Salome Part 19

"Your dear child is all, and more than all, I wished for a companion to my Eva. They are so happy together, and lessons are not forgotten. Ada is making rapid advances with her music. There are some very nice people in the hotel, and we have pleasant little drives, and picnics, and excursions in the suns.h.i.+ne and amongst the flowers."

Salome made no comment as she returned the letter to her mother, and the next minute Dr. Wilton's little short rap was heard, followed by Mrs.

Pryor's footstep in the pa.s.sage, eager to have the honour of admitting the doctor. "The only visitor she troubles herself about," Stevens always said.

"Uncle Loftus!" Salome exclaimed. "How late! It is past nine o'clock!"

"He must have been on a late round," Mrs. Wilton said. And then Mrs.

Pryor, with her usual solemnity, announced,--

"Dr. Wilton."

"Well, my dear Salome? And how are you, Emily? You look warm and comfortable here. It _is_ a wretched night. Where are the boys?"

"Reginald is working hard at the exams, and the little ones are in bed.

Raymond is out. He is so closely confined in the office all day that I cannot keep him here all the evening. The change in our circ.u.mstances falls more heavily on him than on any of them. Life at Eton and life here are indeed two different things."

Dr. Wilton gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, and looking at Salome, whose face was turned up to his with its wistful expression, he said,--

"I saw Mr. Warde to-day, and I am sorry to say that he did not give at all a good account of Raymond. He is very unpunctual in his attendance at the office, and very careless and idle when he is there. The senior clerk complains of him continually; and not only of this, but he gives himself such airs that he is most unpopular with the men in the same office."

Dr. Wilton had found great difficulty in beginning what he had to say, but when once in for it he went straight through. He saw with pity and compa.s.sion his sister-in-law's face grow whiter and whiter as he went on, and he saw Salome quietly move and, going behind her mother's chair, put her hand caressingly on her shoulder, bending down, and pressing her cheek against her mother's in silent sympathy.

"My dear Emily," Dr. Wilton said kindly, "I am extremely sorry to have to say this. The boy is young, and has been--well, a good deal indulged.

Let us hope he will see the folly of throwing away his chance of earning his living. His head is stuffed full of nonsense, and even my own boys complain of his brag."

Mrs. Wilton rallied now. That the clerks in the office should complain of her son filled her with pain: but that his cousins (as she thought), plain, uninteresting, heavy boys, should dare to disparage her handsome, bright son, to whose faults she was blind, filled her with anger as well as pain.

"I do not think any of my children have seen much of yours in their own home, Loftus," she replied; "and if _this_ is the way the one who is so constantly here has repaid our kindness, I shall take care he is not with us so much in future."

"O mother, Digby would never be unkind," Salome said warmly. "He would never speak evil of any one. Reg says--"

"I know Reginald is your favourite brother, Salome. Perhaps you might have done more for poor Raymond, if--"

Mrs. Wilton's voice faltered. The best mothers have what may be called "colour-blindness" as to their children's faults and failings. But there are some who will suffer any amount of personal trouble and anxiety that the children inflict, rather than that their faults should be canva.s.sed by others. The discussion of them by ordinary people is resented; how much more when relations bring them roughly to light! It is not too much to say that Mrs. Wilton could have better borne a complaint of her boy coming direct from Mr. Warde to herself than to have that complaint brought by his uncle. Worse still that Raymond's cousins should be quoted.

I cannot say that I think Mrs. Wilton had any reason to think kindly of her husband's family. Although Dr. Wilton had been kind and attentive, his wife had taken no trouble to brighten the life of her relatives at Elm Cottage. This arose chiefly from her habit of never troubling herself about outside matters. She "never puts herself out of the way for any one. It is not _in_ Anna to do it," Aunt Betha would say sometimes when even the maternal instinct was not strong enough to keep Mrs. Wilton from an "afternoon" or a dinner party when little Guy was in one of his worst fits of pain.

"I can do no good. It only hurts me to see him suffer, dear little man,"

she would say. "Auntie nurses him so much better than I can."

Thus it is not likely that a woman who could be thus unconcerned about her own children would be greatly interested in her husband's nieces and nephews. Hans and Carl had been twice to Edinburgh Crescent to tea, and had walked with Miss Scott, and Edith, and Maude. Salome had spent one day with Kate and Louise. But this was about all the hospitality which had been extended to them. Ada had been more sought after, because she was so pretty; every one asked who she was and admired her. But Ada was gone, and jealousy at Eva's preference for her was now the prominent feeling with both Louise and her mother.

