CHAPTER VIII
THE LOST LETTER
The next morning it was still raining. It was a typical Oxford day, aday of which there are so many in the year that those who have bestknown Oxford think of her fondly in terms of damp sandstone.
They remember her gabled roofs, narrow pavements, winding alleys humidand shining from recent rain; her mullioned windows looking out onhigh-walled gardens where the over-hanging trees drip and drip inchastened melancholy. They remember her floating spires piercing thelowering sodden sky, her grey courts and solemn doorways, her echoingcloisters; all her incomparable monastic glory soaked through andthrough with heavy languorous moisture, and slowly darkening in a mistytwilight.
It is this sobering atmosphere that has brought to birth and has bredthe "Oxford tone;" the remorseless, if somewhat playful handling ofideas.
Gwendolen Scott was no more aware of the existence of an "Oxford tone,"bred (as all organic life has been) in the damp, than was themaidservant who brought her tea in the morning; but she perceived thedamp. She could see through the latticed windows of the breakfast-roomthat it rained, rained and rained, and the question was what she shoulddo to make the time pass till they must start for Chartcote? No letterhad yet come from her mother--and the old letter was still lost.
The best Gwen could hope for was that it had been picked up and throwninto the paper basket and destroyed.
Meanwhile what should she do? Lady Dashwood was always occupied duringthe mornings. Mrs. Dashwood did not seem to be at her disposal. What wasshe to do? Should she practise the "Reverie"? No, she didn't want to"fag" at that. She had asked the housemaid to mend a pair of stockings,and she found these returned to her room--boggled! How maddening--whatidiots servants were! She found another pair that wanted mending. Shehadn't the courage to ask Louise to mend it. If she tried to mend itherself she would only make a mess of it--besides she hadn't any lislethread or needles.
She would look at her frocks and try and decide what to wear at lunch.If she couldn't decide she would have to consult Lady Dashwood. Her roomwas rather dark. The window looked, not on to the quadrangle, but on tothe street. She took each piece of dress to the window and gazed at it.The blue coat and skirt wouldn't do. She had worn that often, and theblouse was not fresh now. That must go back into the wardrobe. Thelikely clothes must be spread on the bed, where she could review them.
She ran her hand down a stiff rustling costume of brown silk. It gaveher a pleasurable sensation. It was dark brown and inconspicuous, andyet "dressy." But would, after all, the blue coat and skirt be moresuitable, as Oxford people never dressed? Yes; but she might meet othersort of people at Chartcote! It was a difficult question.
She passed on to a thin black and white cloth that was very "smart" andshowed off her dark beauty. That and the white cloth hat would do! Shehad worn it once before and the Warden had talked a great deal to herwhen she had it on. She took out the dress and laid it on the bed, andshe laid the hat upon it. Mrs. Dashwood had not seen the dress! By theby, Mrs. Dashwood and the Warden had scarcely talked at all atbreakfast! He had once made a remark to her, and she had looked up andsaid "Yes," in a funny sort of way, just as if she agreed of course!H'm, there was really no need to be afraid of that! Supposing and ifshe, Gwen, were ever to be Mrs. Middleton, what sort of new clotheswould she buy? Oh, all sorts of things would be necessary! And yet--theWarden seemed to be quietly drifting farther and farther away from her.Was that talk in the library a dream? Then if not, why didn't he saysomething? Did he say nothing, because in the library he had said, "Ifyou want a home, etc., etc.?" Did he mean by that, "If you come and tellme that you want a home, etc., etc.?"
Gwen was not sure whether he meant "If you come and _say_ you want ahome, etc., etc.," or only, "If you want a home, etc., etc." Howtiresome! He knew she wanted a home! But perhaps he wasn't sure whethershe really wanted a home! Ought she to go and knock at the door and saythat she really did want a home? Was he waiting for her to come andknock on the door and say, "I really do want a home, etc., etc.," andthen come near enough to be kissed?
But after what Mr. Boreham had said, even if she did go and knock at thedoor and say that she really did want a home, etc., etc., and go andstand quite near him, the Warden might pretend not to understand andmerely say, "I'm sorry," and go on writing.
How did girls make sure that a proposal was binding? Did they managesomehow to have it in writing? But how could she have said to theWarden, "Would you mind putting it all down in writing"? She reallycouldn't have said such a thing!
Gwen could not quite make up her mind what to wear. She had put thebrown silk and one or two more dresses on the bed without being able tocome to any conclusion.
It would be necessary to ask advice. Having covered the bed with"possible" dresses, Gwen went out to search for Lady Dashwood.
