Dawn

  CHAPTER XX

  Arthur did not do much fishing that morning; indeed, he never so muchas got his line into the water--he simply sat there lost in dreams,and hoping in a vague way that Angela would come back again. But shedid not come back, though it would be difficult to say what preventedher; for, had he but known it, she was for the space of a full hoursitting within a hundred yards of him, and occasionally peeping out towatch his mode of fishing with some curiosity. It was, she reflected,exceedingly unlike that practised by Jakes. She, too, was wishing thathe would detect her, and come to talk to her; but, amongst other newsensations, she was now the victim of a most unaccountable shyness,and could not make up her mind to reveal her whereabouts.

  At last Arthur awoke from his long reverie, and remembered with asudden pang that he had had nothing to eat since the previous evening,and that he was consequently exceedingly hungry. He also discovered,on consulting his watch, that it was twelve o'clock, and, moreover,that he was quite stiff from sitting so long in the same position. So,sighing to think that such a vulgar necessity as that of obtainingfood should force him to depart, he put up his unused fishing-rod andstarted for Isleworth, where he arrived just as the bell was ringingfor lunch.

  George received him with cold civility, and asked him what sport hehad, to which he was forced to reply--none.

  "Did you see anybody there?"

  "Yes, I met Miss Caresfoot."

  "Ah! trust a girl to trail out a man. What is she like? I remember hera raw-boned girl of fourteen with fine eyes."

  "I think that she is the handsomest woman I ever saw," Arthur replied,coldly.

  "Ah!" said George, with a rude little laugh, "youth is alwaysenthusiastic, especially when the object is of the dairymaid cut."

  There was something so intensely insolent in his host's way of talkingthat Arthur longed to throw a dish at him, but he restrained hisfeelings, and dropped the subject.

  "Let me see, you are only just home from India, are you?" askedGeorge, presently.

  "I got back at the beginning of last month."

  "And what were you doing there?"

  "Travelling about and shooting."

  "Did you get much sport?"

  "No, I was rather unfortunate, but I and another fellow killed twotigers, and went after a rogue elephant; but he nearly killed us. Igot some very good ibix-shooting in Cashmere, however."

  "What do you intend to do with yourself now? Your education has beenextravagantly expensive, especially the Cambridge part of it. Are yougoing to turn it to any account?"

  "Yes. I am going to travel for another year, and then read for theBar. There is no particular object in being called too young, and Iwish to see something more of the world first."

  "Ah! I see, idleness called by a fine name."

  "Really I cannot agree with you," said Arthur, who was rapidly losinghis temper.

  "Of course you can't, but every man has a right to choose his own roadto the dogs. Come," he added, with a smile of malice, as he noticedArthur's rising colour, "no need to get angry; you see I stand _inloco parentis_, and feel bound to express my opinion."

  "I must congratulate you on the success with which you assume thecharacter," answered Arthur, now thoroughly put-out; "but, aseverything I have done or mean to do is so distasteful to you, I thinkit is a pity that you did not give me the benefit of your advice alittle sooner."

  George's only answer was a laugh, and presently the two parted,detesting each other more cordially than ever.

  At half-past three, when George was still away, for he had gone outwith his bailiff immediately after lunch, Philip and his daughter wereshown into the drawing-room, where we may be sure Arthur was awaitingthem.

  "Mr. Caresfoot is not back yet," said Arthur, "but I do not supposethat he will be long."

  "Oh! he will be here soon," said Philip, "because I told him we werecoming to call. What sort of sport did you have? What, none! I am verysorry. You must come and try again--ah! I forgot you are going away.by the way, Mr. Heigham, why should you go just yet? If you are fondof fishing, and have nothing better to do, come and put up at theAbbey House for a while; we are plain people, but there is plenty ofroom, and you shall have a hearty welcome. Would you care to come?"

  It would have been amusing to any outsider to watch Angela's face asshe heard this astounding proposition, for nobody had been invitedinside her father's doors within her recollection. It assumed first ofall a look of blank amazement, which was presently changed into one ofabsolute horror.

  "Would he come, indeed?" reflected Arthur. "Would he step intoParadise? would he accept the humble offer of free quarters in theGarden of Eden?" Rapture beamed so visibly from every feature of hisface that Philip saw it and smiled. Just as he was about to acceptwith enthusiasm, he caught sight of Angela's look of distress. Itchilled him like the sudden shock of cold water; she did not wish himto come, he thought, she did not care for him. Obliged, however, togive an answer, he said,

  "I shall be delighted if"--and here he bowed towards her--"MissCaresfoot does not object."

