The Career of Katherine Bush

  CHAPTER XI

  "What are you thinking of, G.?" Lady Garribardine said, noticing after alittle while his preoccupation. "That wretched charity has tired youout, dear boy--I hope Miss Bush was efficient?"

  "Quite--" and he lay back in his very comfortable chair and devoured abit of brown bread and butter. "The whole thing is practically finished.Your secretary very kindly said she would complete alone the lastdirections, which she took down in shorthand."

  "Then it will be done, G.; she is a young person of her word."

  Mr. Strobridge did not become expansive; it was fortunate, he thought,that he had never yet shown any interest in Katherine Bush, because verylittle escaped his aunt's perceptions.

  She was already wondering what caused his absence of mind. He surely wasnot being so foolish as to have allowed himself to become seriouslyenamoured of Laeo Delemar! Her precious Gerard! This must be ascertainedat once.

  "Laeo telephoned just now that she would not come to the playto-night--Really, the caprices of these pretty women are quiteintolerable, throwing one over at a moment's notice--masses ofselfishness and conceit."

  "Yes,--aren't they?" languidly.

  This did not sound a lover's disappointment, but perhaps he wasprepared for her news, and Laeo's proposed absence was what caused hisdepression.

  "What excuse has she given you?"

  He looked surprised.

  "None. I did not know that she had chucked; did she give any reason?"

  "Some nonsense about a friend of her mother's having turned up. I was soannoyed that I put the receiver down."

  "You must console me, _carina_," and he leaned forward and took hisaunt's fat hand. "Laeo would never be missed if a man might count uponyou for his partner."

  "Flatterer!" but she smiled complacently. "The Colvins can both talk toTom Hawthorne then. I had intended Henry Colvin to be my portion; he isa bright creature, and distracted me at dinner last week--but I amtired, and I always prefer you, G. Ah! if you had only been my son!"

  "It would have destroyed the happiest of relationships in theworld--and you know it. A son you could overscold--a mother I couldoverrespect--Let us thank Heaven for the charming courtesy tie that weenjoy."

  "I wish you would have a son, though, G.; you know I am perfectlyindifferent to Emmeline's boy."

  "I shall never have any Strobridge children, Seraphim. Beatrice wouldfaint at the idea. We only touched upon domestic pretences and got themall over with the very lightest effort in the first week. Besides, onewould not want a Thorvil child--there is a mad streak in the wholefamily, I have often thought. I am much interested in heredity."

  He did not add how greatly the afternoon had augmented this interest!

  "Yes--did you chance to notice my secretary's hands?--The mother musthave had a lover, of course."

  "I don't think so--they seldom do in that class. They become sointolerably unattractive at once; nothing human could come up to thescratch. It is just a freak, or a harking back--many of the exquisitelyaristocratic features one finds in old villagers, for instance, datefrom the _droit de seigneur_."

  "The whole question of heredity is a frightfully serious one, of course,and we are in a stupendous muddle at the present time, with the inroadsof the Lord knows who to muddy the stream."

  "Do you suppose that is the cause of the dry rot which has got intous?--Or is it that we are really rusting out?"

  "It is luxury and humanitarianism, and absence of national foes, whichhave sent us to sleep--and forgetfulness of dignity and duty. We eat thefood of those whose fathers fed in our fathers' kitchens, and notbecause they are worthy and nice--that would be quite justifiable ifso--but just because they are rich and have a superb chef, or becausethey are giving our younger sons a lift in the city--I loathe allmoney-making and trade--I am thankful that I, at least, can stand on myown feet, though I see the sad decadence in all around me--But I mustnot talk like this; it depresses and ages me!--By the way, Sterling hadthe impertinence to tell me that she thought my new toupees from Parisare too light!--What do you say, G.?"

  He looked at her critically, at the clever, shrewd, painted old face andthe ridiculous girlish wig--and then he kissed her hand again, and toldher the truth. Something about her words touched him infinitely.

  "I adore very dark hair when it is going grey, Seraphim. I have oftenthought how beautiful you would be if you burnt all those things. Yoursense of humour is so supreme, they always seem incongruous."

  "I will, then, this very New Year, while we are at Blissington. It willbe the sensation when we return to town. Sarah Lady Garribardine withsnow-white hair!"

  "No, iron grey. It will make your eyes brighter."

  "It shall be done!" Then she laughed softly. "G., how goes it withLaeo--you are not in love?"

  Mr. Strobridge shook his head regretfully.

  "Alas! not an atom. I fear it won't last until the Easter recess."

  "She is artificial."

  "Extremely."

  "And hopelessly vague."

  "Yes--but quite charming."

  "Beatrice says she pretends to be full of sex and other dreadful naturalthings--you always had fruity tastes, Beatrice avers!"

