Chapter VI: Totâ Quod Mente Petisti

“How did Phil stand it, any way?” said Félicia.

She and Maimie were sitting over the fire in her room, discussing the Rector’s daughters, whom they had just been interviewing at tea. There is no other word to describe the intercourse between the American and the English girls, for Félicia, in a wonderful Empire tea-gown, which revealed her white arms and shoulders through clouds of black chiffon, had set herself deliberately to catechise the Misses Jones on the occupations and pleasures--particularly the pleasures--of their daily life. The Rector was a good Welshman, and his daughters, who were rosy, healthy, country girls, rejoiced in the names of Gwladys and Myfanwy. Now that Philippa was married, they were Lady Caerleon’s right hand in all her schemes for the good of the parish, and their multifarious duties had hitherto left them no time to cultivate the acquaintance of the two Americans, whose clothes they had regarded admiringly from a distance. Christmas was now over, however, and in the short breathing-space at the end of the holidays Lady Caerleon had insisted on making her young friends known to one another, and with some misgivings had left the four girls together.

The conversation that ensued was not entirely devoid of friction. Something in the tone of Félicia’s questions and comments seemed to rouse the two Welsh girls, and the sedate Gwladys took refuge in assuring her calmly that she could not possibly understand the pleasures and interests of a life so far removed from her own, and therefore there was no use in telling her about them. The livelier Myfanwy, on the other hand, was anxious to justify her contentment with things as they were. She and Gwladys were so busy, she said, that they really had no time to go about hunting for amusement; but when they wanted it there was plenty of one kind or another. They had their bicycles, and they took turns in driving their parents in the pony-cart, and they belonged to a harmonic society, and this winter there were University Extension Lectures in Aberkerran, and Lady Caerleon had given them tickets. They took turns, also, in going to dinner-parties, and in the summer there was tennis--which still lingered on in this remote corner of the world--and croquet (Gwladys was a crack player), and picnics, and choir excursions--the last form of dissipation was included somewhat doubtfully.

“But don’t you ever have any frolics?” demanded Félicia.

Both girls looked rather offended at being asked such a question, but inquired forbearingly what in the world she meant. Félicia, racking her memory to recall the amusements of country girls in America, mentioned candy-pulls, corn-huskings, apple-bees, clam-suppers, and church-socials, to which they replied with marked coolness that in England it was only the farmers and the Dissenters who went in for that sort of thing.

“Maybe this is a frolic?” suggested Maimie, with a wave of her hand, which included the room and the tea-table.

“It is a great pleasure,” answered Gwladys calmly; and Myfanwy added with effusion that they loved coming to the Castle, and wasn’t Lady Caerleon sweet? Lady Caerleon returned to the drawing-room at this moment, and carried off the Jones girls to her boudoir, to show them a new photograph of Philippa, which had just arrived.

“And I know just as well as anything what she said to them when she had them alone,” said Félicia. “‘My dears, in your simple useful lives you are far happier than those two selfish creatures in the parlour, who do nothing all the time.’”

“And the girl with the queer name just threw her arms round her neck, and said, ‘_Dear_ Lady Caerleon!’” mimicked Maimie.

“But how did Phil stand it, any way?” said Félicia again. “That was a real sweet letter she wrote me this morning, or I’d have thought she was trying to get at me. ‘I do envy you in my dear old room. Do please ride Brownie, and use any of my things as much as you like. I wish I was at home to show you round.’ How could she want to be back home? No bouquets--no bonbons--no gentlemen--no sleigh-rides--no dancing--and yet she lived!”

“Why, she was a real outdoor girl,” said Maimie; “hunting and wheeling, and taking long walks, and thankful to get a day’s golf at Colfton now and then. You’ll act that way, Fay, before they’re done with you. You’re to be made over, you know, and as soon as Usk arrives home they’ll set at work. Wait until you change your mourning and the dinner-parties begin. Think of putting in a whole day on horseback, and dining the Jones family in the evening!”

“I know you’re trying to have me say I’ll break off with Usk,” said Félicia calmly, “and I would if there was anything better in sight. But there isn’t. At least we are sure of getting right into society here. I know it’s only the nice people Lady Caerleon visits with, not the smart people, but that I can fix for myself once I’m presented and have prospected around a bit. Lady Caerleon is best friends with the Dowager Duchess of Old Sarum and the rest of the religious aristocratic cranks, and once we break with the Caerleons all of their doors will be shut in our faces. As I say, that’s nothing if we can do better, but you’ve got to show me just how.”

