Part 11 (2/2)

”Well,” cried Hadria at length, raising her head with a long sigh, ”one cannot do better than follow one's own instinct and thought of the moment. Regret may come, do what one may. One cannot escape from one's own temperament.”

”One can modify it.”

”I cannot even wish to modify mine, so that I should become amenable to these social demands. I stand in hopeless opposition to the scheme of life that I have grown up amongst, to the universal scheme of life indeed, as understood by the world up to this day. Audacious, is it not?”

”I like audacity,” returned Miss Du Prel. ”As I understand you, you require an altogether new dispensation!”

Hadria gave a half smile, conscious of her stupendous demand. Then she said, with a peculiar movement of the head, as if throwing off a heavy weight, and looking before her steadily: ”Yes, I require a new dispensation.”

CHAPTER VIII.

Hubert Temperley made a point of going to the tennis-party, on Tuesday, at Dunaghee, in order to talk to Miss Fullerton. He had not expected to find original musical talent in this out-of-the-way place.

Hadria was in a happy mood, for her mother had so far overcome her prejudice against Miss Du Prel, as to ask her to join the party.

The festivity had, therefore, lost its usual quality of melancholy.

It was a warm afternoon, and every one seemed cheerful ”and almost intelligent,” Hadria commented. The first words that Mr. Temperley uttered, made her turn to him, in surprise. She was so unaccustomed to be interested in what the people about here had to say. Even intelligent visitors usually adopted the tone of the inhabitants. Hubert Temperley's manner was very polished. His accent denoted mental cultivation. He spoke with eloquence of literature, and praised enthusiastically most great names dating securely from the hallowed past. Of modern literature he was a stern critic; of music he spoke with ardour.

”I hear that you not only perform but compose, Miss Fullerton,” he said.

”As soon as I heard that, I felt that I must make your acquaintance. My friends, the Gordons, are very charming, but they don't understand a note of music, and I am badly off for a kindred spirit.”

”My composing is a very mild affair,” Hadria answered. ”I suppose you are more fortunate.”

”Not much. I am pretty busy you see. I have my profession. I play a good deal--the piano and the _'cello_ are my instruments. But my difficulty is to find someone to accompany me. My sister does when she can, but of course with a house and family to look after----I am sometimes selfish enough to wish she had not married. We used to be such good friends.”

”Is that all over?”

”It is different. She always manages to be busy now,” said Temperley in a slightly ironical tone.

He plunged once more, into a musical discussion.

Hadria had reluctantly to cut it short, in order to arrange tennis-matches. This task was performed as usual, somewhat recklessly.

Polite and amiable in indiscriminate fas.h.i.+on, Hadria ignored the secret jealousies and heart-burnings of the neighbourhood, only to recognise and repent her mistakes when too late. To-day she was even more unchastened than usual in her dealings with inflammable social material.

”Hadria!” cried Mrs. Fullerton, taking her aside, ”How _could_ you ask Cecilia Gordon to play with young McKenzie? You _know_ their families are not on speaking terms!”

Everyone, except the culprit, had remarked the haughty manner in which Cecilia wielded her racket, and the gloomy silence in which the set was played.

Hadria, though not impenitent, laughed. ”How does Miss Gordon manage to be energetic and chilling at the same time!” she exclaimed.

The Gordons and the McKenzies, like hostile armies, looked on grimly.

Everyone felt awkward, and to feel awkward was nothing less than tragic, in the eyes of the a.s.sembly.

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