Chapter XXI: Two Artists Spoiled

DR. MILDMAY drove up to the door of his house in Devonport, alighted with extraordinary quickness from his carriage, and hurried up the steps. Opening the door with his latchkey, he entered the house, then paused for a moment in the hall, a little surprised at the quietness which reigned there. He looked into the dining-room. It was empty; but the room bore a festive air. Blossoming plants stood on the window-sills, and the loveliest flowers of summer adorned the table, which was laid for a substantial tea, with a display of good things very tempting to a hungry man.

Dr. Mildmay glanced round for a moment, then returned to the hall. His daughter Alice was descending the stairs.

"Has she not come?" he asked, with rather a disappointed air.

"Not yet; the train must be very late," replied Alice, who had been for the third time to Enid's room, to make sure that all was as it should be, and there was nothing she could add to make the room look prettier and more home-like in the eyes of the returned traveller. "Clara, Katie, and the boys are all gone to the station."

"Then I'll go round there too," said the doctor, turning to the house-door.

"Take care you do not miss her on the way," cried Alice; but her father was already in his carriage.

A door behind Alice opened, and Mrs. Mildmay, with a flushed, excited face, looked forth.

"Was that your father?" she asked.

"Yes, he was here," Alice said; "but he has driven off to the station now."

"Ah, well, it is better!" returned Mrs. Mildmay. "Men never like to sit still and wait."

She looked as if such an attitude were not easy to herself. Alice knew that her mother had been constantly on the move for the last half-hour, and she feared she would excite herself into one of her nervous headaches if Enid did not soon appear.

"If they should have started from the station and come by the new road, father will miss them," said Alice, "for he always prefers the old way."

At that moment, her ears caught the sound of a vehicle drawing up before the house. She flew to the door, and there stood a cab loaded with luggage, and Enid's happy face was at the window. The doctor's carriage drove up almost at the same instant. He had seen the cab, and had driven after it.

So the hour for which Enid had so often longed had come at last, and she was at home once more. Her mother held her as if she would never let her go from her again. There was nought but joy in the reunion for Enid; but in her mother's heart was a painful sense that her child had only come back to her for a time, and she felt how hard it would be to give her away even to the best of husbands. But mothers have to endure such trials, and they bring their compensations. Mrs. Mildmay was not too selfish to rejoice in the prospect of a happy future for her child. As for her brothers and sisters, they could not make enough of Enid on her arrival. She had become a heroine in their eyes from the day she started on her travels, and her betrothal to a Roman gentleman seemed a fitting culmination to her fortunes.

As they crowded around her, asking questions which it was impossible to answer because they would all talk at once, Enid had a fleeting sense of pity for Maud Marian, who missed so much through being an only child.

"Enid, Enid, did you see the Pope?"

"Can you speak Italian, Enid?"

"How many pictures have you painted?"

"Do tell us what the Queen looked like when she spoke to you!"

"Is it true that in Italy everyone eats macaroni?"

"Did you see the Colosseum by moonlight?"

"Can Mr. Dakin use his arm yet? When is he coming here again, and shall we have to call him Julius?"

"You had better wait till he comes, and ask him what he thinks about it," said Enid laughingly, in reply to this last question.

Then her father interposed, and said that Enid was tired, and they must not ask her any more questions till she had had her tea.

There was not much quiet for her, however, till the younger ones had been sent to play in the garden, and Enid, accompanied by her mother, withdrew to her own room, ostensibly to attend to the unpacking of her trunk, but in reality that they might have the confidential talk for which each was longing. Though Enid's letters had been long and full, they had not satisfied her mother's heart. She too had many questions to put, for there were various things she wished to have explained. Together they reviewed the course of the past nine months, and each had much to tell.

"You found your cousin a little difficult to get on with at first?" said Mrs. Mildmay.

"Well, yes, I did," said Enid frankly. "As you warned me, she was somewhat of a spoiled child; but she is so very different now that I do not wish to remember anything about that. Indeed, it was in a great measure my own fault that we fell out sometimes. If I had had more patience, it need not have happened."

"Enid, I have wondered many times—you will not mind my asking you?—why it was you refused Julius Dakin the first time he asked you to be his wife. Were you afraid that your father and I would not approve?"

"No; it was not that, mother."

"You did not know your own heart?"

Enid shook her head, colouring deeply.

"You did not know of anything against him?" There was latent anxiety in Mrs. Mildmay's tone.

"No, mother; I always liked him from the first time I saw him. I used to think he was not manly enough; but I know now that I was mistaken. Still, it was not on that account that I refused him—it was because of Maud."

"Because of Maud!" repeated Mrs. Mildmay, in a tone of astonishment.

"Yes," said Enid; "it was foolish of me, but I fancied that Maud cared for him. And, indeed, she has told me since that she was greatly attracted by him; but it was not such a serious affair as I imagined. We were so much with the Dakins; I thought she would feel it so."

"And you gave him up for fear of hurting Maud's feelings? My dear, I cannot think you were justified in acting so. Were not his feelings to be considered in the matter? You ought to have remembered that it was not your own happiness alone that you sacrificed for the sake of Maud. Though it was noble of you, child—not many girls would have done it."

"Oh, mother, you must not say that! My motives were far from noble. You do not know all that had gone before. Maud had said things about Julius which had stung me sorely. I think pride moved me to some extent. I was very sorry about it afterwards, and yet I never felt that I could have acted differently."

