Part 31 (1/2)
”I will tell her nothing that is likely to vex her.”
”Do not--PRAY do not. Only take these sordid worries off her shoulders, and give her what she needs, and don't let her toil and moil. Remember, it is for her I do it.” There was a little sting in that last remark, but he was too happy to feel it.
CHAPTER XXII.
Now, what to do for Rose.
Rose had written warm congratulations to her sister, without mentioning any desire for a personal interview. Ever since her marriage, she had refrained from giving invitations to her family, leaving the initiative in social matters to them--a mark of consideration and good taste on her part which they had quite approved of; and intercourse had been limited to afternoon calls, more or less affectionate and informal, but stopping short at meals in common under the roof of either party. Now, however, Deb craved for a fuller sympathy with the sweetest-tempered and kindest-hearted of her sisters, and now it seemed so perfectly easy to go to her house in pursuit of it. She despatched an impulsive note:
”DEAREST,--I want a quiet talk with you about all that has happened.
May I come to lunch tomorrow, so as to make a long afternoon of it? If not convenient, fix a day to lunch with me; but I am not so tied as you are, and besides, I should like to have Peter's advice on one or two little matters of business, if it would not bother him--of course, after he comes from town. Don't keep him at home on purpose.”
To which Rose replied by telegram:
”Shall expect you early tomorrow for a long day. Peter delighted to place himself at your disposal.”
So Deb set off next morning, full of benevolent intentions, to gather poor humdrum Rose and her (in his way) truly worthy husband into the sphere of her golden prosperity. Also, incidentally, to warm herself in the light of faithful and familiar eyes. Since her final dismissal of Claud Dalzell--although she was satisfied with that act, and ready to repeat it again, if necessary--she had been conscious of a personal loneliness, not sensibly mitigated by her crowd-attracting wealth.
”Someone of my own” was the want of her warm heart.
And Rose, with no petty grudge for past short-comings, answered that need with open arms. Never was hostess more cordial to honoured guest.
Peter also was at home. He had been to town and back again, and now stood upon his spotless doorstep, and anon upon his handsome drawing-room hearthrug, determined that his house should lack nothing befitting the great occasion. It was all in gala dress--newly-arranged flowers, festive lunch-table, the best foot foremost; and yet, whereas there was no hiding the self-seeker in the ingratiating Bennet Goldsworthy, there was no finding him in this proud host and husband, whose desire was only to do his dear wife credit.
Neither of them said, in word or manner, ”Why didn't you come like this before?” Deb knew that her welcome would have been the same, and had hard work not to show too frankly her sense of their magnanimity. As it was, she nearly kissed Peter in the hall--such a nice, warm, comfortable, hospitable entrance to as comfortable a home (in its undeniably middle-cla.s.s style) as she had ever been inside of--the more striking in its effect by contrast with Mary's. Peter's cuffs were like the driven snow; he was charmingly fresh and clean, well barbered and well tailored; grown quite handsome, too, now that he had filled out and matured. As for Rose--”I hear,” Frances wrote from Paris, ”that poor Rose has become a perfect tub.” Mrs Peter was almost as broad as she was long. But what health in the sunny face! What opulent well-being in the full curves of her figure, gowned in a fas.h.i.+on to satisfy even Deb's exigent taste.
They did not tell her it was good of her to come to see them, but they told her in all the languages of courtesy that they were mighty glad she had come. She was taken into the drawing-room--full of soft chairs and sofas that anybody might sit on, and with a fire of clear coals in a grate that glittered with constant polis.h.i.+ng. But everything in Peter's establishment seemed to s.h.i.+ne with pure cleanliness; he took after his mother, who, modest in other things, was fond of offering a sovereign to anybody who would find a cobweb in her house.
Deb was peeled of her furs by Peter, with the greatest deference and politeness, but with none of the obsequiousness that had sickened her elsewhere; he laid down her sable cloak with the reverence of one who knew its value, and he asked Rose in a whisper if her sister would like a gla.s.s of wine before lunch. The smiling matron shook her head, and whispered something else, which sent him out of the room. Then, while he skipped about in the background, attending to the wines and beers, she convoyed the guest to the very luxurious bedroom where head-nurse Keziah dandled the youngest of the Breen children. The rest had had their dinners and gone out a-walking, so as not to be made too much of by a silly mother, if it could be helped. Warm was the greeting between Keziah and her late mistress, and many the questions about Redford and the old folks; but there was no hint that Mrs Moon hankered after the big store-rooms and linen-closets, the dignities and privileges of her former home. Her heart was with Rose's babies now.
”There, what do you think of THIS?” she demanded, as she proudly displayed her charge, and, being invited thereto, condescendingly laid it in Deb's outstretched arms.
It was a pretty, healthy creature, fat, dainty and about two months old, still in the whitest and finest of long clothes. ”Little duck!”
Deb crooned, and rubbed her cheek almost with pa.s.sion on its rose-leaf skin. Robert's nose, indeed, was dislocated on the spot.
”Oh, Rosie,” she presently blurted out, ”I would like to have this child!”
”Would you?” replied Rose, all smiles.
”No, but, seriously and without joking, I really would, you know.”
”I daresay,” laughed the plump little mother, and her laugh was echoed by Keziah as she pa.s.sed into the adjoining nursery--to leave the long parted sisters to themselves.
”Now, look here,” the guest addressed the hostess, thoughtfully and deliberately, as soon as they were alone, ”if you will give her to me, I will bring her up and educate her as perfectly as care and money can do it. She shall take the name of Pennycuick, and be my daughter, and my heiress, and the future representative of the family. And,” she added, for her own inward ear, ”we can live at home or somewhere, if necessary, where Breens and such will not have the chance to interfere with us.”
”As if I would give my baby away,” Rose sweetly jeered her--”even for a kingdom!”
”You have five more, and may have another five--or twenty-five. It looks like it.”
”But none to spare. Besides, you won't want other people's children when you get your own. How about her being the heiress then?”