“But if I can help you to do far better?” demanded Maimie.

“Why, I’d like to hear about it first.”

“That’s just what you can’t do. You must be quite innocent. But you’ll have to fire Usk out if I give you the word.”

“Well, I won’t fire him out definitely until this other plan of yours works. I can do with him well enough if it should peter out. You needn’t conclude I’m going to be made over to suit Lady Caerleon. I guess I can make Usk over to suit myself. But I’m open to other offers.”

“If I can’t fix things right away, she’ll accept him with effusion just as soon as ever he comes back,” said Maimie to herself; and she plotted and planned until, as she reflected ruefully, her hair must be turning grey. It was part of her scheme that Usk’s family, and not herself, should take the first step towards breaking off the understanding; and she saw her chance one day when Lady Caerleon, speaking with obvious nervousness, seized the opportunity of a rare _tête-à-tête_ with her to say--

“Miss Logan, I wish I could enlist your help with Félicia. I quite hoped that the winter here would make her strong, but she gives herself no chance to get well.”

The implied reproach to Félicia aroused Maimie at once. “It’s just that there isn’t anything to do here,” she replied. “If we were at home you’d soon see she wasn’t sick. She would be going along from one function to another all the time.”

“Kept up by excitement? Still, that shows she can do a great deal if she likes. But I want to see her able to work and play in moderation without needing a perpetual stimulus. Of course I know her father’s death was a terrible shock, but the invalid life she leads at present is the worst possible thing for her. Always on the sofa, in that hot room, eating sweets or sucking that horrible gum----”

“We call it chewing gum, not sucking it,” interrupted Maimie, listening apprehensively for the next words. Had Lady Caerleon found out about the cigarettes smuggled in under the guise of bonbons?

“It makes no difference. And she scarcely eats anything at meals, and seems by some instinct to choose what is most unwholesome.”

“That is so,” said Maimie cordially. It was clear that Lady Caerleon had discovered nothing. “I’d just give anything to get her to think of her complexion, and she doesn’t begin to do it.”

“Her complexion!” There were scorn and disgust, deep if involuntary, in Lady Caerleon’s tones. “I am talking about her health. A more natural life and plenty of exercise--not simply creeping backwards and forwards on the terrace for a few minutes when it happens to be warm--would do more for her complexion than anything else. What I think of is the future. Miss Logan, can’t you see what I feel? My boy loves Félicia, and I hope they will have a long and happy married life together. But how can they, if she divides her time between spasms of excitement and helpless invalidism? I can’t help thinking of the poor unfortunate women one meets so often in travelling--rushing from place to place in search of some new sensation, never happy, never contented, always bored and yet eager, with tired eyes and all sorts of nervous complaints. And their children--their poor little children--grown-up men and women already, living and talking, and almost feeling like their elders, wizened and old before they have ever been young. Generally they are Americans, these poor people, but of late there have been more English among them. I speak in Usk’s interests, I can’t deny it, but I do entreat you, for Félicia’s own sake, to try and help me to save her from falling into a life of that sort.”

“I don’t see but you’ll have to leave Félicia alone,” was the reply, as Lady Caerleon, with tears in her eyes, paused suddenly. “We are not made like you English people, nor brought up like you, either. I know you are not English yourself,” Maimie added hastily, “but you have grown into English ways. We must move around, we must have interest and excitement, and if an American woman don’t find that sort of thing ready for her, she just starts right out and provides it for herself. If we have smarter brains and more active bodies than you, it’s not our fault, and you won’t do any good punishing us for it. If you leave Félicia and Lord Usk to fix things for themselves, I guess they’ll shake down all right.”

“I am afraid not. I remember all my own troubles when I first settled here, and I should like to save Félicia as much as I can. And my husband is the calmest and most reasonable of men. Nothing but deliberate wrong-doing would make him angry, and he bore with my mistakes, and listened to my complaints, and helped me to begin afresh, in the most wonderful way. But Usk is more like me. He gets worried and irritable when he is tried beyond a certain point, and his wife ought to be able to calm him, and not irritate him further. And surely, if she loves him, Félicia would delight to do anything she can to make herself a better wife for him? Think what a joy it would be to him to find her strong and well and able to go about with him when he comes back!”

“_If_ she loves him!” repeated Maimie thoughtfully. “Why, certainly--but does she love him, Lady Caerleon?”

