Part 13 (1/2)
”Who cares for Mrs. Milward! Look here, mother, suppose _you_ pay the calls and let me go and see Hilda. I have a good deal I want to talk over with her; for one thing, I want to say something about Judy.”
”Poor, queer little Judy,” said Mrs. Anstruther with a laugh. ”What can you possibly have to say about her?”
”I don't think Judy is at all well,” said Mildred. ”There is such a thing as dying of heart-hunger. If ever a child suffered from that old-fas.h.i.+oned complaint, it is that poor mite at Little Staunton Rectory.”
”My dear Mildred, you get more absurd every day. Judy lives in a most comfortable home, for notwithstanding their poverty, old Aunt Marjorie manages to keep everything going in really respectable style. The child has a loving father, a devoted aunt, a dear little sister, and an excellent governess, and you talk of her dying of heart-hunger! It is absurd.”
”Nevertheless,” said Mildred,--she stopped abruptly, her bright eyes looked across the room and out through the open window,--”nevertheless,”
she said, giving her foot an impatient tap, ”I should like to see Hilda.
I should like to have a long talk with her. I have heard nothing about her since her wedding, so by your leave, mother, I'll drive over to West Kensington immediately after lunch and send the victoria back for you.”
Mrs. Anstruther, who was always more or less like wax in the hands of her strong-minded daughter, was obliged somewhat unwillingly to submit to this arrangement; and Mildred, charmingly dressed and looking young and lovely, was bowled rapidly away in the direction of Hilda Quentyns'
humble home soon after two o'clock.
”It will be pleasant to take the poor old dear by surprise,” said Mildred to herself. ”There was a time when I felt jealous of her good fortune in having secured Jasper Quentyns, but, thank goodness, I have quite got over the a.s.saults of the green-eyed monster now. Ah, here we are. What a queer little street!--what frightfully new and yet picturesque houses! They look like dove-cotes. I wonder if this pair of turtle-doves coo in their nest all day long.”
The footman jumped down and rang the doorbell. In a moment a neatly-dressed but very young looking servant stood in the open doorway.
”Yes, Mrs. Quentyns was at home,” she said, and Mildred entered Hilda's pretty house.
She went into the drawing room, and stood somewhat impatiently waiting for her hostess to appear. The little room was furnished with an eye to artistic effect, the walls were decorated with good taste. The furniture was new, as well as pretty. One beautiful photogravure from Burne Jones'
”Wheel of Fortune” was hung over the mantelpiece. Hilda and Quentyns, faithfully represented by an Italian photographer, stood side by side in a little frame on one of the brackets. Mildred felt herself drawing one or two heavy sighs.
”I don't know what there is about this little room, but I like it,” she murmured; ”nay, more, I love it. I can fancy good people inhabiting it.
I am quite certain that Love has not yet flown out of the window. I am quite sure, too, of another thing, that even if Poverty does come in at this door, Love will remain. Oh, silly Hilda, what have you to do with the 'Wheel of Fortune'? your position is a.s.sured; you dwell safely enthroned in the heart of a good man. Oh, happy Hilda!”
The door was opened, and Hilda Quentyns smiling, with roses on her cheeks and words of delighted welcome on her lips, rushed into the room.
”How sweet of you to call, Mildred,” she exclaimed. ”I was just wondering if you would take any notice of me.”
”You dear creature,” said Mildred, kissing Hilda and patting her on the shoulder. ”Two hours ago I heard for the first time that you were in London. I ate my lunch and ordered the victoria, and put on my prettiest bonnet and drove over to see you as fast as ever the horses would bring me. I could not well pay my respects to Mrs. Quentyns in a shorter time.”
”I am very glad to see you,” said Hilda.
”How childish you look,” replied Mildred, gazing at her in a rather dissatisfied way; ”you have no responsibilities at all now, your Jasper takes the weight of everything, and you live in perpetual suns.h.i.+ne. Is the state of bliss as blissful as we have always been led to imagine, Hilda, or are the fairy tales untrue, and does the prince only exist in one's imagination?”
”Oh, no, he is real, quite real,” said Hilda. ”I am as happy as it is possible for a human being to be. Jasper--but I won't talk of him--you know what I really think of him. Now let me show you my house. Isn't it a sweet little home? Wasn't it good of Jasper to come here? He wanted a flat, but when he saw that my heart was set on a little house, he took this. Don't you like our taste in furniture, Milly? Oh, Milly dear, I _am_ glad to see you. It is nice to look at one of the dear home-faces again.”
”Come and show me your house,” said Mildred; ”I am going to stay a long time--all the afternoon, if possible.”
”I am more than glad; you must remain to dinner. I will telegraph to Jasper to come home early.”
”I don't mind if I do,” said Mildred. ”I have no very special engagements for this evening, and even if I had I should be disposed to break them. It is not often one gets the chance of spending an hour in a nest with two turtle-doves.”
”Come, come,” said Hilda, ”that sounds as if you were laughing at us.
Now you shall see the house, and then we'll have tea together, and you must tell me all about the old place.”