She had not to go far, for she met her just outside the door.
"Oh, Lady Dashwood," began Gwen, "could you, would you mind telling mewhat I am to wear for lunch? I'm so sorry to be such a bother, butI'm----"
Here Gwen stopped short, for her eyes caught sight of a letter in LadyDashwood's hand--the letter! If Gwen had known how to faint she wouldhave tried to faint then; but she didn't know how it was done.
"I found this letter addressed to you," said Lady Dashwood, "in myroom--it had got there somehow." She held it out to the girl, who tookit, reddening as she did so to the roots of her hair. "I found itopened--I hope I didn't open it by mistake?"
"Oh no," said Gwen, stammering. "I--lost it--somehow. Oh, thanks somuch! Oh, thanks!"
Tears of embarrassment were starting to the girl's eyes, and she turnedaway, letter in hand, and went towards her door like a beaten child.
Lady Dashwood gazed after her, pity uppermost in her heart--pity, nowthat Belinda and Co. were no longer dangerous.
Safely inside the door, Gwen gave way to regret, and from regret for hercarelessness she went on to wondering wildly what effect the lettermight have had on Lady Dashwood! Had she told the Warden its contents?Had she read the letter to him?
Gwen squirmed as she walked about her room. There was a look in LadyDashwood's face! Oh dear, oh dear!
The dresses lay neglected on the bed; the sight of them only made Gwen'sheart ache the more, for they reminded her of those bright hopes thathad flitted through her brain--hopes of having more important clothes asthe Warden's wife. Gwen had even gone as far as wondering whether CousinBridget might not give her some furs as a wedding present. CousinBridget had spent over a thousand pounds in new furs for herself thatfirst winter of the war, when the style changed; so was it too much toexpect that Cousin Bridget, who was the wealthy member of the family,though her husband's title was a new one, might give her a usefulwedding present? Now, the mischance with this letter had probablydestroyed all chances of the Warden marrying her!
She was glad that he had gone away to-day, so that she would not see himagain till the next morning; that gave more time.
She did not want to go to Chartcote to lunch. She would not be able toeat anything if she felt as miserable as she did now, and she would findit impossible to talk to any one.
Even her mother's letter of advice might not help her very much--nowthat old letter had been seen.
Gwen walked about her room, sometimes leaning over the foot of her bedand staring blankly at the dresses spread out before her, and sometimesstopping to look at herself in a long mirror on the way, feeling verysorry for that poor pretty girl whose image she saw reflected there.When she heard a knock at the door she almost jumped. Was it LadyDashwood? Gwen's answering voice sounded very soft and meek, as if amouse was saying "Come in" to a cat that demanded entrance.
It was Mrs. Dashwood who opened the door and walked in.
"You want advice about what to wear for lunch?" said Mrs. Dashwood."Lady Dashwood is finishing off some parcels, and asked me to come andoffer you my services--if you'll have me?" and she actually laughed asshe caught sight of the display on the bed.
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"Very business-like," she said, walking up to the bed. She did not seemto have noticed Gwen's distracted appearance, and this gave Gwen timeand courage to compose her features and assume her ordinary bearing.
"Thanks so much," she said, going to the foot of the bed. "I was afraidI bothered Lady Dashwood when I asked about the lunch."
"It really doesn't much matter what it is you wear for Chartcote," saidMay Dashwood slowly, as her eye roamed over the bed. She did not appearto have heard Gwen's last remark.
"People do dress so funnily here," said Gwen, beginning to feel happyagain, "but I thought perhaps that----"
"I think I should recommend that dark brown silk," said Mrs. Dashwood,"and if you have a black hat----"
"Yes, I have!" cried Gwen, with animation, and she rushed to thewardrobe. After all she did like Mrs. Dashwood. She was not so bad afterall.
May received the black hat into her hands and praised it. She put it onthe girl's head and then stood back to see the effect.
Gwen stood smiling, her face and dark hair framed by the black velvet.
"The very thing," said Mrs. Dashwood.
"Do try it on. You'd look lovely in it," gushed Gwen. The expression"You'd look lovely in it" came from her lips before she could stop it.Her instinctive antagonism to Mrs. Dashwood was fast oozing away.
May took the hat and put it on her own head, and then she looked roundat the mirror.
"There!" said Gwen. "I told you so!"
May Dashwood regarded herself critically in the mirror and no smile cameto her lips. She looked at her tall slender figure and the auburn hairunder the black velvet brim as if she was looking at somebody else. Maytook off the hat and placed it on the bed by the dark brown silk.