  "If father," broke in Angela, with hesitation, "you could arrange thatMr. Heigham came to-morrow, not to-day, it would be more convenient. Imust get a room ready."

  "Ah! domestic details; I had overlooked them. I daresay you can managethat--eh, Heigham?"

  "Oh! yes, easily, thank you."

  As he said the words, the door was flung open, and "Lady Bellamy" wasannounced with the energy that a footman always devotes to theenunciation of a title, and next second a splendid creature,magnificently dressed, sailed into the room.

  "Ah! how do you do, Mr. Caresfoot?" she said, in that low, rich voicethat he remembered so well. "It is some time since we met; indeed, itquite brings back old times to see you, when we were all young peopletogether."

  "At any rate, Lady Bellamy, you show no signs of age; indeed, if youwill permit me to say so, you look more beautiful than ever."

  "Ah! Mr. Caresfoot, you have not forgotten how to be gallant, but letme tell you that it entirely depends upon what light I am in. If yousaw me in the midst of one of those newfangled electric illuminations,you would see that I do look old; but what can one expect at forty?"Here her glance fell upon Angela's face for the first time, and sheabsolutely started; the great pupils of her eyes expanded, and a darkfrown spread itself for a moment over her countenance. Next second itwas gone. "Is it possible that that beautiful girl is your daughter?But, remembering her mother, I need not ask. Look at her, Mr.Caresfoot, and then look at me, and say whether or not I look old. Andwho is the young man? Her lover, I suppose--at any rate, he looks likeit; but please introduce me."

  "Angela," said Philip, crossing to the window where they were talking,"let me introduce you to Lady Bellamy. Mr. Heigham--Lady Bellamy."

  "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Caresfoot, though Ithink it is very generous of me to say so."

  Angela looked puzzled.

  "Indeed!" she said.

  "What! do you not guess why it is generous? Then look at yourself inthe glass, and you will see. I used to have some pretension to goodlooks, but I could never have stood beside you at the best of times,and now---- Your mother, even when I was at my best, always _killed_me if I was in the same room with her, and you are even handsomer thanyour mother."

  Angela blushed very much at this unqualified praise, and, putting itand the exclamation her appearance had that morning wrung from Arthurtogether, she suddenly came to the conclusion--for, odd as it mayseem, she had never before taken the matter into serious consideration--that she must be very good-looking, a conclusion that made her feelextremely happy, she could not quite tell why.

  It was whilst she was thus blushing and looking her happiest andloveliest that George, returning from his walk, chanced to look in atthe window and see her, and, gradually drawn by the attraction of herbeauty, his eyes fixed themselves intently upon her, and his coarsefeatures grew instinct with a mixture of hungry wickedne
ss anddelighted astonishment. It was thus that Arthur and Lady Bellamy sawhim. Philip, who was looking at a picture in the corner of the room,did not see him; nor, indeed, did Angela. The look was unmistakable,and once more the dark frown settled upon Lady Bellamy's brow, and theexpanding pupils filled the heavy-lidded eyes. As for Arthur, it madehim feel sick with unreasonable alarm.

  Next minute George entered the room with a stupid smile upon his face,and looking as dazed as a bat that has suddenly been shown the sun.Angela's heaven-lit beauty had come upon his gross mind as arevelation; it fascinated him, he had lost his command over himself.

  "Oh! here you are at last, George," said Lady Bellamy--it was alwaysher habit to call him George. "We have all been like sheep without ashepherd, though I saw you keeping an eye on the flock through thewindow."

  George started. He did not know that he had been observed.

  "I did not know that you were all here, or I would have been backsooner," he said, and then began to shake hands.

  When he came to Angela, he favoured her with a tender pressure of thefingers and an elaborate and high-flown speech of welcome, both ofwhich were inexpressibly disagreeable to her. But here Lady Bellamyintervened, and skilfully forced him into a conversation with her, inwhich Philip joined.

  "What does Lady Bellamy remind you of?" Angela asked Arthur, as soonas the hum of talk made it improbable that they would be overheard.

  "Of an Egyptian sorceress, I think. Look at the low, broad forehead,the curling hair, the full lips, and the inscrutable look of theface."

  "To my mind she is an ideal of the Spirit of Power. I am very muchafraid of her, and, as for him"--nodding towards George--"I dislikehim even more than I was prepared to," and she gave a little shudder."By the way, Mr. Heigham, you really must not be so rash as to acceptmy father's invitation."