She seized the opportunity afforded by the entrance of a servant with a note to slip away, leaving her question to do its work. The interruption could not have occurred more suitably for her purpose, and during the next two or three days she managed to avoid all private conversation with Lady Caerleon. At the same time, she was obliged to keep constant watch lest her hostess should seek an interview with Félicia herself. Her manœuvres had hitherto been successful in keeping them apart without Lady Caerleon’s perceiving either the method or the reason; but now, stung by the doubt cast into her mind, she might insist upon a definite explanation. Then, if Félicia made another scene, and succumbed to Lady Caerleon’s motherly kindness, all was lost, and this was likely enough. The monotony of her indoor life, which she obstinately refused to vary by any exercise out of doors, was really telling on her nerves, and she would alarm Maimie by wild outbursts of impatience. She wanted to dance, to flirt, to go to the theatre and lose herself in a play, she wanted to run away--in fact, she was in a state in which she would respond to any stimulus applied to her emotions. Maimie knew very well that the contraband cigarettes were slightly narcotised, and by this means she tried to quiet Félicia’s nerves for the moment, while still keeping her mind on the stretch by vague promises and prophecies, the fulfilment of which depended upon the success of her “plan.”

As Maimie had expected, Lady Caerleon came to her, after two or three days of anxiety, for an explanation of her mysterious warning as to Félicia’s feelings. The mother was determined to know the worst.

“If Félicia doesn’t care for Usk, you ought to tell me,” she said, “that I may prepare his mind, and not let him go on hoping in vain.”

“Well, now, Lady Caerleon,” said Maimie, with the frankness which her hostess found almost more trying than reserve, “I’ll tell you just what I think. I don’t believe Félicia loves your son--at present, but I guess if he came home and asked her, she would marry him right away.”

“But why?” cried Lady Caerleon, aghast.

“Why? Can you ask? Because of all your kindness and of all Lord Usk has done. She says to herself, ‘If I can repay and please them by sacrificing my own feelings, why, I’ll just do it!’”

“This is terrible!” murmured Lady Caerleon. “I must speak to Félicia, and if that is really her state of mind, I will write to Usk at once.”

“No, please!” entreated Maimie. “Didn’t you remark that I said ‘at present’? I would like to have her fall in love with him really. I thought it was real kind of you and Lord Caerleon to tell him to go and visit Niagara, and the South, and not be back until February, so’s he wouldn’t embarrass Félicia by arriving home so soon. Well, now, if he didn’t come back until the end of March, I guess it would be better yet. Won’t you have him go and see the Pacific slope, and the Yosemite in winter? By the middle of March Félicia will be changing her mourning, and I thought we might pay a visit to her best friend, Mrs van Zyl, at Nice. She’s set on having us, and it would be just lovely for Félicia. Then your son could come out and see us there, and Félicia would be able to compare him with other men. You do think he would stand a good chance then, don’t you?”

This was a master-stroke. Even if Lady Caerleon could have brought herself to distrust Usk’s power of attraction, she could not confess the feeling, and she had no wish whatever to do so. Indeed, she was conscious of an unaccountable sensation of relief, which she attributed to the fact that Usk would at last be able to stand on his own merits, and take his chance in a fair field, unhampered by the dubious advantage of Mr Steinherz’s favour. She fell in with Maimie’s proposal at once.

“I think it is an excellent idea,” she said. “All the gaieties will be over on the Riviera, and Félicia will enjoy a quiet restful time.” Maimie could have told her differently, but held her peace. “I will speak to my husband at once, and if he agrees with me, I will write to Usk to-day.”

The idea did not approve itself quite so strongly to Lord Caerleon as to his wife, and his comments opened her eyes to a truth which she had successfully hidden from herself hitherto. Her relief sprang chiefly from the hope that, after all, Félicia might not marry Usk. With Lady Caerleon, to discover such a piece of self-deception was instantly to impose punishment, and while she still suggested to Usk that he should extend his travels, she confessed plainly that the idea was inspired by Maimie, and sprang from a suspicion that Félicia did not really care for him. She added also that his father and she left the matter entirely to his own discretion, and this intimation had the unlooked-for result that Usk promptly cancelled his remaining engagements in America, and sailed for home by the very first steamer. It was with the greatest reluctance that he had left Félicia in her trouble to the care even of his mother, but it had comforted him to feel that he was doing something for her in seeing her father’s body laid in the grave he had chosen. The extension of his exile he had accepted with some unwillingness, feeling that he could trust himself to be near Félicia without forcing his hopes upon her in her time of grief. However, if his presence would embarrass her, if she did not know him well enough to trust him, he was content to stay away. But this last menace to his happiness was too much. He must know the worst. If Félicia did not love him, it was better to hear it from her own lips, and bear it like a man, than wander about the American continent tortured with uncertainty, and murmuring, “She loves me--loves me not,” like a girl pulling a daisy to pieces.

