to be under-study to Miss Girond--no--Mr. Lehmann has said he is pleased with me, and I am to take the part of Miss Considine, who goes into the provincial company. You know it is almost the same consequence as Grace Mainwaring towards the public, and I am, oh, very proud of such an advancement; and I have written to Pandiani, and to Carmela and Andrea, and Mrs. Grey is kinder than ever, and I take lessons always and always, when she has a half-hour from the house-governing. I am _letter perfect_--is it what they say?--in this part as in the other; my bad English does not appear on the stage; I practise and practise always. I am to share in Miss Girond's room, and that will be good, for she is friendly to me, though sometimes a little saucy in her amus.e.m.e.nt. Already I hear that the theatre-attendant people are coming back--and you--when is your return? You had benevolence to the poor chorus-singer, Signor Leo; and now she is prima-donna do you think she will forget you?
No, no! To-day I was going up Regent Street, and in a window behold! a portrait of Mr. Lionel Moore and a portrait of Miss Antonia Ross side by side! I laughed--I said, Leo did not look to this a short time ago. It is the same fotografer; I have had several requests; but only to that one I went, for it is the best one of you he has taken that is seen anywhere. Of course I have to dress as like Miss Burgoyne as possible, which is a pity to me, for it is not too graceful, as I think I could do; but I complain nothing, since Mr. Lehmann gave me the great advancement; and if you will look at the critiques you will see they say I have not a bad appearance in the part. As for the _briccone_--pah!--when I talk like this to you, Leo, I despise him--he is nothing to me--I would not pay twopence that he should praise me.
”Will you write to me, Leo, and say when you return? Have you so much _beesness_ that you have only sent me one letter? Adieu!
”Your true friend, NINA.”
Well, this prattling letter from Nina caused him some reflection and some uneasy qualms. He did not so much mind the prospect of having, on his return, to transform his old friend and comrade into his stage-sweetheart, and to make pa.s.sionate love to her every evening before an audience. That might be a little embarra.s.sing at first; but the feeling would soon wear off; such circ.u.mstances were common and well understood in the theatre, where stage-lovers cease their cooing the moment they withdraw into the wings. But this other possibility of finding Miss Burgoyne and her friends in the immediate neighborhood of Strathaivron Lodge? Of course there was no reason why she shouldn't travel through Ross-s.h.i.+re just as well as any one else. She knew his address. If she came anywhere round this way--say to Kilfearn--he must needs go to call on her. Then both Lady Adela Cunyngham and Lord Rockminster had been introduced to Miss Burgoyne in the New Theatre; if he told them, as he ought, on whom he was going to call, might they not want to accompany him and renew the acquaintance? Lady Adela and her sisters considered themselves the naturally appointed patrons of all professional folk whose names figured in the papers; was it not highly probable that Miss Burgoyne and her friends, whosoever these might be, would receive an invitation to Strathaivron Lodge? And then?--why, then might there not be rather too close a resemblance to a band of poor players being entertained by the great people at what Nina imagined to be a castle? A solitary guest was all very well; had Miss Burgoyne preceded or succeeded him, he could not have objected; but a group of strolling players, as it were?--might it not look as if they had been summoned to amuse the n.o.ble company? And fancy Miss Burgoyne coming in as a spy upon his mute, and at present quite indefinite, relations with Miss Honnor Cunyngham!--Miss Burgoyne, who was a remarkably sharp-eyed young woman, and had a clever and merry tongue withal, when she was disposed to be humorous.
Then he bethought him of what Honnor Cunyngham, with her firm independence of character, her proud self-reliance, would have said to all these timorous fancies. He knew perfectly well what she would say.
She would say, ”Well, but even if Miss Burgoyne were to appear at Strathaivron Lodge, how could that affect you? You are yourself; you are apart from her; her visit will be Lady Adela's doing, not yours. And if people choose to regard you as one of a band of strolling players, how can that harm you? Why should you care? The opinion that is of value to you is your own opinion; be right with yourself; and leave others to think what they please. Whoever could so entirely misjudge your position must be a fool; why should you pause for a moment to consider the opinion of a fool or any number of fools? 'To thine own self be true;'
and let that suffice.”
