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Chapter XIV. The End of the Drive.

Randal Hawke was certainly a clever man. When he chose to be liked he generally was liked, in spite of any former prejudice that people might have had against him. They generally began with a prejudice, for the first impression of him was nearly always unpleasant. It depended on himself whether he chose to take the trouble of doing away with that impression. With Mabel Ashley, having once determined to make himself agreeable to her, he was perfect. Long afterwards she remembered that drive, and wondered what made her enjoy it so much, especially the latter part of it, after she had made friends with Mrs. Lancaster, and had smiled farewell to her as she stood at the cottage-door.

Perhaps the wonderful beauty of that afternoon had something to do with it; the brilliancy of that stormy sunshine; the wild heaps of clouds, with their marvellous colours, that lay crowded on the horizon; the flashing water; the scarlet glow of flowers in the St. Denys gardens; the blue sky and the sharp dark shadows. As they turned up the steep street of St. Denys, Mabel looked down over the broad blue harbour with its many ships, and steamers with their trails of smoke passing swiftly by. A gun boomed out from a distant fort; a long line of Morebay buildings, shadowed the moment before by a cloud, came suddenly out into sunshine; there was a distant noise of shipbuilding; shouts far off on the water; the whistle of a train as it approached the long curved bridge. All was life and work and beauty, and a wonderful feeling of hapness page 129 came over Mabel as they drove along. She looked kindly at the little dark-eyed children who were playing in the streets, and listened with interest to all Randal was saying. She had begun by telling him how much she admired Mrs. Lancaster.

‘Yes, she is very pretty,’ said Randal, ‘and very well preserved, considering all she has gone through. But we may hope that none of it cut very deep.’

‘Her husband’s death, do you mean?’ said Mabel, rather startled.

‘I don’t mean that she has no heart. Rather too much for her own peace, on the contrary. But she shows good taste, don’t you see, not to be inconsolable for the loss of a fellow like Lancaster. She ought never to have married him. A fellow in a long coat and a choker, without two ideas in his head.’

‘Was he like that? What a pity! Why did she marry him?’ said Mabel.

‘Partly from spite. She meant to marry Dick Northcote, but he took himself off to New Zealand.’

‘Marry for spite! What a reason! said Mabel. ‘General Hawke told me something about that. It was sad for her, poor thing.’

‘It may come right after all,’ said Randal. ‘Dick still admires her; he let that out to me the other day. So she may end by marrying for the same reason that you would.’

Mabel looked up rather wonderingly; she was a little absent, and did not quite understand him.

‘For love, I hope,’ he said, in a very low voice, looking at her.

Something at that moment, she did not know why, reminded Mabel of Dick Northcote’s eyes one day at the Castle, when he had tried to make peace with her across the tea-table. Little Mabel was growing up, and her experiences were multiplying. She thought, however, that page 130 Randal was more to be trusted than Dick, that horrid flirt who had made poor Mrs. Lancaster unhappy. Not that she attached much meaning to Randal’s look just then. She smiled, blushed a little, and answered, ‘O, yes, I hope so,’ very gently and innocently.

As they drove through St. Denys Randal showed her Captain Cardew’s house, with its garden full of roses and jasmine, and presently Miss Northcote’s, standing high up in the sunshine, with that wonderful view spread out before it.

Kate Northcote herself was just going in at her door She bowed rather distantly, and looked after them as they passed on up the lane, thinking of Anthony and his opinion of Randal. Mabel Ashley looked quite happy beside him, she thought.

‘I don’t really think,’ was Kate’s conclusion,’ that we need concern ourselves about that girl. She belongs to those people, and is evidently contented with them. Anthony’s prejudices are so very strong.’

‘Miss Northcote came to see me once, but she has never been again,’ said Mabel to her companion. ‘I suppose I ought to call on her if I could.’

‘I’m glad you are so sociably inclined,’ said Randal. ‘It is a thousand pities my father does not agree with you. But when I come down again we will see what we can do. Did you take any fancy to Miss Northcote?’

‘I am not sure that I did,’ said Mabel. ‘O, I ought not to say that, for I really don’t know her at all. I daresay she is very nice indeed.’

‘She is nice in her way—according to her lights,’ said Randal, smiling. ‘But she has fearful disadvantages. She belongs to one of the oldest families in this part of England, she has lived all her life in that house at St. Denys, and though she has a long-standing flirtation with Anthony Strange, she has not, you see, succeeded in marrying him. So don’t be shocked if I describe her as a page 131 rather proud, rather narrow-minded, rather provincial old maid.’