It was a sunny afternoon in early February when Usk arrived at the little wayside station near Llandiarmid. No one was expecting him, for the letter he had posted in New York, announcing his return, had travelled by the same vessel as himself, and had only reached the Castle that morning. At this moment it was lying on Lord Caerleon’s table, in company with the telegram Usk had sent from Liverpool on his arrival there; for Lord and Lady Caerleon had started at an unearthly hour in the morning on a long cold drive into Oldport, where a temperance convention was being held. Disregarding the stationmaster’s eager invitation to step into his office while he sent to the nearest farm and borrowed a trap to take his lordship up to the Castle, Usk left his luggage to be fetched later, and struck off across the fields. He had a feeling that if he met Félicia now, he would win her, and he hurried on, his country-trained senses noting the springing wheat in the autumn-sown fields, the pleasant smell of the rich red plough-lands, the brown and crimson buds in the hedges, and the twittering of the birds in the mild sunshine. Everything spoke of life and love and hope, and Usk whistled gaily for sheer gladness of heart as he renewed his acquaintance with the many short cuts, less remarkable for their shortness than their complexity, which he and Philippa had long ago discovered, and definitely laid down as the quickest way home. The shrubbery gate was locked, of course, but he had climbed the wall at this point too often for that to be any obstacle, and he went on up the well-known paths. At the long wild border under the sunny wall which marked the limits of the garden proper he cast an involuntary glance. Philippa would have been there, on such an afternoon as this, looking for early violets, or gathering handfuls of snowdrops from among the grass on the opposite side of the walk, and perhaps Félicia----? But Félicia was not to be seen, and he turned to the old arched doorway leading into the garden and rattled at it vigorously, nearly frightening the wits out of a meek gardener’s boy who was at work just inside, and opened the door timidly. On being questioned, however, the boy recovered his senses sufficiently to volunteer the remark that he ‘see one of the young ladies, the prettiest one, on the top terrace by herself about five minutes back,’ for which he received a munificent reward.

Climbing the long worn flights of steps which led from one to another of the broad terraces in front of the Castle, Usk kept purposely in the shade of the bushes which rose behind the balustrades. This was his chance, to find Félicia alone and take her by surprise. He reached the terrace next below the highest, and stopped suddenly. The steps which faced him turned sharply at a right angle, and on the small landing thus formed stood a sun-dial. Leaning against the sun-dial was Félicia, her long black robes trailing on the stones, her face almost hidden by the furs in which she was muffled.

“Félicia!” Usk had sprung up the steps and appeared at her side. She turned with a little scream, then a smile crept over her face.

“Well, do you know,” she remarked deliberately, “I was just thinking about you. I sort of felt you were not far away.”

“You wanted me? Oh, my darling!”

It was necessary for Félicia to free herself, which she did without undignified haste. Then she straightened her hat, and looked reproachful. “I don’t know what I said to give you the notion of doing that, Lord Usk,” she said severely.

“Only that you missed me.” Usk’s arm was round her again.

“Well, I don’t know but I have felt lonesome at times. But I never said it was on your account, any way.”

“Perhaps you would like me to make you say it?” suggested Usk, taking full advantage of his position.

“Do tell, now! Commend me to an Englishman for calm impudence! And what has brought you along just now?”

“I came because I couldn’t stay away any longer. _You_ brought me back, you know you did. I had to see you again.”

“Then I guess you’re going away again right now? You seem to be taking a look to last you a long time.”

“If you’re counting on that, you’ll be disappointed. I shall look at you just as hard however long I stay. I should like to look at you for ever. Your face is never the same for two seconds together.”

“I don’t feel like allowing remarks on my face unless they’re compliments, Lord Usk, and don’t you forget it.”

“And that wasn’t a compliment? Then I’ll show you the difference. Any man may pay you a compliment, do you see? but I may make remarks which are not compliments, because I love you.”

“Then preserve me from being loved, any way! But maybe your sort of love isn’t just the usual sort?”

“Isn’t it? I’m so sorry. Is that better?” Félicia had laid herself open to an obvious retort in the confidence that Usk would not be quick-witted enough to seize the opportunity. “Do you believe that I love you now?” he asked, partially releasing her, “or shall I go on to prove it further?”

“I guess it’s not necessary. I can quite believe it.”

