III.
When she rose the next morning the bell was clanging for the secondbreakfast, and people were pouring in from the beach in every varietyof attire. Paula, whom a restless night had left with a headache,which, however, she said nothing about, was reluctant to emerge from theseclusion of her chamber, till her aunt, discovering what was the matterwith her, suggested that a few minutes in the open air would refreshher; and they went downstairs into the hotel gardens.
The clatter of the big breakfast within was audible from this spot, andthe noise seemed suddenly to inspirit Paula, who proposed to enter.Her aunt assented. In the verandah under which they passed was a rustichat-stand in the form of a tree, upon which hats and other body-gearhung like bunches of fruit. Paula's eye fell upon a felt hat to whicha small block-book was attached by a string. She knew that hat andblock-book well, and turning to Mrs. Goodman said, 'After all, I don'twant the breakfast they are having: let us order one of our own asusual. And we'll have it here.'
She led on to where some little tables were placed under the tallshrubs, followed by her aunt, who was in turn followed by theproprietress of the hotel, that lady having discovered from the Frenchmaid that there was good reason for paying these ladies ample personalattention.
'Is the gentleman to whom that sketch-book belongs staying here?' Paulacarelessly inquired, as she indicated the object on the hat-stand.
'Ah, no!' deplored the proprietress. 'The Hotel was full when Mr.Somerset came. He stays at a cottage beyond the Rue Anicet Bourgeois: heonly has his meals here.'
Paula had taken her seat under the fuchsia-trees in such a manner thatshe could observe all the exits from the salle a manger; but for thepresent none of the breakfasters emerged, the only moving objects on thescene being the waitresses who ran hither and thither across the court,the cook's assistants with baskets of long bread, and the laundresseswith baskets of sun-bleached linen. Further back towards the inn-yard,stablemen were putting in the horses for starting the flys and coachesto Les Ifs, the nearest railway-station.
'Suppose the Somersets should be going off by one of these conveyances,'said Mrs. Goodman as she sipped her tea.
'Well, aunt, then they must,' replied the younger lady with composure.
Nevertheless she looked with some misgiving at the nearest stableman ashe led out four white horses, harnessed them, and leisurely brought abrush with which he began blacking their yellow hoofs. All the vehicleswere ready at the door by the time breakfast was over, and the inmatessoon turned out, some to mount the omnibuses and carriages, some toramble on the adjacent beach, some to climb the verdant slopes, and someto make for the cliffs that shut in the vale. The fuchsia-trees whichsheltered Paula's breakfast-table from the blaze of the sun, alsoscreened it from the eyes of the outpouring company, and she sat onwith her aunt in perfect comfort, till among the last of the stream cameSomerset and his father. Paula reddened at being so near the former atlast. It was with sensible relief that she observed them turn towardsthe cliffs and not to the carriages, and thus signify that they were notgoing off that day.
Neither of the two saw the ladies, and when the latter had finishedtheir tea and coffee they followed to the shore, where they sat fornearly an hour, reading and watching the bathers. At length footstepscrunched among the pebbles in their vicinity, and looking out from hersunshade Paula saw the two Somersets close at hand.
The elder recognized her, and the younger, observing his father's actionof courtesy, turned his head. It was a revelation to Paula, for she wasshocked to see that he appeared worn and ill. The expression of hisface changed at sight of her, increasing its shade of paleness; but heimmediately withdrew his eyes and passed by.
Somerset was as much surprised at encountering her thus as she had beendistressed to see him. As soon as they were out of hearing, he asked hisfather quietly, 'What strange thing is this, that Lady De Stancy shouldbe here and her husband not with her? Did she bow to me, or to you?'
'Lady De Stancy--that young lady?' asked the puzzled painter. Heproceeded to explain all he knew; that she was a young lady he had meton his journey at two or three different times; moreover, that ifshe were his son's client--the woman who was to have become Lady DeStancy--she was Miss Power still; for he had seen in some newspapertwo days before leaving England that the wedding had been postponed onaccount of her illness.
Somerset was so greatly moved that he could hardly speak connectedly tohis father as they paced on together. 'But she is not ill, as far as Ican see,' he said. 'The wedding postponed?--You are sure the word waspostponed?--Was it broken off?'
'No, it was postponed. I meant to have told you before, knowing youwould be interested as the castle architect; but it slipped my memory inthe bustle of arriving.'
'I am not the castle architect.'
'The devil you are not--what are you then?'
'Well, I am not that.'
Somerset the elder, though not of penetrating nature, began to see thathere lay an emotional complication of some sort, and reserved furtherinquiry till a more convenient occasion. They had reached the end ofthe level beach where the cliff began to rise, and as this impedimentnaturally stopped their walk they retraced their steps. On again nearingthe spot where Paula and her aunt were sitting, the painter would havedeviated to the hotel; but as his son persisted in going straight on, indue course they were opposite the ladies again. By this time MissPower, who had appeared anxious during their absence, regained herself-control. Going towards her old lover she said, with a smile, 'Ihave been looking for you!'
'Why have you been doing that?' said Somerset, in a voice which hefailed to keep as steady as he could wish.