  "My tastes _are_ fruity, but are never gratified in these modern days,alas! She is quite wrong about Laeo, though; she is as cold as ice. Shesmiles with equal sweetness upon the waiters when we are lunching atrestaurants. She is merely a lovely woman demanding incense from allthings male.

  "Beatrice said 'pretends,' remember--Beatrice is not at all dense!"

  "No, quite a subtle companion when not composing odes, or discussing theintensity of blue with Hebe Vermont."

  "--Are you glad Laeo is coming for Christmas?"

  "Y--es. I shall want some of your very best champagne."

  "You shall have it, G., and I will try to make things difficult for youas a sort of appetiser. I have some kind of feeling that you aredepressed, dear boy?--I am putting Laeo in the parrot suite."

  "It will suit her admirably."

  Then they both laughed.

  "But you are depressed, G.?"

  "A shadow of coming events, perhaps! not exactly disaster, or I shouldbe what the Scotch call 'fey,'" and he sighed. He felt very fatigued anddisturbed, and he hardly knew what.

  Lady Garribardine did not press the matter. She had enormous tact.

  * * * * *

  Mrs. Delemar at that moment was lying upon her sofa in a ravishingsaffron gauze teagown smoking scented cigarettes, while she discussedher heart's secrets with a dearest friend.

  "Gerard is madly in love with me, Agnes. I hardly know what to do aboutit. I have chucked for to-night on purpose to give him a setback."

  "It will be most cosy dining here alone with Bobbie Moreland and Jimmyand me. You were quite right, darling."

  "Poor Bobbie, back from that horrible India where he has been for ayear--of course, I could not refuse him--But Lady Garribardine is wild."

  "It would not do to offend her really, Laeo sweet. You must be penitentand send her some flowers to-morrow."

  If Katherine Bush had been there, she would have seen a strong likenessin Mrs. Delemar to her future sister-in-law, Mabel Cawber; hercigarette ash was knocked off in almost as dainty a fashion as that ladyemployed in using her spoon. Mrs. Delemar _never_ ceased rememberingthat she was a beautiful woman, and must act accordingly; the onlydifference between them was that Mabel Cawber _never_ forgot that shewas a perfect lady, and was determined that no one should miss this factif she could help it. Their souls were on a par--or whatever animatingprinciple did duty as a soul in each.

  Mrs. Delemar returned to the subject of Gerard with a sigh, telling herfriend Agnes the most intimate things he had said to her and giving herpleasing descriptions of her own emotions, too. Gerard was a feather forany woman's cap, and Agnes should know how crazily in love he was withher.

  "I think he'll do something desperate, darling--if I don't give waysoon--I wish men were like
us, don't you?"

  "One must please the creatures, or they would not stay."

  "Yes--but oh! isn't it a shocking bore--that part--if they only knew!"

  * * * * *

  Katherine Bush, meanwhile, was arriving at Laburnum Villa, where a crowdof sisters and friends welcomed her home.

  Fresh from the entrancing fencing match with Gerard Strobridge, theirwell-meant chaff and badinage sounded extremely bald. But among thempoor Gladys was silent, and sat with flushed cheeks and overbright eyes,looking at Katherine.

  "I want to talk to you, Glad," this latter said, kindly. "LadyGarribardine has given me ten pounds to get a real evening frock with.I must have it to take down to Blissington for Christmas--we goto-morrow week. But can I get it in the time?"

  Gladys was all interest at once. Clothes were a real passion for her.She devised something pretty; but five pounds would be quite enough.Katherine had better have two dresses, a black and that lovely new shadeof mauve.

  "I'll have the black, the very simplest that there can be, if you knowof one of your hands who could make it for me. I'll leave it entirely toyou."

  Gladys was delighted, and then her large prominent eyes grew haunted andwistful.

  "I'd like awfully to talk to you to-night, Kitten," she said. "May Icome to your room?"

  Permission was given, and they all went to supper. It was exactly asKatherine had described it that afternoon, and Mr. Prodgers was there inhis best frock coat, more full of what Miss Ethel Bush called "swank"mixed with discomfort than Katherine had ever known him. If she had notfelt so deeply that these people were her own flesh and blood, she couldhave been amused by the whole thing.

  Nothing could equal the condescension of Miss Cawber. LadyGarribardine's name was not entirely unknown to her--although, to besure, it was not in the same class as that of the Duchess of Dashington,Lady Hebe Vermont or any of the "smart set"--but still it had chancedonce now and then to have appeared in the society column of the _Flare_,she rather thought as the patroness of some dull old politicalthing--and yes--more recently in connection with those _tableauxvivants_, which Miss Cawber was dying to hear the details of; perhapsKatherine could gratify his need?