"Now, you're complete," she said. "Quite complete;" but she looked outof her grey eyes at something far away, and did not see Gwendolen.
"If only I had a nice fur!" exclaimed the girl. "Mine is old, and it'sthe wrong shape, of course," she went on confidentially. She foundherself suddenly desirous of making a life-long friend of Mrs. Dashwood.In spite of her age and the fact that she was very clever and all that,and that the Warden had begun by taking too much notice of her, Mrs.Dashwood was nice. Gwen wanted at that moment to "tell her everything,"all about the "proposal," and see what she thought about it!
Gwen's emotions came and went in little spurts, and they were veryabsorbing for the moment.
"Don't be ashamed of yours," said Mrs. Dashwood, and as she spoke shewent towards the door. "I can't say I admire the sisterhood of women whospend their pence on sham or their guineas on real fur and jewelleryjust now."
Gwen stared. She was not quite sure what the remark really meant--theword "sisterhood" confused her.
"If I were you," said Mrs. Dashwood, smiling, "I should begin to dress;we are to be ready at one punctually."
"Oh, thanks so much," said Gwen. "I know I take an age. I always do,"she laughed.
As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had gone Gwen found it necessary to sit downand think whether she really liked Mrs. Dashwood so very much, orwhether she only "just liked her," and this subject brought her back tothe letter and the Warden, and all her lost opportunities! Gwen wasstartled by a knock at the door which she knew was produced by theknuckles of Lady Dashwood's maid.
"Oh, Mademoiselle!" cried Louise. "You have not commenced, and Madame isready."
"The brown one," exclaimed Gwen, as Louise rushed towards the bed.
Louise fell upon the bed like a wild beast and began dressing Gwen withpositive ferocity, protesting all the time in tones of physical agonymingled with moral indignation, her astonishment at Mademoiselle'sindifference to the desires of Madame.
"I didn't know it was so late," said Gwen, who was not accustomed tosuch freedom from a servant.
More exclamations from Louise, who was hooking and buttoning and pullingand pushing like a fury.
"Well, leave off talking," said Gwen, looking very hot, "and don't pullso much."
More exclamations from Louise and more pulling, and at last Gwen stoodcomplete in her brown dress and black hat. While she was thinking aboutwhat shoes she should put on, Louise had already seized a pair and wasnow pulling and pushing at her feet.
Lady Dashwood was giving instructions to Robinson in the hall, when Gwencame precipitately downstairs. The taxi was at the door, and Mrs.Dashwood was already seated in it.
It was still raining. Of course! Everything was wretched!
Now, what about an umbrella? Gwen gazed about her and seized anumbrella, earnestly trusting that it was not one that Lady Dashwoodmeant to use. How hot and flushed and late she was, and then--theletter! Oh, that letter! How horrible to be obliged to sit opposite toLady Dashwood!
She ran down the steps without opening the umbrella, and dashed into thetaxi, Lady Dashwood following under an umbrella held by Robinson.
"Here we are!" said Lady Dashwood. She seemed to have forgotten allabout the letter, and she smiled at Gwen.
They passed out of the entrance court of the Lodgings and into thenarrow street, and then into the High Street. The sky and the air andthe road and the pavements and the buildings were grey. The Cherwell wasgrey, and its trees wept into it. The meadows were sodden; it wasdifficult to imagine that they could ever stand in tall ripe hay. Therewas a smell of damp decay in the air.
Gwen stared fixedly out of the window in order to avoid looking at theladies opposite her. They seemed to be occupied with the continuance ofa conversation that they had begun before. Now, Gwen's mind failed andfainted before conversation that was at all impersonal, and though shewas listening, she did not grasp the whole of any one sentence. But shecaught isolated words and phrases here and there, dreary words like"Education," "Oxford methods," and her attention was absorbed by thediscovery that every time Mrs. Dashwood spoke, she said: "Does theWarden think?" just as if she knew what the Warden would think!
This was nasty of her. If only she always talked about Gwen's hatsuiting her, and about other things that were really interesting, Gwenbelieved she could make a life-long friend of her, in spite of her age;but she would talk about stupid incomprehensible things--and about theWarden!
The Warden was growing a more and more remote figure in Gwen's mind. Hewas fading into something unsubstantial--something that Gwen could notlean against, or put her arms round. Would she never again have theopportunity of feeling how hard and smooth his shirt-front was? It waslike china, only not cold. As she thought Gwen's eyes became misty andsad, and she ceased to notice what the two ladies opposite to her weresaying.