VI
John stood staring.
Finally, Mrs. Farquharson, tears streaming down her kindly face, heldPhyllis away from her and looked at her long and lovingly.
"My dear, my dear, my deary dear. How ever did you come to find me?"
"I didn't," replied Phyllis. "John found you. He--we--we are looking forlodgings. We--we were married this afternoon. We have been hunting forrooms for hours--and this was the last place----" Phyllis faltered. Sheturned to John, and then to Mrs. Farquharson. "This is Mr. Landless,my--this is my dear, dear old Nurse Farquharson. She knew my mother andfather, and she took care of me when I was a little, little girl. Oh,John, you cannot know how glad I am to see her!"
They shook hands.
"I told her she would like you," said John to Mrs. Farquharson.
"And to think of her being married," said Mrs. Farquharson. "And comingto my house with her husband, looking for a place to live, and me withthree rooms all ready for them as soon as ever I can get a fire laid inthe grate."
She turned to Phyllis again.
"Just you sit down here in the warm hall a minute, my deary dear," shesaid, "while I get--though maybe you would like to look at them first.Yes, of course. Come straight upstairs, Miss--my dear. If you decide tostay--"
"Oh, Farquharson! How can you suggest that we shouldn't stay!" saidPhyllis.
"Never would I hint such a thing," replied Mrs. Farquharson. "But, ofcourse, there are only the three rooms, and one of them small, to besure, and no others in the house unoccupied. This way,--these are therooms, Miss--my dear. And as I says to the young gentleman--yourhusband, that is--the sitting-room is that cozy, with the fire, and thebedroom is airy. The view is something pretty, I do assure you. Oh! mydeary dear, my deary dear! How ever did you come to find me?"
It was hard to tell whether Mrs. Farquharson was laughing or crying.Phyllis sank into the easy-chair with a sigh.
"I shall never get up again," she said to John.
"Slippers," said Mrs. Farquharson, and vanished.
John kissed Phyllis and tried, awkwardly, to take off her hat. Hemanaged it finally, and a loose strand of beautiful hair fell over oneof her ears. She tucked it away.
"Isn't it too wonderful to be true!" she said. John's heart was too fullfor speech. He turned away to hide his working mouth.
Mrs. Farquharson was on her knees before Phyllis a moment later. Theslippers were too large, but how welcome to her aching feet. One of hershoes, upturned, caught Mrs. Farquharson's eye. She inspected John'shandiwork; then gave Phyllis a startled look.
"In February, my dear. And on your wedding day! How ever came it? Withnewspapers, all wadded in. Whatever's happened?"
"It has all been very sudden, dear Farquharson" said Phyllis. "I willtell you all about it as soon as I have rested a little. Oh! It is good,good, to be with you. I am so glad, so glad. Aren't you glad, John?Just think--if you hadn't tried once more. If you hadn't asked at thatlittle shop."
"Shop?" inquired Mrs. Farquharson.
"The little old bookshop, at the other aid of the square," explainedJohn.
"Oh, Mr. Rowlandson's. He sent you here. He would, to be sure. My oldestlodger, sir, and the easiest to do for--though odd. Here's Genevievewith the tea. Don't put the tray on the sofa, Genevieve On the table, ofcourse. Whenever will you learn? Here, drink this, my deary dear. Itwill prepare your stomach for something more. I am getting your supperready now downstairs, and the young gentleman's. There's a chop. Dodrink a little of the tea, my dear, even if you don't want it. It's foryour best. Do you like apricots as well as ever you did? Oh, whoever hashad the bringing of you up, that I should have had! The many times I'vethought. And your poor dear mother and father both taken at once, too."
"I went to my Uncle Peter," said Phyllis "I have lived there eversince."
"Sir Peter Oglebay--your father's brother I might have known." Mrs.Farquharson nodded her head vigorously. "Though he was terrible down onyour--To think of that now! And so you have been here in London allthese many years! And me never to know! Deary me!"
"We--my uncle did everything to find you," Phyllis assured her. "He evenadvertised for you. I cried for you very often when I was little, dearFarquharson."
"Did you, indeed, my dear?" asked Mrs. Farquharson, smiling, and wipingher eyes with her apron. "And advertised for me. In the papers. Rewardoffered and no questions asked. I've read them myself, but never did Ithink."
"Oh, yes. I wanted you very badly," Phyllis assured her again. "I usedto tease Burbage when I was naughty, by telling her you were never crosswith me."