‘O, but I am shocked,’ said Mabel. ‘I thought her so very handsome and ladylike.’

‘So she is; you are quite right. She was a beauty in her day, and I don’t know a more distinguished-looking woman. But I never allow myself to be prejudiced, and I have come to those other conclusions after long acquaintance,’ said Randal.

‘You really don’t seem to admire anybody,’ said Mabel.

‘I prefer the charming unconsciousness which does not realise its right to be admired,’ said Randal.

There was something in this speech that silenced Mabel, though it did not make her enjoy her drive any the less, or feel anything but sorry when it was over, and she was helped down from her high seat and taken into the house with a care which was almost tenderness.

Randal soon followed Mabel into the drawing-room after dinner that night. He found her a little disconsolate, shut out from the summer evening by shutters and curtains; so he opened one of the windows, and they stood there in the shadow on the threshold, looking out into a fairy scene, a flood of soft still moonlight. It was one of those times in which one feels one ought to be very happy, and longs instinctively for some dear friend far away to stand there and enjoy it too; a time when the happiest people feel that little restless discontent which comes in the face of Nature’s greatest beauty.

Mabel was not one of the happiest of people, and just then she felt very lonely, very sad, as if she wanted something so much, and did, not know what it was. There were tears, though Randal could not see them, in the eyes which were gazing into that dream-distance. He knew, however, what women and sentimental people generally page 132 felt on these occasions, and there was no danger of his saying a discordant word. He walked out into the moonlight, and his clear handsome face looked handsomer than ever.

‘Don’t come out,’ he said, ‘the ground is damp. I’m so sorry, but I have something disagreeable to tell you. Do try not to be much disappointed.’

He came back and stood by Mabel’s side, looking at her anxiously. Mabel thought nobody could be kinder; there was so much real regret in his voice. All the sharpness which she had disliked at first seemed to have disappeared for ever.

‘Old people are so peculiar,’ he went on. ‘I don’t believe, do you know, that it is only old men. Old ladies are just the same. Shall we pray never to grow old, you and I?’

‘I would rather not die just yet, though,’ said Mabel, ‘if you don’t mind.’

‘I should think not. There is plenty to live for, just at present. Only don’t let us live to be a torment to other people.’

‘But why?’ said Mabel. ‘What is it? Tell me, and I’ll try not to be disappointed.’

‘I have been asking my father about Mrs. Lancaster coming here,’ said Randal. ‘He won’t have it at all. He says that she never has been received into society here, and he does not wish to set the example. I represented to him what nonsense all that was, but in vain.’

‘O dear! but I am not society,’ said Mabel. She was disappointed, and she sighed rather drearily. ‘The days are so long,’ she said, ‘when you are not here.’

‘Poor dear Mabel!’ said Randal softly, as if he was thinking aloud. ‘No, I don’t see that you need be described as “society.” But you are, you know, and Mrs. Lancaster isn’t. Undefinable, but true. Tell me page 133 again that the days are long when I am not here. I like to hear it.’

His manner was so perfectly quiet and unexcited that the words hardly struck Mabel as anything remarkable.

‘They are, of course,’ she said, ‘because I am alone, and have not much to do.’

‘Don’t spoil the compliment. Did you hear me call you Mabel just now? Were you angry?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t you think, considering everything, we know each other well enough to dispense with Miss Ashley and Mr. Hawke? Your father and mine were like brothers, and I think you and I might at least be intimate friends. Don’t you?’

The allusion to her father would have touched Mabel’s heart, even if she had not liked Randal himself so much. But he was fast winning his way, this young man, who seemed to care for her and think of her happiness so much more than anybody else did. She smiled, and said, ‘O yes!’ without any hesitation.

‘Then just say a few words to close our bargain. Say “I am sorry you are going away to-morrow, Randal.”’

She repeated the words at once, simply and like a child.

‘Thank you, Mabel. So am I; but I hope to be here very soon again.’

It was such an odd little scene, ended the next minute by the appearance of General Hawke, rather cross and sleepy.

When Mabel woke in the morning, her first idea was that she had dreamt it all. But the maid was standing by her bedside, holding in her arms the prettiest white Persian kitten, with long downy hair and plaintive hazel eyes. Round its neck was a blue ribbon, with a note tied to it.

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‘Mr. Randal was obliged to leave early, miss,’ said the maid, ‘but he told me to give you this kitten.’

Mabel took the creature into her arms at once, untied the note, read it, and knew that yesterday evening was a reality. There were only these three words: ‘With Randal’s love.’