  "Did Hebe Vermont look a dream as Sicchy and Lord St. Aldens as Cupid?My! they must have been a pair! I always do say to Fred when we meetthem at church parade of a Sunday that they are the real thing."

  Katherine for once took up the gauntlet, while one of her sphinxlikesmiles hovered about her mouth.

  "_Lady_ Hebe Vermont played Psyche--if that is who you mean by'Sicchy'--but who is Lord St. Aldens, Mabel? Mr. John St. Aldens, whoacted Cupid, is an 'Honourable'; he is a Baron's son, his father is LordHexam."

  Mabel reddened; while maintaining for the most part a rather chillingsilence with her, Katherine had never before deliberately crossedswords. She felt indignant! A paid companion to try to make her lookfoolish before the others! She who had never done a stroke of work evenin a business house in her life! She would have to put this futuresister-in-law in her place, and no mistake! Her manner plainly showedthat Katherine was in disgrace, as she answered loftily:

  "Really, I ought to know--My father was a great friend of his father,and often went to their place."

  "In what capacity, Mabel?" Katherine smiled. "We none of us rememberyour father, but Liv and Dev told me once when I asked them that he hadbeen an under-clerk at Canford and Crin's--the St. Alden solicitors--andthen passed the examinations. From what I've learned about his sort ofpeople by living among them for a month, I don't expect Lord Hexam wasvery intimate with Mr. Cawber--but we are all acquainted in the sameway, aren't we, Tild? You remember hearing of this family from mother'sfather, who was their butcher for the river house at Maidenhead."

  Mabel glared; this was sheer impertinence; her queenship of this circlewas not being treated with proper respect--How vulgar of Katherine, shethought!

  Mabel's refinement was almost of the degree of the Boston lady whoinsisted upon the piano's "limbs" being put into pantaloons with frills.She would hardly have spoken of a butcher! She felt particularly annoyednow also, because the clerk episode was a fact which she thought wasquite unknown--the solicitorship at Bindon's Green having gloriouslyadvanced the family fortunes.

  Poor Matilda was quite upset and reproached Katherine when she succeededin getting her into a corner alone.

  "Whatever did you speak to Mabel like that for, Kitten?--And I am surewe need not tell everyone about Grandpa--since he did not live here."

  "Her nonsense makes me feel quite sick, Tild--she is always pretendingsome ridiculous knowledge and acquaintanceship with the aristocracy. Shegets all the names wrong, and gives herself away all the time; it doesher good to be found out once in a way."

  Matilda could bear this side of the affair, but resented the allusion tothe butcher with undiminished fervour.

  "Oh! what awful snobs you all are!" Katherine exclaimed, exasperated outof her amused tolerance at last. "I am not the least ashamed of him: Iam proud, on the contrary. He was honest and made money. Why are you andMabel and all your friends such absurd shams, Tild!--There is nothingdisgraceful in being lower middle class; it is honourable and worthy.Why on earth pretend to belong to another, when anyone who knows can seeit is untrue--or if you hate your real station, then do as I am doing,educate yourself out of it."

  "Educate myself out of it!" Matilda was incensed. "Why, I'm sure we areall as fairly educated as any ladies need be."

  This point of view naturally ended the argument for Katherine; she couldonly smile again.

  "All right--it is your birthday, dear old Tild, so I won't quarrel withyou! By the way, where is Bob Hartley? I don't see him here to-night."

  The fiance of Gladys was prevented from coming by a severe cold, she wasinformed.

  And so the evening passed with the Bunny Hug and games, and thegramophone shouted forth its nigger songs, in which they all joined.

  "Hasn't it been too lovely, Kitten," Matilda said affectionately--herwhilom indignation fled as they walked up the narrow stairs. "I've neverhad such a perfect birthday party, and I am sure you could not have hada more refined, enjoyable evening, not in any home."

  Katherine kissed her as she turned into her room.

  "You dear old Tild," she said, and then presently Gladys came in.

  Katherine was seated in a shrunk dressing-gown which she had leftbehind, and Em'ly had lighted a fire in the attic grate.

  The two girls looked at one another, and then Gladys was asked to sitdown.

  "I know what you are going to say," and Katherine's voice was deep andlevel. "You would not have to say it if you had not always been such afool, my poor Glad--you have got into trouble, of course, and BobHartley is not playing the game."

  Gladys burst into passionate sobs.

  "However did you guess, Kitten! Why, Tild doesn't know a thing!"

  "Most likely not--Well, what do you want him to do--marry you?"

  "Why, of course, Katherine; that is what he promised most solemnlybeforehand--at Brighton. You know it is his mother who has kept himback; his Aunt Eliza, with whom we stayed, is quite willing for me. I amsure I'm as good as him, anyway."

  Further sobs.