For he had come to know pretty accurately, during these frequent if intermittent talks and chats along the Aivron banks, how Miss Honnor would regard most things. The wild weather had been succeeded by a period of calm; the river had dwindled and dwindled, until it seemed merely to creep along its channel; where a rus.h.i.+ng brown current had come down there now appeared long banks of stones, lilac and silver-gray and purple, basking in the sun; while half-way across the stream in many places the yellow sand and s.h.i.+ngle shone through the lazily rippling shallows. Consequently there was little fis.h.i.+ng to be done. Honnor Cunyngham went out all the same, for she loved the river-side in all weathers; and as often as he discreetly might, Lionel accompanied her; but as they had frequently to wait for half-hours together until a cloud should come over, he had ample opportunity of learning her views and opinions on a great variety of subjects. For she spoke freely and frankly and simply in this enforced idleness; and, from just a little touch here and there, Lionel began to think that she must have a good deal more of womanly tenderness and sympathy than he had given her credit for. Certainly she was always most considerate towards himself; she seemed to understand that he was a little sensitive on the score of his out-of-door performances; and while she made light of his occasional blunders, she would quietly hint to him that he in turn ought to exercise a generous judgment when those people at the Lodge ventured to enter a province in which he was a past master.
”We are all amateurs in something or another, Mr. Moore,” she would say.
”And the professionals should not treat us with scorn.”
”I wonder in what you show yourself an amateur,” said he, bethinking himself how she seemed to keep aloof from the music, art, and literature of her accomplished sisters-in-law. ”Everything you do you do thoroughly well.”
She laughed.
”You have never seen me try to do anything but cast a line,” said she, ”and if I can manage that, the credit rests with old Robert.”
But the consideration that she invariably extended to her brother's guest was about to show itself in a very marked manner; and the incident arose in this wise. One morning, the weather being much too bright and clear for the shallower pools of the Aivron, they thought they would take luncheon with them, and stroll up to the Geinig, where, in the afternoon, the deeper pools might give them a chance, especially if a few clouds were to come over. Accordingly the three of them went away along the valley, pa.s.sed over the Bad Step, meandered through the long birch wood, and finally arrived at the little dell above the Geinig Pool, which was Miss Honnor's favorite retreat. They had left somewhat late; the sun was s.h.i.+ning from a cloudless sky; luncheon would pa.s.s the useless time; so Robert got the small parcels and the drinking-cups out of the bag, and arranged them on the warm turf. It was a modest little banquet, but in the happiest circ.u.mstances; for the birch branches above them afforded them a picturesque shelter; and the burn at their feet, attenuated as it was, and merely threading its way down through the stones, flashed diamonds here and there in the light. And then she was so kind as to thank him again for singing ”The Bonnie Earl o'
Moray”--which had considerably astounded the people a.s.sembled at the opening of the Kilfearn Public Hall, or, at least, such of them as did not know that a great singer was among the guests at Strathaivron Lodge.
”I was rather sorry for them who had to follow you,” she said; ”they must have felt it was hardly fair. It was like Donald Dinnie at the Highland Games: when he has thrown the hammer or tossed the caber, the spectator hardly takes notice of the next compet.i.tor. By the way, I suppose you will be going to the Northern meeting at the end of this month?”
”I am sorry I cannot stay so long, though Lady Adela was good enough to ask me,” he made answer. ”I must go south very soon now.”
”Oh, indeed?” she said. ”That is a pity. It is worth while being in Inverness then; you see all the different families and their guests; and the b.a.l.l.s are picturesque--with the kilt and tartan. It is really the wind-up of the season; the parties break up after that. We come back here and remain until about the middle of October; then we go on to the Braes--worse luck for me. I like the rough-and-tumble of this place; the absence of ceremony; the freedom and the solitude. It will be very different at the Braes.”
”Why shouldn't you stop on here, then?” he naturally asked.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”_Robert got the small parcels and the drinking-cups out of the bag, and arranged them on the warm turf._”]
”All by myself?” she said. ”Well, I shouldn't mind the loneliness--you see, old Robert is left here, and Roderick, too, and one or two of the girls to keep fires on; but I should have nothing to do but read; the fis.h.i.+ng is useless long before that time. And so you are going away quite soon?”
”Yes,” said he, and he paused for a second--for there was some wild wish in his heart that she would have just one word of regret. ”I must go,”
<script>