"And who is Burbage?" asked Mrs. Farquharson.
"She is my uncle's housekeeper. She was very good to me, too. But Imissed you dreadfully. You know, John, my mother and father were awayfrom home for weeks at a time, and Farquharson took such care of me."
"Such games as we had," said Mrs. Farquharson reflectively; and then toJohn,--"She was everything whatever from Mary, Queen of Scots, to adromedary, I've beheaded her many's the time, and her humps was thepillows off her little bed. If Genevieve hasn't burned those chops to acinder, they must be ready, and why ever she doesn't bring them up I donot know."
What a dainty supper! John did full justice to it.
Mrs. Farquharson brooded over Phyllis; but she could eat nothing.
The kind-hearted woman maintained a constant stream of talk, in whichlodgers, rooms, chops, apricots, and toast, and the old times wereinextricably intermingled.
The first-floor front and his wife had seen better days; in stocks, theywere. The vagaries of Mr. Rowlandson, the bookseller, third-floor front,the walls of his rooms lined with--what do you think? No, not withbooks, nor pictures, but with glazed cases containing old patch-boxesand old fans. Mrs. Farquharson had seen Mr. Singleton and Mr. Leonardonce. But the trio of painters was inseparable no longer. Mr. Knowleshad married their favorite model. "The hussy!" said Mrs. Farquharson.
One reminiscence followed another.
"Ah, me," she sighed. "Your father and mother was a pair of lovers ifever there was a pair. As long as I knew them, they never had aword--much less words. 'Pard' he called her. 'What shall we do to-day,Pard?' he would ask her of a morning. She would want him to be at hispictures 'On such a sunshiny morning!' he would say. And the next day,maybe, it would rain. 'You know I can't paint these dark days,' says he.And off they would go, on some harum-scarum or other, like a couple ofchildren. Like a couple of children--and so they ever were, too. Do youmind my speaking of them?"
"I love it," Phyllis assured her. "I--you know I have had no one withwhom I could talk about my mother and father. Uncle Peter--" She couldnot finish the sentence.
"Yes, yes, my deary dear, I know," said Mrs. Farquharson soothingly."Your mother knew what he thought. Often and often she told me shewished she could find a way to make Sir Peter not think so hard of her.'Oh, Farquharson,' says she, 'he thinks I snared Robert. If he only knewhow hard I tried to refuse him.' She was wild for a stage career whenfirst they met. It grieved her sorely that your uncle didn't know therights of it; but, bless your heart, she couldn't bear the thought ofany one, high or low, not being good friends with her. She was thattender-hearted, you wouldn't believe. But along with it as proudas--as--I can't think of his name--that makes the matches. You know, mydear."
Mrs. Farquharson mused over her memories
"Your father was her first love-affair," she resumed. "She was wrappedup in her acting till she met him. Her mother and father were both onthe stage. Did you know that? Yes, my deary dear, she told me acostume-trunk was her cradle, and a dressing-room the only nursery thatever she knew. She hated to give it all up, but she did; your motherloved your father beyond all that ever I saw or heard of, and heworshiped the ground she walked on. Strong words, my dear, but true astrue."
It was midnight before they knew it. The dark circles under herdarling's eyes gave Mrs. Farquharson occasion for concern. Genevieve hadvisited the bedroom with clean linen in her arms.
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bsp; "I will take a short walk," whispered John to Phyllis.
Poor Phyllis. She needed her old nurse; the excitement and fatigue hadexhausted her completely.
Standing in the square, looking upward at the stars, a white-faced poet,his thoughts unutterable, at last saw the lights in her windows growdim and disappear.
On the stairs he met Mrs. Farquharson. Her voice was anxious as she badehim good night.
From the little sitting-room John could see into the bedroom. The lightshone on the face of Phyllis asleep.
He sat watching the dying fire for a long while. Finally he rose, slowlywound up his watch, turned out the gas, and lay down on the sofa. Hesoon slumbered peacefully.
In the gray dawn Phyllis awakened. Recollections slowly crowded upon herconsciousness. She rose and stood by the window, looking out on thequiet square, and at the houses, opposite, emerging from obscurity withthe growing light. She stepped to the door and peeped into the otherroom. John lay on the sofa, sleeping soundly, one arm flung boyishlyover his head.
The rooms were very cold. She took the coverlet from her bed and spreadit over him.
He stirred a little. "Thanks, old chap," he murmured sleepily.
Phyllis tiptoed back to bed.