CHAPTER X
THE INCARNATION OF LADY AGATHA
"She's such a dear good girl, Mr. Wentworth," said Lady Merceron."She's the greatest comfort I have."
It was after luncheon at Langbury Court. Lady Merceron and Calder saton the lawn: Mrs. Marland and Millie Bushell were walking up and down;Charlie was lying in a hammock. A week had passed since the two youngmen had startled Lady Merceron by their unexpected arrival, and sincethen the good lady had been doing her best to entertain them; for, asshe could not help noticing-, they seemed a little dull. It was a greatchange from the whirl of London to the deep placidity of the Court, andLady Merceron could not quite understand why Charlie had tired so soonof his excursion, or why his friend persisted with so much fervor thatanything was better than London, and the Court was the most charmingplace he had ever seen. Of the two Charlie seemed to feel the ennuimuch the more severely. Yet, while Mr. Wentworth spoke of returning totown in a few weeks, Charlie asseverated that he had paid his lastvisit to that revolting and disappointing place. Lady Merceron wishedshe had Uncle Van by her side to explain these puzzlinginconsistencies. However, there was a bright side to the affair: thepresence of the young men was a godsend to poor Millie, who, by reasonof the depressed state of agriculture, had been obliged this year to gowithout her usual six weeks of London in the season.
"And she never grumbles about it," said Lady Merceron admiringly. "Shelooks after her district, and takes a ride, and plays tennis, when shecan get a game, poor girl, and is always cheerful and happy. She'd be atreasure of a wife to any man."
"You'd better persuade Charlie of that, Lady Merceron."
"Oh, Charlie never thinks of such a thing as marrying. He thinks ofnothing but his antiquities."
"Doesn't he?" asked Calder, with apparent sympathy and a covert sadamusement.
"Mr. Wentworth," said Mrs. Marland, approaching, "I believe it'sactually a fact that you've been here a week and have never yet been tothe Pool."
At this fateful word, Calder looked embarrassed, Charlie raised hishead from the hammock, and Millie glanced involuntarily towards him.
"We must take you," pursued Mrs. Marland, "this very evening. You'llcome, Miss Bushell?"
"I don't think I care very much about the Pool," said Millie.
"We won't let Mr. Merceron take you in his canoe this time."
Charlie rolled out of the hammock and came up to them.
"You must take us to the Pool. I don't believe you've been there sinceyou came back. Poor Agatha will quite---"
"Agatha?" exclaimed Calder.
"Agatha Merceron, you know. Why, haven't you heard---?"
"Oh, ah! Yes, of course. I beg your pardon."
"I hate that beastly Pool," said Charlie.
"How can you?" smiled Mrs. Marland. "You used to spend hours thereevery evening."
Charlie glanced uneasily at Calder, who turned very red.
"Times have changed, have they?" Mrs. Marland asked archly. "You've gottired of looking in vain for Agatha?"
"Oh, all right," said Charlie crossly, "we'll go after tea."
Anything seemed better than this rallying mood of Mrs. Marland's.
Presently the two young men went off together to play a game atbilliards; but after half a dozen strokes Charlie plumped down in achair.
"I say, Calder, old chap, how do you feel?" he asked.
Calder licked his cigar meditatively.
"Better," said he at last.
"Oh!"
"And you?"
"Worse--worse every day. I can't stand it, old chap. I shall go back."
"What, to her?"
"Yes."
"That's hardly sticking to our bargain, you know."
"But, hang it, what's the good of our both cutting her?"
"Oh, I thought you did it because you were disgusted with her. That wasmy reason."
"So it was mine, but---"
"Probably she's got some other fellow by now," observed Calder calmly.
"The devil!" cried Charlie. "What makes you think so?"
"Oh, nothing. I know her way, you see."
"You think she's that sort of girl? Good heavens!"
"Well, if she wasn't, I'd like to know where you'd be, my friend. Ishouldn't have the honor of your acquaintance."
Charlie ignored this point.
"And yet you wanted, to marry her?"
"I dare say I was an ass--like better men before me and--er--since me."
"Hang it!" cried Charlie. "I'm sick of the whole thing. I'm sick oflife. I'm sick of all the nonsense of it. For two straws I'd have donewith it, and marry Millie Bushell."
"What! Look here, Charlie--"
Calder left his sentence unfinished.
"Well?" said Charlie.
