Part 30 (2/2)
”G.o.d bless my soul! You don't mean to say that Miss Gray could have had Ilbert?”
”She has refused him, but I don't think he has given up hope.”
”G.o.d bless my soul! Why, the Ilberts are connected with half the peerage. We Drummonds are only country squires beside them. Such a handsome fellow too, and with such a reputation! Why should she refuse Ilbert? Is the girl mad?”
”Robin was first in the field. But I happen to know that Mary refused Mr. Ilbert while yet Robin and I were engaged. What do you think of that?”
”Madder and madder. I don't understand women, Nell. Such a fellow as Ilbert! Why, he might marry anybody. We must make it easy for them with the Dowager, Nell--as easy as we can. We owe a good deal to Miss Gray.”
”Oh, she'll come round--she'll have to come round.”
”Do you suppose they understand each other, Nell?”
”I don't think Robin has spoken. He seems to be waiting for something. I have only noticed the last day or two. Before that I was absorbed in my troubles--such a selfish daughter, papa.”
”My darling, we have all felt with you. It is so good to see you more yourself, Nell.”
”Ah!” She turned away her head. ”I have a feeling--there is no reason for it at all--that good news is coming. I felt it when I awoke this morning.”
Meanwhile Robin Drummond and Mary had the Square almost to themselves, except for a gardener or two. All around the Square were shuttered and silent houses. It was the most torrid of early August days, and presently the heat drove them to a sheltered seat beneath a tree. In the mist of heat around them the bedding-plants, the scarlet geraniums, the lobelia and beet, made a vivid glare. Only in the forest trees, too dense for the dust to penetrate, were there shadow and relief.
They were talking of Nelly.
”She will be all right now,” Mary said. ”She has come out of the darkness. Even if she has his death to bear I think she will bear it.
She reproaches herself for the pain she has caused her father.”
”Poor Uncle Denis! He lives in terror about Nelly. She is all he has had since her mother died.”
”I think he may rest easy now. Nelly is not going to die--not even of grief. Now that she is better, Sir Robin, why don't you go away? I know your yacht is waiting for you, and you have got the London look; you want change.”
”I shan't go till there is news one way or another.”
”There ought to be news soon. It is hard on you waiting from day to day.”
”I don't feel it hard. Perhaps if the good news came I might induce them to come away with me on the yacht. It would be the best thing in the world for them. For the matter of that, why don't you go away? You also have the London look.”
”Oh, I shall go gladly when I may. I am really longing to be off. Do you know what I shall hear when I go over there?--a sound I am longing for.”
”What?”
”The rain. I close my eyes now and fancy I hear it pattering on the leaves. Oh, the music of it! One is never long without it at home. We've had six weeks without rain here. Can't you imagine the soft, delicious downpour of it? The music of the rain--my ears hunger for it.”
”Oh, now indeed I see that it is time you went. You will probably have enough of the rain.”
He spoke gloomily, and she laughed.
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