"Well," Dr. Wilton said, "I think the boy ought to be seriously remonstrated with. If he leaves Warde's office, I don't know what on earth is to be done with him. If you can send him up to Edinburgh Crescent to-morrow evening to dinner, I'll make an opportunity of speaking to him. I am sorry to be the bearer of unpleasant news; but as I recommended Warde to take him, even go out of his way to help him,--for they don't, as a rule, take young men with any salary,--I can but feel some responsibility about it.--Can you say anything to your brother, Salome?" Dr. Wilton said in a gentle voice,--a voice which always recalled her father. "You are the best of sisters and daughters,"

he added, putting his arm kindly round Salome's slight figure.

"I will try, Uncle Loftus," was the answer in a low voice.

Then Dr. Wilton went away, saying,--

"Good-bye; we must hope for better things. Remember, tell Raymond seven o'clock to-morrow evening."

"The first time he has ever asked Raymond to dinner," said Mrs. Wilton.

"O Salome, it is very hard to be treated in this way!"

"I think I am sure Uncle Loftus means to help us; he is very kind. And, dear mother, Raymond must be told he cannot go on like this. He ought not to stay out so late every night; and--" Salome stopped. Mrs. Wilton broke completely down, and cried bitterly.

"Don't speak sharply to him, Salome," she sobbed. "I will try what I can do. He does love me. I shall wait up for him to-night, and you can go to bed. Let us have prayers now."

To the surprise of his mother and Salome, though scarcely more than half-past nine, Raymond's key was heard in the door, and he came in, throwing his ulster on a chair and his hat on it.

"Is it raining, Raymond?" his mother asked.

"No," was the short answer; and then there was silence till Stevens came in with the Bible, and Reginald, with a rough, s.h.a.ggy head of hair, and ink on his fingers, followed her into the room.

CHAPTER XII.

CONFIDENCES.

Salome did not know what pa.s.sed between Raymond and her mother, but when she came up to her room, she heard her speaking cheerfully to Stevens, who always came to attend on her mistress, as in old days. Salome had slept in a small iron bedstead in a corner of her mother's room since Ada had left home, in order that Raymond might have the one she had shared with her sister to himself. Salome, however, still kept her property in her old room, and her ma.n.u.script and heaps of books and scribbles were in the drawer there, so that she often went into it.

The next morning Salome got up early, with the intention of posting her roll and the letter at the nearest Elm Fields post-office before breakfast. It seemed that Raymond had changed his habits, for Salome met him ready dressed in the pa.s.sage, as she softly left her mother's room.

"Where are you off to, Salome?" he asked.

"I was going to post a letter. O Ray, I am so glad you are up early; and I will get the coffee made directly.--Be quiet, children," she said, as two little figures came dancing down the pa.s.sage in their nightgowns.

"Run back and be quiet, or you will wake mamma."

Stevens was busy in the dining-room, where the fire was burning cheerfully, and the light of the December morning struggling to gain ascendency over the Harstone fogs.

"Wonders never cease!" exclaimed Stevens. "Master Raymond will be in time at the office for once!" Stevens spoke with the freedom of an old servant, and to Salome's surprise her brother did not resent it. He was quiet and subdued, but evidently absorbed in his own thoughts.

"You are never going out in the cold and fog, Miss Salome? What are you going for?" Stevens asked.

Salome was all this time hoping the ma.n.u.script and letter, stuffed in the pocket of her black ulster, would escape notice.

"I like to warm my feet before breakfast, Stevens. Do go and call Reginald. He will be late for school. He was so tired last night with his work."

Stevens was gone at last, and brother and sister were left together.

Salome's heart beat fast. She did so much wish to say the right thing, and to avoid irritating her brother. She was apparently intent on watching the boiling of the little "Hecla" which made the coffee, but in reality she was thinking how she should begin what she longed to say.

She was spared the effort. Raymond suddenly said,--

"I am in a great bother, Salome. I wish you would help me. I--"

"How can I help you, Ray? Oh, I am so sorry for you and for mother! I do trust Mr. Warde will let you stay at the office."