30. ON THE HOUSETOP
'Picotee, are you asleep?' Ethelberta whispered softly at dawn the nextmorning, by the half-opened door of her sister's bedroom.
'No, I keep waking, it is so warm.'
'So do I. Suppose we get up and see the sun rise. The east is fillingwith flame.'
'Yes, I should like it,' said Picotee.
The restlessness which had brought Ethelberta hither in slippers anddressing-gown at such an early hour owed its origin to another cause thanthe warmth of the weather; but of that she did not speak as yet.Picotee's room was an attic, with windows in the roof--a chamber dismalenough at all times, and very shadowy now. While Picotee was wrappingup, Ethelberta placed a chair under the window, and mounting upon thisthey stepped outside, and seated themselves within the parapet.
The air was as clear and fresh as on a mountain side; sparrows chattered,and birds of a species unsuspected at later hours could be heard singingin the park hard by, while here and there on ridges and flats a cat mightbe seen going calmly home from the devilries of the night to resume theamiabilities of the day.
'I am so sorry I was asleep when you reached home,' said Picotee. 'I wasso anxious to tell you something I heard of, and to know what you did;but my eyes would shut, try as I might, and then I tried no longer. Didyou see me at all, Berta?'
'Never once. I had an impression that you were there. I fancied youwere from father's carefully vacuous look whenever I glanced at his face.But were you careful about what you said, and did you see Menlove? Ifelt all the time that I had done wrong in letting you come; thegratification to you was not worth the risk to me.'
'I saw her, and talked to her. But I am certain she suspected nothing. Ienjoyed myself very much, and there was no risk at all.'
'I am glad it is no worse news. However, you must not go there again:upon that point I am determined.'
'It was a good thing I did go, all the same. I'll tell you why when youhave told me what happened to you.'
'Nothing of importance happened to me.'
'I expect you got to know the lord you were to meet?'
'O yes--Lord Mountclere.'
'And it's dreadful how fond he is of you--quite ridiculously taken upwith you--I saw that well enough. Such an old man, too; I wouldn't havehim for the world!'
'Don't jump at conclusions so absurdly, Picotee. Why wouldn't you havehim for the world?'
'Because he is old enough to be my grandfather, and yours too.'
'Indeed he is not; he is only middle-aged.'
'O Berta! Sixty-five at least.'
'He may or may not be that; and if he is, it is not old. He is soentertaining that one forgets all about age in connection with him.'
'He laughs like this--"Hee-hee-hee!"' Picotee introduced as muchantiquity into her face as she could by screwing it up and suiting theaction to the word.
'This very odd thing occurred,' said Ethelberta, to get Picotee off thetrack of Lord Mountclere's peculiarities, as it seemed. 'I was saying toMr. Neigh that we were going to Knollsea for a time, feeling that hewould not be likely to know anything about such an out-of-the-way place,when Lord Mountclere, who was near, said, "I shall be at Enckworth Courtin a few days, probably at the time you are at Knollsea. The ImperialArchaeological Association holds its meetings in that part of Wessex thisseason, and Corvsgate Castle, near Knollsea, is one of the places on ourlist." Then he hoped I should be able to attend. Did you ever hearanything so strange? Now, I should like to attend very much, not on LordMountclere's account, but because such gatherings are interesting, and Ihave never been to one; yet there is this to be considered, would it beright for me to go without a friend to such a place? Another point is,that we shall live in menagerie style at Knollsea for the sake of thechildren, and we must do it economically in case we accept AuntCharlotte's invitation to Rouen; hence, if he or his friends find us outthere it will be awkward for me. So the alternative is Knollsea or someother place for us.'
'Let it be Knollsea, now we have once settled it,' said Picoteeanxiously. 'I have mentioned to Faith Julian that we shall be there.'
'Mentioned it already! You must have written instantly.'
'I had a few minutes to spare, and I thought I might as well write.'
'Very well; we will stick to Knollsea,' said Ethelberta, half in doubt.'Yes--otherwise it will be difficult to see about aunt's baptismalcertificate. We will hope nobody will take the trouble to pry into ourhousehold. . . . And now, Picotee, I want to ask you something--somethingvery serious. How would you like me to marry Mr. Neigh?'
