A Young Mutineer Part 17

"You must go this moment," she said, "it is six o'clock now; and please call at the green-grocer's on your way back, and get a pound of bananas and some Tangerine oranges. I will see that the wine is all right, and speak to Susan about the table while you are out. Run, cook, run, at once--things must look their _very_ best, and be served in the best possible manner for dinner to-night."

The cook muttered something unintelligible, and by no means too well pleased with her errand, departed.

Hilda called Susan, and going into the dining room helped her to decorate the table; then after impressing upon the neat little parlor-maid the necessity of doing what she could to help cook in this sudden emergency, she ran upstairs to put on her bonnet and jacket, for the time had almost arrived when she must start on her journey. She had just come downstairs when the click of the latch-key was heard, and Jasper, in excellent spirits, entered the house.

"Well, my love," he said, going up to his wife and kissing her; "oh, you have been out!--did you get my telegram? I told Rivers we should not dine until half-past seven, in order to give you plenty of time to prepare. Perhaps you have been ordering some things for dinner, Hilda; that is right, and just what I should have expected of you. I am particularly anxious that Rivers should see that I have got the sweetest, prettiest, and best little wife and housekeeper in the world."

For some reason which she could not explain, even to herself, Hilda felt her tongue tied. She returned her husband's kiss, and when he entered the tiny dining room she followed him.

"Very nice, very nice," he exclaimed, looking with approval at the dinner-table, which was charmingly decorated with pink Liberty silk and white flowers. "But what is this?" he added suddenly, "there are only two places laid. One for you and one for me. We must ring for Susan at once--I think Rivers would rather sit at the side, away from the fire."

"I--Jasper, I want to tell you something."

"What is it? how pale you are, darling!"

"I want to tell you something," repeated Hilda; "I--I am not going to dine with you to-night."

"What do you mean, my dear girl--are you ill? what can be the matter?"

"I am not ill, but Judy is--I am going down to Little Staunton. I have telegraphed to them to expect me by the train due at 9.40, and it is time for me to go. Is that you, Susan? Please would you order a hansom at once?"

Susan instantly left the room, closing the door behind her.

For nearly half a minute Quentyns was silent, a great wave of color had rushed over his face, and it was with difficulty he could keep back some annoyed and some sarcastic words. He was a man who prided himself on having great self-control, and before he uttered his first sentence he felt that he had recovered it.

"You're trembling, dear," he said gently, "and you--you absolutely look as if you were _afraid_ of me. Come into the drawing room, love, and tell me what is wrong with Judy. My _bete noire_, Judy! what has been her last transgression?"

"Jasper, don't, don't," said Hilda, in a voice of pain. "Judy is really ill this time--she fainted in church on Sunday; she is in bed now, and the doctor says she is very weak."

"I suppose so, or she would not have fainted. I used constantly to faint when I was a child--the slightest thing sent me off. I was not kept in bed afterward, for children were not c.o.c.kered up and fussed over when I was young. My faint was generally traced to over-eating. If you must go down to see Judy, I don't wish to prevent you, Hilda, but why go to-night?"

"Oh, Jasper, I must--I must run away this instant too, for I hear the cab--I telegraphed to say I would go."

Jasper put on a new stubborn look which Hilda had never seen before.

"I don't wish to coerce you," he said, in a cold voice, "you're perfectly free to act as you think right in the matter. I can go down with you by an early train in the morning, or you can go by yourself now, and put me to extreme inconvenience. You're at liberty to choose."

"Don't speak like that, Jasper, you pain me so dreadfully."

"I fail to see how I am paining you, I am giving you a free choice. You can be with Judy before noon to-morrow, or you can go immediately."

"I sent a telegram to her to expect me; it is so bad for sick children to be kept waiting."

"So it seems. Yes, Susan, tell the cab to wait."

Susan left the room, and heavy tears gathered in Hilda's eyes.

"Can I send another telegram?" she asked weakly.

"I don't believe you can, the telegraph office will be closed at Little Staunton. Never mind, Hilda, you had better go; I am disappointed, annoyed, of course, but what of that? What is a husband to a sick sister? Go, my dear, or you will miss your train!"

