Part 6 (1/2)
”I must be running away, Mrs Beverley. My husband is hoping to call upon you very soon. This afternoon he has a cla.s.s for confirmation. I must hurry home to give him tea. He comes in so tired. Good afternoon.
So pleased to welcome you among us! I hope we may often meet.”
Her voice rang true, there was a kindliness written on the large, plain face to which Grizel's heart made instant response. She brought her own left hand to join the right, clasping the grey glove with an affectionate pressure, and smiled back the while with a winsome friendliness. There was silence in the room while the onlookers looked with critical eyes at the two figures, so typical of youth and age. The bulky woman, with her jet bonnet and capacious black silk coat, the nymph-like form of the bride. Every ear listened for the response.
”Oh, you will; indeed you will! I shall often be running over to the Vicarage to see you.”
”That will be very nice.” Mrs Evans smiled complacently. ”I hope you will. And I must not forget--I made a note to ask you before I left.-- It would give us great pleasure if you could see your way to take up a little work. We are sadly in need of helpers. I was going to ask if you would join our Mothers' Meeting?”
”Oh, give me time!” cried Grizel reproachfully. ”Give me time!”
In answer to after reprisals she justified herself by the a.s.sertion that she had spoken on the impulse of the moment, and in absolute good faith.
Besides, what else could the old thing have meant? And even if she didn't, why need the silly creatures be shocked? She did not attempt to deny that they were shocked, the flutter of dismay had indeed been so real a thing as to obtrude itself on ears, as well as eyes. Gasps of astonishment, of horror, of dismay, sounded to right and left; rustling of silk; hasty, inoperative coughs. Grizel still saw in remembrance the petrifaction on the large kind face looking down into her own, the scarlet mounting swiftly into Teresa's cheeks. Only one person laughed, and that laugh had had the effect of heightening the general condemnation. It was Ca.s.sandra Raynor who laughed.
CHAPTER FIVE.
”TWO OF A KIND.”
Mrs Evans's departure gave the start to what was virtually a general stampede. As one woman rose to make her adieux, another hastily joined her, offering a seat in a carriage, or companions.h.i.+p on the walk home.
Mrs Mallison collected her daughters with the flutter of an agitated hen. Mrs Ritchards forgot even to refer to the kitchen-maid. Grizel beamed upon them with her most childlike smiles, but there was no staying the flight: feebly, obstinately, as a flock of sheep each one followed her leader. In three minutes Ca.s.sandra alone was left, and Martin having escorted the last sheep to the door, took the opportunity to escape to his study, and shut himself in with a sigh of relief.
Alone in the drawing-room the two women confronted each other in eloquent silence. Ca.s.sandra's eyes were dancing, her cheeks were flushed to their brightest carmine; Grizel was pale, and a trifle perturbed. ”Now I've been and gone and done it!”
”You have indeed!” Ca.s.sandra laughed. It was delightful to be able to laugh, to feel absolutely at home, and in sympathy with another woman.
There was reproach in her words, but none in her tone. ”How _could you_ say it?”
”Because I thought she meant it,--honestly I did, for the first second, and I always act on the first second. And why need the silly things be shocked? They've all got dozens. What _is_ the old Meeting, anyway?”
”I think it's... Mothers!” volunteered Ca.s.sandra illuminatingly. ”Poor ones. They have plain sewing and coal clubs. I subscribe. You were invited to join the Committee. In the parish room. They--I believe they cut out the plain clothes.”
”Fancy me cutting out plain clothes!” cried Grizel, and gave a complacent pat to her lace gown. ”I'll subscribe too, and stay at home, but I'll apologise to the dear old thing. She meant to be kind, and I'm sorry I shocked her. I'm going to ring for fresh tea, and we can have a nice talk, and shock each other comfortably. Have _you_ any children?”
”I have a son,” said Ca.s.sandra. The brilliance of her smile faded as she spoke. She was conscious of it herself and laboriously endeavoured to keep her voice unchanged. ”He is nine years old. At a preparatory school. Quite a big person.”
Grizel also ceased to smile. There was an expression akin to reverence in the hazel eyes as they dwelt on the other's face. The deep note was in her voice.
”You look so young, just a girl, and you have a son nearly ten! Old enough to be a companion,--to talk with you, and to understand. How wonderful it must be!”
There was a moment of silence during which Ca.s.sandra's thoughts flew back to those never-to-be-forgotten days when a tiny form lay elapsed to a heart overflowing with the glory of motherhood, and then reproduced before her a stocky figure in an Eton suit, with a stolid, freckled face. She smiled with stiff lips.
”He is a dear thing, quite clever too, which is satisfactory. You must see him in the holidays, but unless you can talk cricket I'm afraid he may bore you. It is not, of course, a responsive age.”
”It will come! It will come! It's storing up. These undemonstrative natures are the richest deep down,” Grizel said softly.
The maid came in with the tea at that moment, and she said no more, but it was enough. Ca.s.sandra felt an amazed conviction that if she had spoken for hours, the situation could not have been more accurately understood.
Grizel poured out tea, talking easily the while.
”Having a son must mean educating oneself all over again. Cricket now!
It's the deadliest game. One goes to Lord's for the frocks, and to meet friends and have tea, and see all the dear little top hats waved in the air at the end. I dote on enthusiasm; it goes to my head like wine.