'Because--I want some architect to continue the restoration. Do youwithdraw your resignation?'
Somerset appeared unable to decide for a few instants. 'Yes,' he thenanswered.
For the moment they had ignored the presence of the painter and Mrs.Goodman, but Somerset now made them known to one another, and there wasfriendly intercourse all round.
'When will you be able to resume operations at the castle?' she asked,as soon as she could again speak directly to Somerset.
'As soon as I can get back. Of course I only resume it at your specialrequest.'
'Of course.' To one who had known all the circumstances it would haveseemed a thousand pities that, after again getting face to face withhim, she did not explain, without delay, the whole mischief thathad separated them. But she did not do it--perhaps from the inherentawkwardness of such a topic at this idle time. She confined herselfsimply to the above-mentioned business-like request, and when the partyhad walked a few steps together they separated, with mutual promises tomeet again.
'I hope you have explained your mistake to him, and how it arose, andeverything?' said her aunt when they were alone.
'No, I did not.'
'What, not explain after all?' said her amazed relative.
'I decided to put it off.'
'Then I think you decided very wrongly. Poor young man, he looked soill!'
'Did you, too, think he looked ill? But he danced last night. Why did hedance?' She turned and gazed regretfully at the corner round which theSomersets had disappeared.
'I don't know why he danced; but if I had known you were going to be sosilent, I would have explained the mistake myself.'
'I wish you had. But no; I have said I would; and I must.'
Paula's avoidance of tables d'hote did not extend to the present one.It was quite with alacrity that she went down; and with her entry theantecedent hotel beauty who had reigned for the last five days at thatmeal, was unceremoniously deposed by the guests. Mr. Somerset the eldercame in, but nobody with him. His seat was on Paula's left hand, Mrs.Goodman being on Paula's right, so that all the conversation was betweenthe Academician and the younger lady. When the latter had again retiredupstairs with her aunt, Mrs. Goodman expressed regret that young Mr.Somerset was absent from the table. 'Why has he kept away?' she asked.
'I don't know--I did
n't ask,' said Paula sadly. 'Perhaps he doesn't careto meet us again.'
'That's because you didn't explain.'
'Well--why didn't the old man give me an opportunity?' exclaimed theniece with suppressed excitement. 'He would scarcely say anything butyes and no, and gave me no chance at all of introducing the subject. Iwanted to explain--I came all the way on purpose--I would have beggedGeorge's pardon on my two knees if there had been any way of beginning;but there was not, and I could not do it!'
Though she slept badly that night, Paula promptly appeared in the publicroom to breakfast, and that not from motives of vanity; for, while notunconscious of her accession to the unstable throne of queen-beauty inthe establishment, she seemed too preoccupied to care for the honourjust then, and would readily have changed places with her unhappypredecessor, who lingered on in the background like a candle aftersunrise.
Mrs. Goodman was determined to trust no longer to Paula for putting anend to what made her so restless and self-reproachful. Seeing old Mr.Somerset enter to a little side-table behind for lack of room at thecrowded centre tables, again without his son, she turned her head andasked point-blank where the young man was.
Mr. Somerset's face became a shade graver than before. 'My son isunwell,' he replied; 'so unwell that he has been advised to stay indoorsand take perfect rest.'
'I do hope it is nothing serious.'
'I hope so too. The fact is, he has overdone himself a little. He wasnot well when he came here; and to make himself worse he must needs godancing at the Casino with this lady and that--among others with a youngAmerican lady who is here with her family, and whom he met in Londonlast year. I advised him against it, but he seemed desperatelydetermined to shake off lethargy by any rash means, and wouldn't listento me. Luckily he is not in the hotel, but in a quiet cottage a hundredyards up the hill.'
Paula, who had heard all, did not show or say what she felt at the news:but after breakfast, on meeting the landlady in a passage alone, sheasked with some anxiety if there were a really skilful medical man inEtretat; and on being told that there was, and his name, she went backto look for Mr. Somerset; but he had gone.
They heard nothing more of young Somerset all that morning, but towardsevening, while Paula sat at her window, looking over the heads offuchsias upon the promenade beyond, she saw the painter walk by. Sheimmediately went to her aunt and begged her to go out and ask Mr.Somerset if his son had improved.
'I will send Milly or Clementine,' said Mrs. Goodman.
'I wish you would see him yourself.'
'He has gone on. I shall never find him.'
'He has only gone round to the front,' persisted Paula. 'Do walk thatway, auntie, and ask him.'
Thus pressed, Mrs. Goodman acquiesced, and brought back intelligence toMiss Power, who had watched them through the window, that his son didnot positively improve, but that his American friends were very kind tohim.
Having made use of her aunt, Paula seemed particularly anxious to getrid of her again, and when that lady sat down to write letters, Paulawent to her own room, hastily dressed herself without assistance, askedprivately the way to the cottage, and went off thitherward unobserved.
At the upper end of the lane she saw a little house answering to thedescription, whose front garden, window-sills, palings, and doorstepwere literally ablaze with nasturtiums in bloom.
