Part 32 (1/2)
”It's all right, darling; it'll be very nice for them.”
She was perhaps the only person in the world who was not just a little bit afraid of Kirsteen. Indeed, she was const.i.tutionally unable to be afraid of anything, except motor-cars, and, of course, earwigs, and even them one must put up with. Her critical sense told her that this woman in blue was just like anybody else, besides her father had been the colonel of a Highland regiment, which was quite nice, and one must put the best face on her.
In this way, pointing out the beauty of each feature of the scenery, and not permitting herself or Nedda to think about the bag, they drove until they came to Joyfields.
Kirsteen alone was in, and, having sent Nedda into the orchard to look for her uncle, Frances Freeland came at once to the point. It was so important, she thought, that darling Nedda should see more of dear Derek. They were very young, and if she could stay for a few weeks, they would both know their minds so much better. She had made her bring her bag, because she knew dear Kirsteen would agree with her; and it would be so nice for them all. Felix had told her about that poor man who had done this dreadful thing, and she thought that if Nedda were here it would be a distraction. She was a very good child, and quite useful in the house. And while she was speaking she watched Kirsteen, and thought: 'She is very handsome, and altogether ladylike; only it is such a pity she wears that blue thing in her hair--it makes her so conspicuous.' And rather unexpectedly she said:
”Do you know, dear, I believe I know the very thing to keep your hair from getting loose. It's such lovely hair. And this is quite a new thing, and doesn't show at all; invented by a very nice hairdresser in Worcester. It's simplicity itself. Do let me show you!” Quickly going over, she removed the kingfisher-blue fillet, and making certain pa.s.ses with her fingers through the hair, murmured:
”It's so beautifully fine; it seems such a pity not to show it all, dear. Now look at yourself!” And from the recesses of her pocket she produced a little mirror. ”I'm sure Tod will simply love it like that.
It'll be such a nice change for him.”
Kirsteen, with just a faint wrinkling of her lips and eyebrows, waited till she had finished. Then she said:
”Yes, Mother, dear, I'm sure he will,” and replaced the fillet. A patient, half-sad, half-quizzical smile visited Frances Freeland's lips, as who should say: 'Yes, I know you think that I'm a fuss-box, but it really is a pity that you wear it so, darling!'
At sight of that smile, Kirsteen got up and kissed her gravely on the forehead.
When Nedda came back from a fruitless search for Tod, her bag was already in the little spare bedroom and Frances Freeland gone. The girl had never yet been alone with her aunt, for whom she had a fervent admiration not unmixed with awe. She idealized her, of course, thinking of her as one might think of a picture or statue, a symbolic figure, standing for liberty and justice and the redress of wrong. Her never-varying garb of blue a.s.sisted the girl's fancy, for blue was always the color of ideals and aspiration--was not blue sky the nearest one could get to heaven--were not blue violets the flowers of spring?
Then, too, Kirsteen was a woman with whom it would be quite impossible to gossip or small-talk; with her one could but simply and directly say what one felt, and only that over things which really mattered. And this seemed to Nedda so splendid that it sufficed in itself to prevent the girl from saying anything whatever. She longed to, all the same, feeling that to be closer to her aunt meant to be closer to Derek. Yet, with all, she knew that her own nature was very different; this, perhaps, egged her on, and made her aunt seem all the more exciting. She waited breathless till Kirsteen said:
”Yes, you and Derek must know each other better. The worst kind of prison in the world is a mistaken marriage.”
Nedda nodded fervently. ”It must be. But I think one knows, Aunt Kirsteen!”
She felt as if she were being searched right down to the soul before the answer came:
”Perhaps. I knew myself. I have seen others who did--a few. I think you might.”
Nedda flushed from sheer joy. ”I could never go on if I didn't love. I feel I couldn't, even if I'd started.”
With another long look through narrowing eyes, Kirsteen answered:
”Yes. You would want truth. But after marriage truth is an unhappy thing, Nedda, if you have made a mistake.”
”It must be dreadful. Awful.”
”So don't make a mistake, my dear--and don't let him.”
Nedda answered solemnly:
”I won't--oh, I won't!”
Kirsteen had turned away to the window, and Nedda heard her say quietly to herself:
”'Liberty's a glorious feast!'”
Trembling all over with the desire to express what was in her, Nedda stammered:
”I would never keep anything that wanted to be free--never, never! I would never try to make any one do what they didn't want to!”