Part 19 (1/2)
”What! You heard that?” cried Yvonne, astonished. ”You _are_ able to hear far.”
”Ay; and able to see far too. Would you like to know what I can see for you, my sweet young lady?” she went on, dropping into the wheedling whine of the professional fortune-teller.
”It would be fun to have my fortune told,” said the girl rather wistfully.
”Yvonne, I'm surprised at you,” said Wagram, with somewhat of an approach to sternness. ”Don't you know that all that sort of thing is forbidden, child, and very wisely so, too?”
”I know; but I don't mean seriously--only just for the fun of the thing.”
”No--no. Not 'only just for' anything; it's not to be thought of.”
”It's 'ard to live,” whined the woman, ”and me that's tramped without bite or sup since yesterday. And I'm that 'ungry!”
She certainly looked her words. Wagram softened in a moment.
”Here,” he said; ”and now take my advice and get on your way. We don't want any fortune-tellers round here.”
The tramp spat gleefully--for luck--on the half-crown which lay in her surprised palm.
”Thankee, sir, and good luck to you, sir, and to the sweet young lady.
I'll move on, never fear. You're a genelman, you are.”
”What are you up to, Wagram?” said Haldane, joining them. ”Encouraging vagrancy--as usual? Good line that for a county magistrate.”
”Oh, I can't see those poor devils looking so woebegone and turn them away. The principle's quite wrong, I know, but--there it is.”
”Quite wrong. They're generally lying.”
”More than likely. Still, there it is.”
He was thinking of his meditations as he had ridden over--of the contrast between his life now and formerly, of the intense joy of possession, which he hoped did not come within the definition of ”the pride of life.” Of the ragged tramp he had just relieved he had no further thought. Yet it might be that even she would cross his path again. It might be, too, when that befell, little enough of ”the pride of life” would then be his.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
MORE SIEGE HOUSE AMENITIES.
In conjecturing that Delia Calmour's honourable renunciation was probably made at the cost of her peace at home the Squire proved himself a true prophet, for the poor girl's life became anything but a bed of roses. When he heard that she had irrevocably carried out her intention old Calmour grew savage, first abusing her in the most scandalous manner, and, being half drunk, fell to whining about the ingrat.i.tude of children, deliberately allowing their parents to starve in their old age for the sake of gratifying a selfish whim. Then he got wholly drunk, so violently, indeed, that even Clytie, the resolute, the level-headed, found it all that she could do to keep her nerve, while the intrepid Bob promptly skulked off out of harm's way.
The said Bob, too, contributed his share of mean and petty annoyance.
He would insinuate that he did not believe she had really returned the cheque. She wanted to keep it all for herself, and leave them out. He went further, like the mean and despicable cad he was, insinuating that there was plenty more where that came from, that Wagram knew a pretty girl when he saw one, and so forth; in short, behaving in such wise as would formerly, according to the ways of Siege House, have drawn upon himself some sudden and violent form of retaliation. But a change had come over the sister he was persecuting, and the ways of Siege House were no longer her ways, hence the abominable Bob took heart of grace, and his behaviour and insinuations became more and more scandalous.
Even Clytie could no longer restrain him. But his turn was to come.
Throughout all this Delia never regretted the decision she had arrived at, never for a single moment. She would act in exactly the same way were the occasion to come over again--were it to come over again a hundred times, she declared, goaded beyond endurance by her father's alternate maudlin reproaches or vehement abuse. And he had retorted that the sooner she got outside his door and never set foot inside it again the better he would be pleased. This she would have done but for Clytie and--one other consideration.
Clytie at first had been a little cool with her, but had come round, declaring that, on thinking it over, perhaps, on the principle of a sprat to catch a herring, what had happened was the best thing that could have happened, if only they played their cards well now. Then Delia had rounded on her.
”Don't talk in that beastly way, Clytie; I'm not going to play any cards at all, as you put it. Even if I were inclined to, look at us--_us_, mind,” she added, with a bitter sneer, and a nod of the head in the direction of the other room, where their father and brother were audibly wrangling and swearing--the former, as usual, half drunk.
”Pooh! that wouldn't count,” was the equable reply. ”You don't suppose you'd have that hamper lumbering around once you'd won the game, do you?
I'd take care of that.”