Part 6 (2/2)

”He never will, so long as her Ladys.h.i.+p's alive,” said Pat, emphatically.

”Then maybe we'd be havin' him for a furnished lodger,” said Bridget.

”I'd rather it 'ud be something in the country. Why wouldn't you be his coachman as well, Pat? Sure, anything you don't know about horses isn't worth the knowin'.”

”True for you. We might have a little lodge,” said Pat.

They were really the quietest and most peaceful years--unless the Dowager happened to be in town. Then something went dreadfully wrong with the General's temper, and he would come roaring downstairs and along the corridors like a winter storm. The servants' hall used to take a tender interest in those bad days.

”Somebody ought to spake to her,” said Bridget. ”Supposin' the gout was to go to his heart! He was bad enough after the last time she was here.”

”She'll never lave hoult of him,” said Pat, solemnly. ”The sort of her Ladys.h.i.+p houlds on the tighter the more you wriggle. He's preparing a quare bed of repentance for himself, so he is, the langwidge he's usin'

about her all over the house. By-and-by he'll be rememberin' she's Sir Gerald's widdy, and'll be askin' me ashamed-like, 'I hope I didn't say too much about her Ladys.h.i.+p in my timper, Pat. She's a tryin' woman, a very tryin' woman. I'm afraid I'm apt to forget now an' agin that she's my dear brother's widdy, so I am.'”

Pat's imitation of Sir Denis was really admirable.

”'Tis a pity he doesn't run her out of the house,” said Bridget, ”instead of lettin' her bother the heart out of him like that.”

”He couldn't say a rough word to a woman, not if it was to save his life,” said Pat. ”Nothin' rougher thin 'No, ma'am,' and 'Yes, ma'am,' I ever heard him say to her. Whirroo, Bridget, you should ha' heard him whin his timper was up givin' it to us long ago in the barrack square. I hope it isn't the suppressed gout she'll be giving him the next time!

'Tisn't half as bad whin it's out.”

However, the storms were few and far between. The household lived by rule. Every morning, winter and summer, the horses were at the door by eight o'clock for the morning canter of the General and Miss Nelly in the park. At nine o'clock the household a.s.sembled for prayers. After breakfast Sir Denis walked to his club in Pall Mall, wet or dry. He would read the papers and discuss the cheeseparing policy of the Government with some of his old chums, lunch at the club, play a game of dominoes or draughts, and return home in time for dinner. Frequently they entertained a friend or two quietly at dinner. But, company or no company, there were prayers at ten o'clock, after which the General took his candle and went to his bedroom.

There were times, of course, when Nelly went out to b.a.l.l.s and entertainments, and then Sir Denis was to be seen on duty, even though there were a good many ladies who would be willing to take the chaperonage of his daughter off his hands. But that was an office he would relinquish to no one. He was the most patient of chaperons, too, and never grumbled if the daylight found him still at the whist-table, although he would rise at the same hour as usual and carry out his appointed round for the day as if he had not lost his sleep over-night.

Of course, Nelly might stay a-bed. He wouldn't have Nelly's roses spoilt, and the young needed their proper amount of sleep. As for himself, he couldn't sleep a wink after seven, no matter how late he had been up the night before.

But, on the whole, they lived a quiet life. Nelly was too unselfish, too fond of her father, to cost him many nights without his usual sleep. She had really the quietest tastes. Her few friends, her books, her music, her dogs and birds, sufficed for her happiness. They had a houseful of dogs, by the way, and any description of the way of life in Sherwood Square which made no mention of dogs would be quite insufficient. Duke the Irish terrier and Bonaparte the pug, usually Boney, and Nelson the bull terrier, were as important and characteristic members of the household as anyone else, except, perhaps, Sir Denis and Miss Nelly.

Nelly used to explain her stay-at-home ways to her friends by saying that the dogs were offended with her if she went out for a walk without them. The dogs had many tricks. They knew the terms of drill as well as any soldier, and were always ready for parade, or to die for their country, or groan for their country's enemies, at the General's word of command. Nelly had to be much out-of-doors, as the dogs were clamorous for walks, and she kept her roses in London with the old milkmaid sweetness.

There was one happening of the quiet day that stood out for Sir Denis, and, although he did not know it, for his daughter also.

Sir Denis's old regiment happened to be stationed at a barracks in the immediate neighbourhood. To reach their parade-ground it was possible for the troops, by making a little detour, to pa.s.s along the quiet street on which the houses in Sherwood Square opened. It became an established thing that they should pa.s.s every morning about nine o'clock. How that came Sir Denis did not trouble to ask. He was quite satisfied and delighted that ”the boys” should do him honour.

The breakfast-room was one of the few rooms that did not overlook the square but the street. Every morning, just as Sir Denis concluded prayers, there would come the steady trot of cavalry and the jingle of accoutrements. If he had not quite finished, he would say ”Amen” in a reverent hurry. ”Come now, boys and girls,” he would say to the servants, ”I want you to see my old regiment.”

He would step out on the balcony above the hall-door with a beaming face, and his arm around his Nelly's waist. The servants would press behind him, the dogs push to the front with the curiosity of their kind.

Down the street the soldiers would come, all flas.h.i.+ng in scarlet and gold, the sleek horses s.h.i.+ning in the morning sun with a deeper l.u.s.tre than their polished accoutrements. There would be a halt for a second in front of the house. The men would salute their old General, the General salute his old regiment. Then the cavalcade would sweep on its way and the street be duller than before.

One morning--it was a bright, breezy morning of March--the wind had caught Nelly's golden hair and blown it in a halo about her face. She was wearing a blue ribbon in it. She was fond of blue, and the simplicity of it became her fresh youth. Just as the soldiers halted the wind caught Nelly's blue bow, and, having played with it a little, sent it drifting down like a little blue flower among the men on horseback.

It was such a slight thing that the General might not have noticed it.

Anyhow, he made no comment, but watched the troops out of sight as usual. The odd thing was that Nelly pa.s.sed over her loss in silence, although she must have missed her blue ribbon, since without it her hair had become loose in the wind.

At breakfast, when the servants had left the room, the General made a remark.

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