"Well, all's well that ends well," said Mrs. Mildmay cheerfully. "It made me proud to hear how Julius spoke of you, Enid. He said you had saved him from the misery of a useless, wasted life."

"Did he say that?" exclaimed Enid, colouring. "Oh, mother, I don't think it was just my doing!"

"He said so," returned Mrs. Mildmay. "He told us he used to be an idle, good-for-nothing fellow; but he had determined to take a fresh start, and make himself a good man of business, in order that he might help his father, who is beginning to feel his burdens of responsibility weigh heavily on him. But if he becomes a good man of business, as I believe he will, he will not be a mere business man."

"I hope not," said Enid fervently. "Oh, what a solemn thing life is! I have felt that so much since Julius and I have belonged to each other. It almost frightens me to think what influence we may exert on the life of another for good or for evil."

"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Mildmay. "Our personal influence is a great talent entrusted to us, which we can only use aright by the help of Him who gave it. When I think of the tremendous consequences that may depend on the way we shape our lives, I wonder at those who are content to live as if life were given to us only for our own entertainment."

"And there is always so much sorrow in the world," said Enid, thoughtfully. "I told you about Miss Strutt, mother, in my letters."

"Yes, dear; I remember—the poor little Scotch artist who has known so many troubles."

"And has borne them so bravely," said Enid. "Her worst trouble is over now. When we were at Florence, she was summoned to Edinburgh to see her brother. There was a change in him, and the doctors at the asylum thought he would not live much longer. She travelled night and day to reach him ere he passed away, and she arrived in time. His reason came back to him for a brief interval before he died, and he knew her, and uttered her name. She wrote and told me all about it. She is so thankful that she saw him calm and peaceful, and that he is now at rest."

"Poor little woman, she well may be!" said Mrs. Mildmay. "That was a terrible trial."

"Yet, in spite of all she has suffered, Miss Strutt is one of the best women I have ever met. You would think that such troubles as hers might well make her gloomy and bitter; but they seem to have had quite the contrary effect. You cannot think how good and unselfish she is."

"I am sure, from what you have told me of her, that she must be very unselfish. I should like to know her."

"I hope you will some day. If—as seems probable—my home, at some future time, will be in Rome, you will have to come and see me there. Oh, you need not shake your head! I mean to show you the Forum, and the Colosseum, and the Palaces of the Cæsars, some day."

Mrs. Mildmay's face brightened at the idea, but she shook her head.

Just then there was a tap at the door, and Alice's voice asked permission to enter.

"Have you finished unpacking?" she asked, as she came in.

"I have not even begun to unpack," said Enid.

"I thought as much," returned Alice, briskly. "I knew you would not do anything till I came."

She attacked the trunk at once, and began lifting out the things.

"What is this?" she asked, as she came upon a soft, thick bundle, striped in many colours.

"That is a Roman blanket," said Enid. "I brought it for mother."

"The very thing!" exclaimed Alice, whilst Mrs. Mildmay uttered warm thanks. "It will do to cover her when she lies down, and if we arrange it along the sofa when it is unoccupied, it will hide how shabby the covering is."

"The colours are lovely," said Mrs. Mildmay.

"There are all sorts of lovely things to be bought in Rome," said Enid. "I wish you could have seen the draperies Maud bought for her studio."

"Oh, I do want to see the Studio Mariano!" cried Alice. "Do you think Maud would be willing to take me as her companion when she goes to Rome again?"

"You know you would not go if she asked you. However, she is not likely to go there again—at least, not to remain any length of time."

"Not go again!" repeated Alice, in surprise. "Do you mean to tell me that she is content to live at home with her stepmother?"

"Yes, for a little while—until she goes to a home of her own."

"A home of her own!" exclaimed Alice. "Is she too going to be married?"

"She is," said Enid, enjoying her sister's astonishment. "I thought it would be so; but she only told me late last night. Indeed, I believe it was only settled yesterday."

"And who is the happy man?"

"Mr. Sidney Althorp."

"Why, that is the man you said she disliked so much because he was always finding fault with her!"

"Even so," said Enid, smiling; "but I doubt whether she ever really disliked him. I am sure he had always a strong influence over her, though she tried hard to resist his influence. I think it was because she cared for him that she resented his hinting at her faults."

"I don't know about that," said Alice. "I think I should dislike a man who was always finding fault with me. Pray, does Julius find fault with you?"

"I cannot say that he does," replied Enid, blushing. "But men are different, you know."

"And women, too, if there are some who can like those who find fault with them," said Alice.

"But he did not find fault with her for the sake of finding fault," said Enid; "it was because he cared for her so much, and believed in her, that he ventured to tell her of her faults. She must have felt that all along."

Alice shook her head. She could not see that that made any difference.

"When Maud was recovering from her illness, I began to see that her heart was turning towards Sidney Althorp. She spoke of him in a different way. But Maud is very proud; she will not show her feelings if she can help it. I wish you could have heard the way in which she told me of her engagement, half pretending that she did not greatly care for Mr. Althorp, but had accepted him for the sake of getting away from her stepmother. And yet I really believe she is beginning to love Mrs. Marian. What is the matter, Alice? You look quite disturbed."

"Indeed, I have received a shock!" wailed Alice. "Oh dear! Oh dear! Two artists spoiled, and the Studio Mariano a thing of the past!"

THE END

OXFORD: HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY