Lady Quaintree

“ He had for months past loved this young girl, though he had never yet had sufficient courage to declare as much, for she seemed totally unconscious of his preference, and, while certainly not distant nor icy with him, never gave him the slightest reason to suppose that she ever as much as remembered him when he was absent. He had, however, the satisfaction of feeling sure that she cared for no one else. Never even remotely had he hinted to Lady Quaintree his secret, being well aware she would discountenance his suit, for many reasons. ”

“ Love had not touched her, though probably she had cherished her roseate fancies and preferences, like all other girls in their teens. Unlike many of her sisterhood, however, she was gifted with a singularly clear insight into character, and she was easily disenchanted.
Lady Quaintree had met with her by accident, as it seemed. Mrs. Turquand, left a widow at an early age, had turned her genius for exquisite embroidery to account, and was able to acquire a large circle of patrons. She was gentle, obliging, prompt; she engaged assistants, and had made an income of about four hundred a year ”

“ If you object to the task, it will, perhaps, be all the better to get it done at once.”
“Where does she live?”
“She is staying with Lady Quaintree, in Lowndes Square.”
Paul Desfrayne recollected, with a queer feeling of surprise, that his mother had said the previous evening that Lady Quaintree had lent her the opera-box which she had used. Could it be possible that his mother already knew this girl?
“Lady Quaintree!” he repeated mechanically.
“Certainly. Miss Turquand has been living there for two or three years; she is her ladyship’s companion. ”

“ He was pretty confident that up to this time she had not cared specially for any one, and he believed it to be perfectly impossible that any other human being could love her as deeply, as truly as he did.
A few moments more, and he might have tempted his fate, and might have gained some answer leading him to hope; but the door of the center drawing-room opened, and Lady Quaintree came through the silken archway between the two salons. ”

“ A faint smile dimpled the corners of the young girl’s lips as she shook her head.
Lady Quaintree looked about for the bell, then laughed at her own forgetfulness. From this little chamber—formerly a small dressing-room—there was no communication with the servants’ domain. Her ladyship, taking the [Pg 38] copy of the will with her, crossed to her own apartment, only a few steps distant.
When she returned, she was followed by her waiting-maid, who was carrying a package of black laces; a pair of gloves; a filmy lace handkerchief, on which was some black edging ”

“ As the [Pg 171] three ladies rose from breakfast, a servant came in very hurriedly, the bearer of a telegram directed to Lady Quaintree.
Her ladyship’s hand trembled slightly as she took the paper from the salver, and she hesitated for a moment before breaking the envelope.
Telegrams, when unexpected, are always more or less alarming, and Lady Quaintree could not think of any possible good reason why any one should address one to her. She took it out, however, and, putting on her gold-rimmed spectacles, read the curt sentences:
“Return as soon as possible. ”

“ She permitted Lady Quaintree to clasp the jet suite upon her neck and arms, and in her ears, and looked at the gloves, and handkerchief, and fan with the glance of one walking in her sleep.
Justine, wondering, though she did not utter a syllable, was dismissed, and Lady Quaintree desired Lois to sit down.
“We have already been absent nearly twenty minutes,” [Pg 39] she said, consulting her tiny watch. “I wished to arrange your toilet before I told you what is really in this will. Perhaps you think I treat you as a child ”

“ The oddly devised will left Lady Quaintree in a flutter of pleasant “bother,” for she took her protégée’s affairs in hand, and was determined to nestle the girl under her motherly old wings more closely than ever. The dead man’s whims interfered with a delightful little plan which had spread into being within her constantly active brain, as surely as they had marred Mrs. ”

“ Mrs. Strongtharm (yawns) . Oliver Cromwell was as good as any king, and better. Leastways my mar says so. For my part, I don't bother my head wi' these old matters.
Miss Quiney (tentatively) . Do you know, I was half hoping it would be a girl, just like my darling. (To herself) God forgive me, when I think—
Mrs. Strongtharm (interrupting the thought) . She won't be hoping for a girl. You don't understand these things, beggin' your pardon, ma'am.
Miss Quiney (meekly) . No.
Mrs. Josselin. You don't neither of you understand. How should you?
Mrs. Strongtharm (stung) . ”

“ With Andrew's help, the carryall was soon ready and Quincy drove to the store. What was his surprise to find Maude there, still on her horse, and apparently uninjured. With her, also on horseback was an attractive girl, a stranger to Quincy.
“I'm all right, Quincy,” Maude cried as he alighted, “but there would have been a funeral but for this young lady.”
Quincy, with hat in hand, bowed to the stranger. “I am deeply grateful for your valuable service, madam. To whom are we indebted for my sister's rescue from death?” ”

“ Miss Quiney was sent to offer them refreshment and discover their business.
Miss Quiney goes off on her errand. Minutes elapse. After many minutes the servant reappears. "Miss Quiney requests Mrs. Harry's attendance." Mrs. Harry goes.
"Women are queer cattle," says Captain Harry sententiously, and talks on. By-and-by the servant appears yet again. Mr. Hanmer is sent for. "Why, 'tis like a story I've read somewhere, about a family sent one by one to stop a tap running," says Captain Harry. "But I'll say this for the women—I'm always the last they bother." ”

“ If you call a child by a sorrowful name it's apt to ward off the ill-luck. Look at Ruth now—christened in sorrow an' married, after all, to the richest in the land!
Miss Quiney (in desperation) . Oh, hush! hush!
A low moan comes from the next room. The women sit silent, their faces white in the dawn that now comes stealing in at the window, conquering the candle-light by little and little.
Mrs. Strongtharm. I thought I heard a child's cry. . . . They cry at once.
Miss Quiney. Ah? I fancied it, too—a feeble one.
Mrs. Strongtharm (rising after a long pause) . Something is wrong. . . . ”

“ Miss Quiney. My poor Ruth.
Mrs. Strongtharm. Eh? The first, o' course. . . . But a long labour's often the best.
Miss Quiney. There has not been a sound for hours.
Mrs. Strongtharm. She's brave. They say, too, that a man-child, if he's a real strong one, will wait for daybreak; but that's old women's notions, I shouldn't wonder.
Miss Quiney. A man-child? You think it will be?
Mrs. Strongtharm. (She exchanges a glance with Mrs. Josselin, who has looked up suddenly and nods.) Certain.
Mrs. Josselin. Certain, certain! I wonder, now, what they'll call him! After Sir Oliver, perhaps. ”

“ She closed her mouth firmly, squaring her jaw.
"But in the sedan there is room for one only."
"Then I go first," said Miss Quiney, "and the chair shall return for you. That," she went on, falling back upon her usual pedantic speech, "presents no difficulty whatever to me. What I wear does not matter— the gentlemen will not regard it. But you must dress in what you have of the best. It—it will assist you. Being without experience, you probably have no notion how dress assists one's self-respect."
"I think I have some little notion," Ruth assured her demurely. ”

“ Ha, ha!"
"Shall I continue, sir?" said Ruth, recovering herself. "The pair are surprised by a satyr who crept down to the spring to bathe his aching head—"
"Hard on me, as usual!" Mr. Silk protested, climbing down the slope. "But 'tis the privilege of beauty to be cruel. As it happens, I drank moderately last night, and I come with a message from the Diana of these groves. Miss Quiney wishes to communicate to you some news I have had the honour to bring in a letter from Captain Vyell—or, as we must now call him, Sir Oliver." ”

“ I am glad she is a lady."
The train was soon on its way to Eastborough. It was an accommodation, and Quincy had plenty of time to point out the objects of interest on the way. Rosa was not a lover of the country. She acknowledged this to Quincy, saying that she was born and educated in the country, but that she preferred paved streets and brick sidewalks to green lanes and dusty roads.
Alice had not waited for Quincy's return to broach the matter of the gift of the Putnam house to Ezekiel and Huldy. ”

“ John Quincy smiled.
"But you ought to be dancing, boy. And you're not in costume."
"No," admitted John Quincy. He paused, seeking an explanation. "A—a fellow can't make a fool of himself in front of a lot of strangers."
"I understand," nodded the old lady. "It's a fine delicacy, too. But rather rare, particularly out this way."
Barbara entered, flushed and vibrant. "Harry's gone to get me a drink," she panted. She sat down beside Mrs. Maynard. "I've been looking for you, my dear. You know, you haven't read my palm since I was a child. She's simply wonderful—" this to John Quincy. ”

“ Linda, Countess of Sussex, came with her husband the Earl, and her daughter, the Lady Alice Hastings, a tall, statuesque blonde, in her twenty-eighth year.
“I've something wonderful to tell you,” said the Countess to Quincy and his wife. “My daughter is soon to be married, but not to one of our set. Her choice has fallen upon Mr. John Langdon, an American. He's very wealthy, and is coming to England to live. Isn't that romantic—so out of the usual.”
“America loses every time,” said Quincy. “First our girls and their father's money, and now our men and their money. ”

“ As Honoria St. Quentin and the reluctant Shotover stepped, side by side, from the warmth and dimness obtaining in the anteroom, into the pleasant coolness of the moonlit balcony, Lady Constance Quayle, altogether forgetful of her usual careful civility and pretty correctness of demeanour, uttered an inarticulate cry—a cry, indeed, hardly human in its abandon and unreasoning anguish, resembling rather the shriek of the doubling hare as the pursuing greyhound nips it across the loins. ”

“ I want to help along a girl that needs the work, and an awfully nice girl she is. We haven’t any regular job for her, and all I can do is to throw odd bits of work in her way. She has an old mother to support, and it would be a real charity to her if you’d look at it in that light. Miss Quincy is a perfect lady, and you may be sure she’d take no advantage of you to write up anything sensational or impertinent. ”

“ I had not thought them capable—"
"There is nothing to forgive," Ruth assured her. "They probably told the truth, and the fault is mine."
Miss Quiney, incredulous, slowly raised her face from the cushions and stared.
"Yes," repeated Ruth, "the fault is entirely mine."
"But—but," stammered Mrs. Harry. Ruth had turned away towards the window, and the honest wife stared after her, against the light. "But he will make it all right when he returns." She started, of a sudden. Cunningly as Ruth had dressed herself, Mrs. Harry's eyes guessed the truth. "You have written to him?" ”

“ Her face was white, but she answered him steadily. "I believe you to be a good man. . . . I will go to them. Where is Dicky?" She glanced back along the alley.
"Dicky will stand where I have told him to stand: for hours unless I release him."
"Is that your naval code? And can a mere child stand by it so proudly? Oh," cried she, fixing on him a look he remembered all his days, "would to God I had been born a man!"
Yet fearlessly as any man she entered the great drawing-room. Miss Quiney still lay collapsed on her sofa. Mrs. Harry bent over her, but faced about. ”

“ The little Frenchman bowed with continental courtesy. "Madame," he explained, "we have learned this unfortunate young lady's plight and have determined to aid her. The sum of two thousand dollars is required in order to save her the pain and humiliation of a most terrifying ordeal, and this sum we are prepared to advance, provided, of course, you can offer proper guaranty——"
"Thy money perish with thee!" rejoined the Seeress furiously, half rising from her tripod; then, as though relenting: "Stay, power over the spirits have I none, but I can direct thee to one whose power is infinite. ”

“ Dicky passed a hand over his face—"Miss Quiney said that
Oliver Cromwell was covered with warts!"
Captain Vyell laughed outright.
"Women have wonderful ways of conveying a prejudice. Warts? Well, there, at any rate, we have the advantage of old Noll." ”

“ John Quincy said.
"Oh, well, we take it easy. Can't manage the pace of you mainland people. Every now and then some go-getter from the States comes out here and tries to hustle us." He laughed. "He dies of disgust and we bury him in a leisurely way. Been down to breakfast?"
John Quincy accompanied him to the dining saloon. Madame Maynard and Barbara were at the table. The old lady's cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled; Barbara, too, was in her gayest mood. ”

“ Miss Quiney, unwinding a shawl from her head under the hall-lamp, released herself from Ruth's embrace. Her nerve had been strained and needed a recoil.
"Maybe," she answered snappishly. "For my part, I'd take more comfort, just now, to be called a respectable woman."
Ruth laughed, kissed her again, and stood listening to the footsteps as they retreated down the gravelled way. Among them her ear distinguished easily the firm tread of Mr. Hanmer.
Chapter VII. FIRST OFFER. A little before noon next day word came to her room that Sir Oliver had called and desired to speak with her. ”