  "Oh! that part does not matter a bit, as good or not as good--theseawful men like Bob Hartley always seduce women with promises, solemnpromises, of matrimony and that sort of stuff; if they meant them, theywould not forestall matters--vile brutes!"

  "There is no good in abusing Bob, Kitten; he has always meant kind; itis his mother, I tell you, has got at him!"

  "Does she know?"

  "Oh, my! I hope not. No one knows but you--and Bob."

  "Have you told him he must marry you at once?"

  "Yes, I've implored him to on my bended knees."

  "And he has refused?"

  "Yes--he can't break his mother's heart, he says, and speaks of going toAustralia."

  "Very well--go to bed now, dear--I will see him to-morr
ow and see what Ican do. I think he will marry you next week, perhaps, after all. Youmust undertake the inventing of a reason for the suddenness to thefamily, if I accomplish the fact. Go now, dear--I want to think."

  Gladys sobbed her gratitude.

  "And you don't believe I am really bad, Kitten, do you? Indeed, I neverwanted--anything--but Bob--We went to the theatre one night and had abit of supper--and afterwards, I was so afraid he would be off to CarryGreen if I did not do as he wished."

  Two great tears grew in Katherine's beautiful eyes, and rolled slowlydown her white cheeks.

  "I think--most men are devils, Glad--but nine-tenths of the women arefools--and fools always have to pay the price of everything in life. Awoman always loses a man if she gives way to him against her conscience.You felt you were sinning all the time, I suppose?"

  "Why, of course, Kitten--I'm really a good girl."

  "Then what else could you expect? If you feel you are doing wrong, youmust know you will be punished--that attitude of yours was bound to havedrawn--this. I tell you, Glad, no one of your sort can afford to stepone foot aside out of the narrow path. You've 'sinned,' as you callit--for love. It gave you no pleasure and you have practically lostBob--remember this, and never give way to him in anything again."

  "Why did you have the tears in your eyes, Katherine--? You so cold!"

  "It was stupid of me, but the incredible pitifulness of some parts oflife touched me for a moment. Now go to bed, dear--and keep your courageup--don't let Tild know; it would break her heart--and think of Mabel!"

  "Oh! My!" wailed Gladys, and went towards the door.

  Katherine jumped up suddenly, and gave her the ten-pound note which hadbeen lying under a box of matches on the imitation oak dressing-chest.

  "Here, Gladys, get the little black frock for me just as cheaply asever you can. Lady Garribardine will never know what it cost; she isaccustomed to pay forty or fifty pounds for her evening dresses--and youkeep all the rest. If--if--Bob should not be reasonable to-morrow, itmight be useful for you to have some money that you need not account toTild for--I know she looks after everything that you have got."

  "But you will make him, Katherine, oh! you will if you can--you are soclever--and he'll be in the train if you go by the early one. You'llhave him alone."

  "Very well. Bring me up a slice of bread or anything you can find whenyou first go down; I can't stand the family breakfast, and I will justrush off by the eight-five."

  What she said to Mr. Bob Hartley she never told anyone--but it wasextraordinarily effectual--it contained biting scorn and heavy threats.Among them, his chief should know of his conduct that very day, beforehe could possibly sneak off to Australia, unless he went and got aspecial license. The Registry Office would do very well, but by thefollowing Wednesday Gladys must be his wife, or Katherine's scorpionwhip would fall. He should be thrashed by Fred and Bert and CharlieProdgers, too! She would have no mercy upon him--none at all.

  "You poor, mean, sanctimonious, miserable cur," were some of her partingwords to him. "Come into this telegraph office with me and send thiswire to Gladys this minute. 'Will you honour me by marrying me onTuesday? If so, get ready.' You can pretend you had a secret wedding tosave expense, and tell them at home on Christmas day."

  Mr. Hartley was a thorough coward; his plans were not matured enough yetto go to Australia, and his present berth was a good one, so he felt itwas wiser to give in and do what he was bid. And presently Katherine gotinto a taxi and was whirled back to Berkeley Square, where later in theday her sister's telegram of rapturous thanks came to her.

  But when she was alone that night by her comfortable fire, she let avolume of Flaubert drop on her knees and looked into the coals, herthoughts going back to the painful incident. Here was a plain indicationof the working of laws shown in her own case and the difference betweenit and that of Gladys. Alas! the piteous fate of weaklings!

  And then she set herself to analyse things. "Whether the accepted ideaof morality is right or is wrong--of God or of man, those who break itslaws are certainly drawing to themselves the frightfully strong currentof millions of people's disapproval and so must run great risk ofpunishment." Thus she mused and then her eyes grew wide as she gazedinto the glowing coals. _What_ if some day she should have to pay someprice for her own deviation from recognized standards?