A Singer from the Sea Part 9

"My lovely one!" he answered, "you must go to London and have lessons; and I will take care of you. I will see that you have justice and that no one hurts you."

"But where could I live? And how? I have one hundred pounds of my own.

Will that be enough?"

"You little capitalist! How did you get a hundred pounds?"

"Father has put a few pounds in the bank at St. Merryn every year since I was born for me, and I have put there all the money your sister paid me. Father said it was to furnish my home when I got married, but I would rather spend it on my voice."

"I should think so. Well, Beauty, you are to come and see Elizabeth off Wednesday; then I shall have something sweet and wonderful to say to you."

"Will Elizabeth send for me? That would make it easy."

"I do not think Elizabeth will send for you. I have been hoping for that. She has not named you at all. For my sake, come to the Court on Wednesday."

"It is a long way to walk, but for your sake I will come."

Then they parted, and she hastened back and reached home just as John and Joan were beginning to be uneasy at her delay. The sight of her happy face, the charming little fuss she made about her dripping waterproof and her wet shoes, the perfectly winning way in which she took possession of her father's knee and from it warmed her bare rosy feet at the blaze scattered all shadows. She took their fears and nascent anger by storm; she exhibited her many-coloured bits of cloth, and showed John the pictures in the story paper, and coaxingly begged her mother for a cup of tea, because she was cold and hungry. And then, as Joan made the tea and the toast, Denas related all that Priscilla had told her. And Joan wondered and exclaimed, and John listened with a pleased interest, though he thought it right to say a word about speaking ill of people, and was snubbed by Joan for doing so.

"Mrs. Burrell is putting on grand airs, it seems, so then it will go that people of course will speak ill of her," said Joan.

"Aw, my dear," answered John, "few are better spoken of than they deserve."

"I do think Denas ought to call on the bride," said Joan. "It would only be friendly, and many will make a talk about it if she does not go."

"She must find out, first, if the young man be there."

"No," said Denas warmly, "I will not find out. If you cannot trust your little maid, father, then do not let her go at all. If people could hear you talk they would say, 'What a bad girl John Penelles has! He dare not let her go to see her friend if there be a young man in the house.' 'Tis a shame, isn't it, mother?"

"I think it be, Denas. Father isn't so cruel suspicious as that, my dear. Are you, father?"

And what could John answer? Though sorely against his feeling and his judgment, he was induced to agree that Denas ought perhaps to call once on the bride. There were so many plausible arguments in favour of such a visit; there was nothing but shadowy doubts and fears against it.

"Go to-morrow, then," said John, a little impatiently; "and let me be done with the fret of it."

"The day after-to-morrow, or Wednesday, father. To-morrow it will be still raining, no doubt, and I have something to alter in my best dress. I want to look as fine as I can, father."

"Look like yourself and your people, Denas. That be the best finery.

If roses and lilies did grow on the dusty high-road, they would not be as fitly pretty as blue-bells and daisies. I do think that, Denas; and it be the very same with women. Burrell Court is a matter of two miles beyond St. Penfer; 'tis a long walk, my dear, and dress for the walk and the weather. Do, my dear!"

Then the subject was changed, and Denas, having won her way, was really grateful and disposed to make the evening happy for all. She recollected many a little bit of pleasantry; she mimicked Priscilla to admiration, merrily and without ill-will, and then she took the story paper and read a thrilling account of some great s.h.i.+pwrecks and a poem that seemed to John and Joan's simple minds "the sweetest bit of word music that could be."

At the same hour Elizabeth and Roland were playing an identical role under different circ.u.mstances. Roland had hoped to slip away to his room un.o.bserved. He knew Miss Burrell had gone to a friend's house for a day or two, and he thought Robert and Elizabeth would be sufficiently occupied with each other. But some gentlemen were with Robert on parish business, and Elizabeth was alone and well inclined to come to an understanding with her brother.

"Caroline had to go without an escort, Roland. It was too bad," she said reproachfully as she stood in the open door of a parlour and waited for his approach.

"You see I am wet through, Elizabeth. I will change my clothing and come to you. Where is Robert?"

"With the churchwardens. I want to talk to you seriously. We shall be alone for an hour. Come as soon as you can."

"In five minutes. It will be delightful to have you all to myself once more."

He came back quickly and placed his chair close to hers, and lifted her face to his face and kissed her, saying fondly, "My dear little sister."

"Where have you been, Roland?"

"I could have bet on the words 'Where have you been?' That is always a woman's first question."

"Have you been with Denas?"

"I have been at the Black Lion and at Tremaine's. We will suppose that I wished to see Denas--is this pouring rain a fit condition? Do think of something more likely, Elizabeth."

"Say to me plainly: 'I have not seen Denas.'"

"If you wish me to say the words, consider that I have done so. Why have you taken a dislike to Denas? You used to be very fond of her."

"I have not taken any dislike to the girl. I have simply pa.s.sed out of the season of liking her. In the early spring we find the violet charming, but when summer comes we forget the violet in the rose and the lily and the garden full of richer flowers. The time for Denas has pa.s.sed--that is all, Roland. What are you going to do about Caroline?

When will you ask her to marry you?"

"I have asked her twice already; once in Rome, when she put me off; and again in London, when she decidedly refused me."

"What did she say?"

"That she believed she could trust herself to my love, because she did not think I would be unkind to any woman; but she was sure she could not trust me with her fortune, because I would waste it without any intention of being wasteful. Caroline wants a financier, not a lover."

"The idea!"

"She talked about the responsibilities of wealth."

"How could she talk to you in that way?"

"She did--really."

"Then Caroline is out of reckoning."

"Between ourselves, I think she was right, Elizabeth. I am positive I should spend any sum of money. What I need is a wife who can make money week by week, year by year--always something coming in; like an opera-singer, for instance. Do you understand?"

"Could you expect me to understand such nonsense? I asked Robert to-day about poor father's estate. He thinks there may be four or five hundred pounds after paying all debts. Of course you will receive it all. Robert is very kind, but I can see that he would prefer that you were not always at the Court."

"I daresay he put Caroline up to refuse me."

"I have no doubt of it. He would consider it a brotherly duty; and to tell the truth, Roland, I fear you would give any woman lots of heartache. I cannot tell what must be done. You have had so many good business chances, and yet never made anything of them."

"That is true, Elizabeth. If I take to a business, it fails. If I dream of some fine prospect, the dream does not come true. In fact, my dear sister,

"'I never had a piece of toast Particularly long and wide, But it fell on the sanded floor, And always on the b.u.t.tered side.'

Still, there is one thing I can do when all else fails: I can take the Queen's s.h.i.+lling and go in for glory."

"Roland, you break my heart with your folly. Why will you not be reasonable? How could I ever show my face if you were a common soldier? But the army is a good thought. Suppose you do try the army.