Daddy's Girl Part 28

"What rhyme?" asked Lady Helen.

"I know it all, shall I say it to you?" cried Sibyl. She began to pull off the different petals, and to repeat in a childish sing-song voice:--

"One he loves, two he loves, three he loves they say, Four he loves with all his heart, five he casts away, Six _he_ loves, seven _she_ loves, eight they both love, Nine he comes, ten he tarries, Eleven he woos, twelve he marries."

Sibyl repeated this nonsense with extreme gusto, and when the final petal on the large daisy proclaimed that "twelve he marries," she flung the stalk at Rochester and laughed gaily.

"I knew _you'd_ have luck," she said. Then she caught her mother's warning eye and colored painfully, thus making the situation, if possible, a little more awkward.

"Suppose we go for a row on the river this lovely afternoon," said Lady Helen, starting up restlessly. She had talked of the coming bazaar, and had wandered through the rooms at Silverbel, and had listened to Mrs. Ogilvie's suggestions with regard to furniture and different arrangements until she was almost tired of the subject.

Rochester sprang to his feet.

"I can easily get a boat," he said; "I'll go and consult with mine host."

He sauntered across the grounds, and Sibyl, after a moment's hesitation, followed him. A boat was soon procured, and they all found themselves on the s.h.i.+ning silver Thames.

"Is that why our house is called Silverbel?" asked Sibyl. "Is it 'cos we can see the silver s.h.i.+ne of the river, and 'cos it is _belle_, French for beautiful?"

"Perhaps so," answered the mother with a smile.

The evening came on, the heat of the day was over, the sun faded.

"What a pity we must go back to London," said Sibyl. "I don't think I ever had such a lovely day before."

"We shall soon be back here," replied Mrs. Ogilvie. "I shall see about furnis.h.i.+ng next week at the latest, and we can come down whenever we are tired of town."

"That will be lovely," said Sibyl. "Oh, won't my pony love cantering over the roads here!"

When they landed at the little quay just outside the inn, the landlord came down to meet them. He held a telegram in his hand.

"This came for you, madam, in your absence," he said, and he gave the telegram to Mrs. Ogilvie. She tore it open. It was from her lawyer, Mr. Acland, and ran as follows:

"Ominous rumors with regard to Lombard Deeps have reached me. Better not go any further at present with the purchase of Silverbel."

Mrs. Ogilvie's face turned pale. She looked up and met the fixed stare of her little daughter and of Rochester. Lady Helen had turned away.

She was leaning over the rails of the little garden and looking down into the swiftly flowing river.

Mrs. Ogilvie's face grew hard. She crushed up the telegram in her hand.

"I hope there is nothing wrong?" asked Rochester.

"Nothing at all," she replied. "Yes, we will come here next week.

Sibyl, don't stare in that rude way."

The return journey was not as lively as that happy one in the morning.

Sibyl felt through her sensitive little frame that her mother was worried about something. Rochester also looked anxious. Lady Helen alone seemed unconscious and _distrait_. When the child nestled up to her she put her arm round her waist.

"Are you sad about anything, darling Lady Helen?" whispered Sibyl.

"No, Sibyl; I am quite happy."

"Then you are thinking very hard?"

"I often think."

"I do so want you to be awfully happy."

"I know you do, and I think I shall be."

"Then that is right. _Twelve he marries_. Wasn't it sweet of the marguerite daisy to give Mr. Rochester just the right petal at the end; wasn't it luck?"

"Yes; but hush, don't talk so loud."

Mr. Rochester now changed his seat, and came opposite to where Lady Helen and the child had placed themselves. He did not talk to Lady Helen, but he looked at her several times. Presently he took one of Sibyl's hands, and stroked it fondly.

"Does Lady Helen tell you beautiful stories too?" asked Sibyl, suddenly.

"No," he answered; "she is quite naughty about that. She never tells me the charming stories she tells you."

"You ought to," said Sibyl, looking at her earnestly; "it would do him good. It's an awfully nice way, if you want to give a person a home truth, to put it into a story. Nurse told me about that, and I remembered it ever since. She used to put her home truths into proverbs when I was quite young, such as, 'A burnt child dreads the fire,' or 'Marry in haste, repent at leisure,' or----"

"Oh, that will do, Sibyl." Lady Helen spoke; there was almost a piteous appeal in the words.

"Well," said Sibyl, "perhaps it is better to put home truths into stories, not proverbs. It's like having more sugar. The 'home truth'

is the pill, and when it is sugared all over you can swallow it. You can't swallow it _without_ the sugar, can you? Nursie begins her stories like this: 'Miss Sibyl, once upon a time I knew a little girl,' and then she tells me all about a horrid girl, and I know the horrid girl is me. I am incited, of course, but very, very soon I get down to the pill. Now, I am sure, Mr. Rochester, there are some things you ought to be told, there are some things you do wrong, aren't there, Mr. Rochester?"

"Oh, Sibyl, do stop that ceaseless chatter," cried her mother from the other end of the carriage; "you talk the most utter nonsense," and Sibyl for once was effectually silenced.

The party broke up at Victoria Station, and Mrs. Ogilvie and her little daughter drove home. As soon as ever they arrived there Watson informed Mrs. Ogilvie that Mr. Acland was waiting to see her in the library.

"Tiresome man!" she muttered, but she went to see him at once. The electric light was on; the room reminded her uncomfortably of her husband. He spent a great deal of time in his library, more than a very happy married man would have done. She had often found him there with a perplexed brow, and a heart full of anxiety. She had found him there, too, in his rare moments of exultation and happiness. She would have preferred to see the lawyer in any room but this.

"Well," she said, "why did you send me that ridiculous telegram?"

"You would not be surprised if you had read the article which appeared to-day in _The Financial Enquirer_."

"I have never heard of _The Financial Enquirer_."

"But City men know it," replied Mr. Acland, "and to a great extent it governs the market. It is one of our leading financial papers. The rumors it alludes to may be untrue, but they will influence the subscriptions made by the public to the share capital. In fact, with so ominous an article coming from so first-rate a source, nothing but a splendid report from Ogilvie can save the mine."

Mrs. Ogilvie drummed with her delicate taper fingers on the nearest table.

"How you puzzle a poor woman with your business terms," she said.

"What do I know about mines? When my husband left me he said that he would come back a rich man. He gave me his promise, he must keep his word."

"He will naturally keep his word if he can, and if the mine is all that Lord Grayleigh antic.i.p.ates everything will be right," replied Acland. "There is no man more respected than Ogilvie in the City. His report as a.s.sayer will save the situation; that is, if it is first-rate. But if it is a medium report the capital will not be sufficiently subscribed to, and if the report happens to be bad the whole thing will fall through. We shall know soon now."