"If," said Calder slowly, "there are any girls, either down here or inLondon, whom you're quite sure you'll never want to marry, I shouldlike to be introduced to one of 'em, Charlie, if you've no objections."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, in fact, during this last week, Charlie, I have come to have agreat esteem for Miss Bushell. There's about her a something--asolidity---"
"She can't help that, poor girl."
"A solidity of mind," said Calder, a little stiffly.
"Oh, I beg pardon. But I say, Calder, what are you driving at?"
"Charlie! Charlie!" sounded from outside. "Tea's ready."
Calder rose and took Charlie by the arm.
"Should I be safe," he asked solemnly, "in allowing myself to fall inlove with Miss Bushell, or are you likely to step in again?"
"You mean it? Honor bright, Calder?"
"Yes."
"Where's Bradshaw? By Jove, where's Bradshaw?"
"Bradshaw? What the devil has Bradshaw----?"
"Why, a train, man--a train to town."
"I don't want to go to town, bless the man---"
"You! No, but I do. To town, Calder--to Agatha, you old fool."
"Oh, that's your lay?"
"Yes, of course. I couldn't go back on you, but if you're off---"
"Charlie, old fellow, think again."
"Go to the deuce! Where's that---?"
"Charlie, Charlie! Tea!"
"Hang tea!" he cried; but Calder dragged him off, telling him thatto-morrow would do for Bradshaw.
At tea Charlie's spirits were very much better, and it was observedthat Calder Wentworth paid marked attention to Millie Bushell, so that,when they started for the Pool, Millie was prevailed upon to be one ofthe party, on the understanding that Mr. Went worth would take care ofher. This time the expedition went off more quietly than it hadpreviously, but at the last moment the ladies declared that they would,be late for dinner if they waited till it was time for Agatha Merceronto come.
"Oh, nonsense!" said Calder. "Come over to the temple, Miss Bushell. Iwon't upset the canoe."
"Well, if you insist," said Millie.
Then Mrs. Marland remarked in the quietest voice in the world---
"There's some one in the temple."
"What?" cried Millie.
"Eh?" exclaimed Calder.
"Nonsense!" said Charlie.
"I saw a face at the window," insisted Mrs. Marland.
"Oh, Mrs. Marland! Was it very awful?"
"Not at all, Millie--very pretty," and she gave Charlie a look full ofmeaning.
"Look, look!" cried Millie in strong agitation.
And, as they looked, a slim figure in white came quietly out of thetemple, a smile--and, alas! no vestige of a blush--on her face, walkedcomposedly down the steps, and, standing on the lowest one, thence--didnot throw herself into the water--but called, in the most natural voicein the world, "Which of you is coming to fetch me?"
Charlie looked at Calder. Calder said,
"I think you'd better put her across, old man. And--er--we might aswell walk on."
They turned away, Millie's eyes wide in surprise, Mrs. Marland smilingthe smile of triumphant sagacity.
"I was coming to y
ou to-morrow," cried Charlie the moment his canoebumped against the stops.
"What do you mean, sir, by staying away a whole week? How could you?"
"I don't know," said Charlie. "You see, I couldn't come till Calder----
"Oh, what about Calder?"
"He's all right."
"What? Miss--the girl you upset out of the canoe?"
"I think so," said Charlie.
"Ah, well!" said Agatha. "But how very curious!" Then she smiled atCharlie, and asked, "But what love can there be, Mr. Merceron, wherethere is deceit?"
Charlie took no notice at all of this question.
"Do you mind Calder going?" he whispered.
"Well, not much," said Miss Glyn.
Thus it was that the barony of Warmley returned to the house ofMerceron, and the portrait of the wicked lord came to hang once more inthe dining-room. So the curtain falls on the comedy; and what happenedafterwards behind the scenes, whether another comedy, or a tragedy, ora mixed half-and-half sort of entertainment, now grave, now gay,sometimes perhaps delightful, and again of tempered charm--why, as toall this, what reck the spectators who are crowding out of the theatreand home to bed?
But it seems as if, in spite of certain drawbacks in Agatha Merceron'scharacter, nothing very dreadful can have happened, because Mr. andMrs. Wentworth, who are very particular folk, went to stay at the Courtthe other day, and their only complaint was that Charlie and his bridewere always at the Pool!
And, for his own part, if he may be allowed a word (which some peoplesay he ought not to be) here, just at the end, the writer begs to saythat he once knew Agatha, and--he would have taken the risks. However,a lady to whom he has shown this history differs entirely from him, andthinks that no sensible man would have married her. But, then, that isnot the question.