Ethelberta could not help laughing with a faint shyness as she asked thequestion under the searching east ray. 'He has asked me to marry him,'she continued, 'and I want to know what you would say to such anarrangement. I don't mean to imply that the event is certain to takeplace; but, as a mere supposition, what do you say to it, Picotee?'Ethelberta was far from putting this matter before Picotee for advice oropinion; but, like all people who have an innate dislike tohole-and-corner policy, she felt compelled to speak of it to some one.
'I should not like him for you at all,' said Picotee vehemently. 'Iwould rather you had Mr. Ladywell.'
'O, don't name him!'
'I wouldn't have Mr. Neigh at any price, nevertheless. It is about himthat I was going to tell you.' Picotee proceeded to relate Menlove'saccount of the story of Ethelberta's escapade, which had been draggedfrom Neigh the previous evening by the friend to whom he had related itbefore he was so enamoured of Ethelberta as to regard that performance asa positive virtue in her. 'Nobody was told, or even suspected, who thelady of the anecdote was,' Picotee concluded; 'but I knew instantly, ofcourse, and I think it very unfortunate that we ever went to thatdreadful ghostly estate of his, Berta.'
Ethelberta's face heated with mortification. She had no fear that Neighhad told names or other particulars which might lead to heridentification by any friend of his, and she could make allowance forbursts of confidence; but there remained the awkward fact that he himselfknew her to be the heroine of the episode. What annoyed her most wasthat Neigh could ever have looked upon her indiscretion as a humorousincident, which he certainly must have done at some time or other toaccount for his telling it. Had he been angry with her, or sneered ather for going, she could have forgiven him; but to see her manoeuvre inthe light of a joke, to use it as illustrating his grim theory ofwomankind, and neither to like nor to dislike her the more for it fromfirst to last, this was to treat her with a cynicism which wasintolerable. That Neigh's use of the incident as a stock anecdote ceasedlong before he had decided to ask her to marry him she had no doubt, butit showed that his love for her was of that sort in which passion makeswar upon judgment, and prevails in spite of will. Moreover, he mighthave been speaking ironically when he alluded to the act as a virtue in awoman, which seemed the more likely when she remembered his cool bearingtowards her in the drawing-room. Possibly it was an antipatheticreaction, induced by the renewed recollection of her proceeding.
'I will never marry Mr. Neigh!' she said, with decision. 'That shallsettle it. You need not think over any such contingency, Picotee. He isone of those horrid men who love with their eyes, the remainder part ofhim objecting all the time to the feeling; and even if his objectionsprove the weaker, and the man marries, his general nature conquers againby the time the wedding trip is over, so that the woman is miserable atlast, and had better not have had him at all.'
'That applies still more to Lord Mountclere, to my thinking. I never sawanything like the look of his eyes upon you.'
'O no, no--you understand nothing if you say that. But one thing be sureof, there is no marriage likely to take place between myself and Mr.Neigh. I have longed for a sound reason for disliking him, and now Ihave got it. Well, we will talk no more of this--let us think of thenice little pleasure we have in store--our stay at Knollsea. There wewill be as free as the wind. And when we are down there, I can driveacross to Corvsgate Castle if I wish
to attend the Imperial Associationmeeting, and nobody will know where I came from. Knollsea is not morethan five miles from the Castle, I think.'
Picotee was by this time beginning to yawn, and Ethelberta did not feelnearly so wakeful as she had felt half-an-hour earlier. Tall and swarthycolumns of smoke were now soaring up from the kitchen chimneys around,spreading horizontally when at a great height, and forming a roof of hazewhich was turning the sun to a copper colour, and by degrees spoiling thesweetness of the new atmosphere that had rolled in from the countryduring the night, giving it the usual city smell. The resolve to makethis rising the beginning of a long and busy day, which should set thembeforehand with the rest of the world, weakened with their growingweariness, and an impulse to lie down just for a quarter of an hourbefore dressing, ended in a sound sleep that did not relinquish its holdupon them till late in the forenoon.