Part 16 (1/2)
”c.u.mly, _September 30, 19--_.
”Dear Captain Blair,
”Martin is engaged to Grizel Dundas. She is giving up thirty thousand a year to marry him, and he is going to let her do it. I sent Dorothea a cutting from the newspaper, which no doubt you have seen, so I need not enlarge upon the details of a 'millionaire's extraordinary will,' and the subsequent 'Romantic engagement. Millionaire's heiress gives up her fortune to marry well-known novelist.' (See _Morning Post_.)
”The marriage is to be in January, and we are house-hunting, answering letters of congratulation, looking at patterns, discussing dresses and wallpapers, and hats, and carpets, and what to do with drawing-room walls, and where to find new places for such trifles as sideboards, and buffets, and bookcases, and maiden sisters... They'll fit in somewhere, I suppose, and look fairly comfortable and at home in their new positions, but it will take a little settling down! The sideboard was made especially to fit a niche here; the maiden sister thought she was, too, but they've both got to move, and look distrustfully upon new corners.
”Grizel spent a week with us, then went off on a round of visits. She has left the old house and given up her claim to the money at once, so as to avoid all appearance of 'making a purse' for Martin's benefit.
They are preposterously happy, and have each explained to me most carefully that the other is _so_ anxious for me to live with them, and confessed that from their _own_ standpoint it might perhaps be better-- for a time at least ... and I have relieved their feelings, poor dears, by proclaiming at once that nothing could bribe me, either sooner or later.
”Now, Lonely Man, go down on your knees and thank Providence, fasting, that you are not a woman! You've done it heaps of times before, but do it once again. No man in the world could find himself in such a position as I am in at this moment, at twenty-six, _past_, after doing my duty in my appointed place for a painstaking eight years. For what have I gained--in what single way have I prepared myself for the journey ahead? I can keep house satisfactorily on a satisfactory income, but I shall have no house to keep; I can train servants, but I shall have no servants to train. In any case I could have learned as much in one year, and I've wasted eight! Not _wasted_, you'll say, as it was an obvious duty to look after Martin's home, but the fact remains that the years have gone by, and left me at the end, adrift, with the alternative of living on charity, or working for myself, and no work that I can do!
Too young to be a housekeeper, too old to begin a training.
”It is a big problem, and must be gripped. I have many invitations, enough to fill six months at least, but I've refused them all! I can't frivol with that big question unsolved, so I'm going away quietly by myself to think it out. The friends here are keenly interested, and proffer advice, tinctured with consolation as follows: 'Have you ever thought of dispensing? I knew a girl who had such a good post, and married the doctor. Of course you will marry, too, dear!'--'I'm told there's quite a big income to be made out of fas.h.i.+on designing' (Can't draw a line!). 'Then you could go on with it at home if you married a poor man. Of course you'll marry.' ... 'You might be a matron at Eton...' (Might I?) 'How would you like to be a Cookery Demonstrator?'
(Not at all!) 'So useful when you marry.'--'Charity Organisation Offices need Secretaries. Couldn't you get your brother to get the Bishop to write to say you'd be suitable?' (Story-teller if he did! I shouldn't.
Too much sympathy, and too little judgment, I'd give them money on the sly!)
”'Dear Katrine! promise me _one_ thing,--that you will _not_ be tempted to go on the stage!' (Vicar's wife having seen me act charades at a mild tea fray.) 'Wait patiently and trustfully, performing faithfully the little duties that arise, and in good time...' (_She means the curate_!!)
”Oh, dear, it's funny, but I'm not laughing. I'm trying not to ay. In the horrid, ungrateful way we have, I realise for the first time how well off I've been; how comfortable, and snug, and independent, and--_necessary_! That's the crux of it all. I _was_ necessary--now I'm superfluous!
”Well! here I am, you see, for the first time in twenty-six years really at grips with life, about to experience for myself the troubles and perplexities which so far have been mere matters of hearsay! I growsed and grizzled about the dulness of monotony, now I'm to taste uncertainty for a change. It may be very good for me; the vicar's wife says-- confidently!--that it will be. I can imagine myself pouring forth the most inspiriting sentiments to my next-door neighbour, similarly bound, but when _You_ write to me, _don't_ be inspiriting! I pray you, _don't_ make the best of it! Say that it's an unjust world; that brothers have _no right_ to get married, and chuck their sisters; that it's confoundedly hard lines, and that I'm a hardly used, unappreciated, despised, abandoned angel and martyr. That will buck me up, and give me courage to go on!
”But I want you to know one thing! If I could alter everything by a wave of the hand, nothing would induce me to do it! To see the cloud lifted, to watch blank eyes grow deep, and sweet, and satisfied again,-- that's a wonderful thing, and it would be a pigmy soul who did not rejoice. So think of me as I am, _really_ happy, and truthfully thankful, but naturally a little agitated as to personal plans. Here's an excitement for you! Guess what I'll be, when you hear from me next!
”Superfluously,
”Katrine.”
Cable message from Dorothea Middleton to Katrine Beverley:
”_October 10, 19--_.
”Come immediately year's visit. Cable dates.”
Reply cable from Katrine Beverley to Dorothea Middleton:
”_October 11, 19--_.
”Regret quite impossible. Thanks.”
”Lebong, _October 23, 19--_.
”Dear Katrine,
”So you have refused Dorothea's invitation to come out to her for the next year. She, poor girl, is surprised and hurt; I, on the contrary, am neither one nor t'other. I knew it; felt it in my bones; could have drafted beforehand your reply--and what's more, dear, I know precisely by what train of argument the refusal came about!--I--Jim Blair--am the bogie! You are saying to yourself: 'A year ago I should have gone. It would have seemed the obvious thing to go to Dorothea. Her companions.h.i.+p, and the novelty of the surroundings would have been my best medicine and cure, but now it's impossible! There's that man! ...
Behind the friendly import of his letters, there's something else, the which I have strenuously ignored, but I have recognised it all the same.
If I went out now, leaving Martin married and content, he would think,--that man would think,--imagine,--perhaps even (he's audacious enough!)--_Expect_! ... My presence would give ground to these expectations. Therefore, Q.E.D., as a modest, self-respecting damsel I cannot go! I must stay at home. I shall be dull; I shall be lonely; I shall be disappointed,' (You _would_ be disappointed, Katrine!) 'But my self-respect will be preserved. No man shall ever have it in his power to say that I have travelled to the end of the world ”on appro,”--that I have deliberately thrown myself in his way. Sooner a hundred times death or life-solitude! The question is settled. Let it rest. Selah!'