"No, I won't go," said Hilda; "you have made it impossible for me to go. I'll stay and entertain your guest, and Judy will suffer. Yes; don't kiss me just now, Jasper; I think you are cruel, but I'll stay."

Hilda went over to the bell and rang it.

Susan answered the summons.

"Give the cabman this s.h.i.+lling," said Mrs. Quentyns, "and tell him that he is not required."

"You have done quite right, my love," said Quentyns, "and when you have got over your first little feeling of annoyance you will see the matter in the same light that I do. I'll telegraph to Little Staunton early in the morning to tell them to expect us by the 11.35 train. Of course Judy would have been asleep hours before you reached her to-night, so it does not really matter in the least. Now come upstairs and put on your very prettiest dress, that soft pink _chiffon_, in which you look as like a rosebud as a living woman can. I have capital news for you, Hilda, my love; Rivers certainly is a brick; he has got me to act as counsel in----"

Quentyns talked on in his satisfied, joyous tones. He had won the victory, and could afford to be very gracious and generous. Hilda felt as if a band of iron had closed round her heart. She was too gentle and sweet in her nature to be long angry with her husband. Her face was a little paler than usual, however, and her eyes had a weary look in them.

Rivers, who was a very keen observer of human nature, noticed the silent depression which hung over her, but Hilda's husband failed to observe it.

"I can easily manage her," he muttered to himself; "it would have been beyond all reason to have had her absent from our first little dinner just because a child had fainted. Pshaw!--I can see that Hilda is going to be painfully fanciful; it all comes from having lived so long in the wilds of the country. Well, I'll take her down to Little Staunton to-morrow, and be specially good to her, but she must get over these absurdities about Judy, or life will not be worth living."

The dinner was a success, and Hilda looked lovely. A certain dreamy and far-away expression in her eyes added the final touch to her beauty.

When the men sat together over their wine, Rivers spoke of her in tones of rapture.

"You're the luckiest fellow in Christendom, Jasper," he said; and Jasper Quentyns, who looked up to Tom Rivers as the first of men, felt almost unduly elated.

"The lines had fallen unto him in pleasant places," so he muttered, and he forgot all about a sick and troublesome child, who at this very instant was counting the moments as they flew by, in her tired and weary eagerness to clasp her arms round Hilda's neck. Hilda, too, in the drawing room, was shedding silent tears, but what did that matter? for Jasper knew nothing about them.

Jasper and Hilda were both musical, and Tom Rivers liked nothing better than to listen to their voices as they sang duet after duet together.

The songs they sung were full of n.o.ble sentiment. Their voices mingled until they almost sounded like one rich and perfect note, as they sang of love which is undying and self-sacrifice which is enn.o.bling. Quentyns felt a glow of elation filling his breast as his eyes rested on his lovely wife, and the tormentings of Hilda's conscience were soothed, and she too partly forgot Judy.

Breakfast was served at an early hour next morning at Philippa Terrace, and Quentyns and his wife started for Little Staunton in time to catch the early train.

They arrived at the small way-side station not more than twenty minutes beyond the appointed time, and were met by Miss Mills, who was driving the village pony cart herself.

The governess addressed Hilda in a calm voice, but her inward excitement was very manifest. Jasper had talked cheerfully all the way down to Little Staunton, but Hilda had been almost silent. She felt oppressed--she dreaded she knew not what. Now, when she looked into Miss Mills' face, she felt her own turn pale.

"No, don't speak," she said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "I _know_ you have bad news, but don't tell me now, not until we get home."

"Get in," said Miss Mills, "I won't be long driving you to the Rectory.

It is rather important for you to be there, and as the trap only holds two, perhaps Mr. Quentyns won't mind walking."

"Not at all," said Jasper, in his pleasant, calm voice. "Can you make room for our portmanteau at your feet, Miss Mills? Ah, yes, that will do nicely. By the way, how are you all? has Judy quite recovered from her faint?"

When Quentyns asked this question Miss Mills bent suddenly forward under the pretense of trying to arrange the portmanteau.

"We won't be any time getting to the Rectory," she said, turning to Hilda; she touched the pony with her whip as she spoke and they started forward.

"It was such a pity you didn't come last night," said the governess, as they entered the Rectory gates.

"I--I could not help it," murmured poor Hilda. With one hand she was tightly grasping the edge of the little basket-carriage.