She entered this inhabited nosegay, quietly asked for the invalid, andif he were well enough to see Miss Power. The woman of the house soonreturned, and she was conducted up a crooked staircase to Somerset'smodest apartments. It appeared that some rooms in this dwelling hadbeen furnished by the landlady of the inn, who hired them of the tenantduring the summer season to use as an annexe to the hotel.
Admitted to the outer room she beheld her architect looking asunarchitectural as possible; lying on a small couch which was drawn upto the open casement, whence he had a back view of the window flowers,and enjoyed a green transparency through the undersides of the samenasturtium leaves that presented their faces to the passers without.
When the latch had again clicked into the catch of the closed door Paulawent up to the invalid, upon whose pale and interesting face a flush hadarisen simultaneously with the announcement of her name. He would havesprung up to receive her, but she pressed him down, and throwingall reserve on one side for the first time in their intercourse, shecrouched beside the sofa, whispering with roguish solicitude, her facenot too far from his own: 'How foolish you are, George, to get ill justnow when I have been wanting so much to see you again!--I am so sorry tosee you like this--what I said to you when we met on the shore was notwhat I had come to say!'
Somerset took her by the hand. 'Then what did you come to say, Paula?'he asked.
'I wanted to tell you that the mere wanton wandering of a capriciousmind was not the cause of my estrangement from you. There has been agreat deception practised--the exact nature of it I cannot tell youplainly just at present; it is too painful--but it is all over, andI can assure you of my sorrow at having behaved as I did, and of mysincere friendship now as ever.'
'There is nothing I shall value so much as that. It will make my work atthe castle very pleasant to feel that I can consult you about it withoutfear of intruding on you against your wishes.'
'Yes, perhaps it will. But--you do not comprehend me.'
'You have been an enigma always.'
'And you have been provoking; but never so provoking as now. I wouldn'tfor the world tell you the whole of my fancies as I came hither thisevening: but I should think your natural intuition would suggest whatthey were.'
'It does, Paula. But there are motives of delicacy which prevent myacting on what is suggested to me.'
'Delicacy is a gift, and you should thank God for it; but in some casesit is not so precious as we would persuade ourselves.'
'Not when the woman is rich, and the man is poor?'
'O, George Somerset--be cold, or angry, or anything, but don't belike this! It is never worth a woman's while to show regret for herinjustice; for all she gets by it is an accusation of want of delicacy.'
'Indeed I don't accuse you of that--I warmly, tenderly thank you foryour kindness in coming here to see me.'
'Well, perhaps you do. But I am now in I cannot tell what mood--I willnot tell what mood, for it would be confessing more than I ought. Thisfinding you out is a piece of weakness that I shall not repeat; and Ihave only one thing more to say. I have served you badly, George, I knowthat; but it is never too late to mend; and I have come back to you.However, I shall never run after you again, trust me for that, for it isnot the woman's part. Still, before I go, that there may be no mistakeas to my meaning, and misery entailed on us for want of a word, I'll addthis: that if you want to marry me, as you once did, you must say so;for I am here to be asked.'
It would be superfluous to transcribe Somerset's reply, and theremainder of the scene between the pair. Let it suffice thathalf-an-hour afterwards, when the sun had almost gone down, Paula walkedbriskly into the hotel, troubled herself nothing about dinner, but wentupstairs to their sitting-room, where her aunt presently found her uponthe couch looking up at the ceiling through her fingers. They talked ondifferent subjects for some time till the old lady said 'Mr. Somerset'scottage is the one covered with flowers up the lane, I hear.'
'Yes,' said Paula.
'How do you know?'
'I've been there.... We are going to be married, aunt.'
'Indeed!' replied Mrs. Goodman. 'Well, I thought this might be the endof it: you were determined on the point; and I am not much surprised atyour news. Your father was very wise after all in entailing everythingso strictly upon your offspring; for if he had not I should have beendriven wild with the responsibility!'
'And now that the murder is out,' continued Paula, passing over thatview of the case, 'I don't mind telling you that somehow or other I havegot to like George Somerset as desperately as a woman can care for anyman. I thought I should have died when I saw him dancing, and f
earedI had lost him! He seemed ten times nicer than ever then! So silly wewomen are, that I wouldn't marry a duke in preference to him. There,that's my honest feeling, and you must make what you can of it; myconscience is clear, thank Heaven!'
'Have you fixed the day?'
'No,' continued the young lady, still watching the sleeping flies on theceiling. 'It is left unsettled between us, while I come and ask you ifthere would be any harm--if it could conveniently be before we return toEngland?'
'Paula, this is too precipitate!'
'On the contrary, aunt. In matrimony, as in some other things, youshould be slow to decide, but quick to execute. Nothing on earth wouldmake me marry another man; I know every fibre of his character; andhe knows a good many fibres of mine; so as there is nothing more to belearnt, why shouldn't we marry at once? On one point I am firm: I willnever return to that castle as Miss Power. A nameless dread comes overme when I think of it--a fear that some uncanny influence of the deadDe Stancys would drive me again from him. O, if it were to do that,'she murmured, burying her face in her hands, 'I really think it would bemore than I could bear!'
'Very well,' said Mrs. Goodman; 'we will see what can be done. I willwrite to Mr. Wardlaw.'