  "If you do not wish to see me, of course I will not," he answered, ina hurt and disappointed tone.

  "Oh! it is not that, indeed; how could you think so, when only thismorning we agreed to be friends?"

  "Well, what is it, then?" he asked, blankly.

  "Why, Mr. Heigham, the fact is that we--that is, my old nurse and I,for my father is irregular in his meals, and always takes them byhimself--live so very plainly, and I am ashamed to ask you to shareour mode of life. For instance, we have nothing but bread and milk forbreakfast;" and the golden head sunk in some confusion before hisamused gaze.

  "Oh! is that all?" he said, cheerily. "I am very fond of bread andmilk."

  "And then," went on Angela with her confession, "we never drink wine,and I know that gentlemen do."

  "I am a teetotaller, so that does not matter."

  "Really?"

  "Yes--really."

  "But then, you know, my father shuts himself up all day, so that youwill have nobody but myself to talk to."

  "Oh! never mind"--encouragingly. "I am sure that we shall get on."

  "Well, if, in spite of all this and a great deal more--ah! a verygreat deal that I have not time to tell you--you still care to come, Iwill do my best to amuse you. At any rate, we can read together; thatwill be something, if you don't find me too stupid. You must rememberthat I have only had a private education, and have never been tocollege like you. I shall be glad of the opportunity of rubbing up myclassics a little; I have been neglecting them rather lately, andactually got into a mess over a passage in Aristophanes that I shallask you to clear up."

  This was enough for Arthur, whose knowledge of the classics was thatof the ordinary University graduate; he turned the subject withremarkable promptitude.

  "Tell me," he said, looking her straight in the face, "are you gladthat I am coming?"

  The grey eyes dropped a little before the boldness of his gaze, butshe answered, unhesitatingly,

  "Yes, for my own sake I am glad; but I fear that you will find it verydull."

  "Come, Angela, we must be off; I want to be home by a quarter to six,"said Philip just then.

  She rose at once and shook hands with Arthur, murmuring, "Good-by tillto-morrow morning," and then with Lady Bellamy.

  George, meanwhile, with the most unwonted hospitality, was pressingher father to stay to dinner, and, when he declined, announcing hisintention of coming over to see him on the morrow. At last he gotaway, but not before Lady Bellamy had bid him a seemingly cordialadieu.

  "You and your charming daughter must come and see me at Rewtham House,when we get in. What, have you not heard that Sir John has bought itfrom poor Maria Lee's executors?"

  Philip turned pale as death, and hurried from the room.

  "It is good," reflected Lady Bellamy, as she watched the effect of hershaft, "to let him know that I never forget."

  But, even when her father had gone, the path was still blocked toAngela.

  "What!" said George, who was, when in an amiable mood, that worst ofall cads, a jocose cad, "are you going to play truant, too, my prettycousin? Then first you must pay the penalty, not a very heavy one,however." And he threw his long arm round her waist, and prepared togive her a cousinly embrace.

  At first Angela, not being accustomed to little jokes of the sort, didnot understand what his intentions were, but as soon as she did, beingan extremely powerful young woman, she soon put a stop to them,shaking George away from her so sharply by a little swing of her lithebody, that, stumbling over a footstool in his rapid backward passage,he in a trice measured his length upon the floor. Seeing what she haddone, Angela turned and fled after her father.

  As for Arthur, the scene was too much for his risible nerves, and hefairly roared with laughter, whilst even Lady Bellamy went as near toit as she ever did.

  George rose white with wrath.

  "Mr. Heigham," he said, "I see nothing to laugh at in an accident."

  "Don't you?" replied Arthur. "I do; it is just the most ludicrousaccident that I ever saw."

  George turned away muttering something that it was perhaps as well hisguest did not hear, and at once began to attack Lady Bellamy.

  "My dear George," was her rejoinder, "let this little adventure teachyou that it is not wise for middle-aged men to indulge in gallantriestowards young ladies, and especially young ladies of thews and sinews.Good-night."

  At the same moment the footman announced that the dog-cart whichArthur had ordered was waiting for him.

  "Good-by, Mr. Heigham, good-by," said George, with angry sarcasm."Within twenty-four hours you have killed my favourite dog, takenoffence at my well-meant advice, and ridiculed my misfortune. If weshould ever meet again, doubtless you will have further surprises instore for me;" and, without giving Arthur time to make any reply, heleft the room.