“And you do care for me--just a little?”

Félicia’s face assumed an expression of intense thought. “Well, yes,” she said at last. “I think I can maybe say that I do care for you--just a little.”

She flashed a glance at Usk which intoxicated him with delight, and nothing was further from his mind than the idea that her answer might be literally true. “All right. I’ll take it in instalments,” he said joyously. “_Un peu--beaucoup--point_--no, that’s not what I meant. What an idiot I am! You care for me, and that’s enough.”

“Yes, but Maimie don’t,” said Félicia dolorously.

“Oh, bother Maimie! No, I don’t mean that either. Of course she can’t bear losing you. But we’ll both be awfully nice to her, won’t we? Now that my mind is at rest about you, I’ll cultivate her--make up to her, in fact.”

“Not while I’m around, if you please.”

“Now is it likely--if you were anywhere near?”

“I guess I’ll go and tell her,” said Félicia. “Isn’t that your parents coming in from their ride? You go and have an affecting meeting with them, and break the news, and I’ll do likewise.”

Maimie was indoors, kept in by a bad cold, which she had caught when called out of bed one night to prescribe remedies for Félicia’s headache. Nothing could possibly have been better timed than that cold, Félicia thought complacently, though she had shown a strong sense of injury when it had prevented Maimie from coming out with her. She dashed upstairs and into Maimie’s room, and shot her bolt.

“Wake up, Maimie! Usk’s come back, and we are engaged!”

Maimie dropped her book and turned absolutely white. Then she stood up and came slowly towards Félicia, who cowered before her.

“Félicia Steinherz, I could kill you where you stand!”

“How you look, Maimie! What do you mean?” asked Félicia feebly.

“Why have you done it, any way?” demanded Maimie.

“Why, I like Usk well enough, and I must have a man to trail me around.”

“Do you know who’s coming here next week?” fiercely.

“Oh, just some brother of Lord Caerleon’s and his wife.”

“Why, certainly. Do you know how many brothers he has?”

“Well, I guess there must be two, any way--this Lord Cyril and the Count Mortimer that Mr Hicks talks about all the time.”

“I do admire to see a girl real smart! You’ve listened pretty well, haven’t you?”

“I don’t see but I’ve listened well enough. Lord Caerleon couldn’t expect me do more than look interested, and interrupt just right.”

“I’d have felt like boxing your ears if I’d been Lord Caerleon.”

“No, Maimie, you wouldn’t. It’s real sweet of me to have him talk to me, and he knows it. You’re fallen in love with him, because he cavaliers you around just the same as he does me, but that’s no reason why I should.” And Maimie was crushed for the time.

Now that Usk and Félicia were engaged, an impartial observer, with a mind appreciative of irony, might have enjoyed watching the attitudes assumed by the different persons concerned. Maimie, openly contemptuous for a moment, became calm and tolerant after the first shock of surprise, allowing Félicia to see that she did not take the matter at all seriously. If Félicia chose to break a country heart for pastime, it was no one’s business but her own, and the owner of the heart had only himself to thank if he took for love the frame of mind induced by propinquity succeeding _ennui_. Félicia, feeling bound to justify her action in Maimie’s eyes, overdid her part wofully. She raised Usk to the seventh heaven of delight by what seemed to him her utter self-surrender. He had never imagined that she could give herself up to him so unreservedly, although he had quite expected that she would monopolise his time and services, as she did. But that she should wish--nay, order him to be at her side all day, this filled him with a sense of wholly undeserved joy, since he could not tell that she was playing with one eye on Maimie.

It was not long before the engagement became known in the county, although it was not to be publicly announced until six months had elapsed after Mr Steinherz’s death. Local interest in the event was tremendous, and the dwellers in the neighbourhood learned to watch almost daily for the Castle dogcart, with the ‘young lord’ driving, and the beautiful lady muffled in furs at his side. Félicia’s neglect of her complexion was positively heroic at this time, but fortunately the weather was mild, and Maimie showed herself truly forgiving where face-washes were concerned.

“I guessed the fault was in the companion, and not the climate, when you wouldn’t go out driving with me, Félicia,” said Lord Caerleon, laughing, as he helped her out of the cart one day, and Félicia had the grace to blush.

“I don’t see but I’m real English now, just like Phil,” she answered brightly, for Maimie’s benefit.

Perhaps the happiest of the onlookers at this juncture was Lady Caerleon. She forced herself to rejoice in Usk’s happiness, in a way only possible to a woman whose tendency through life had been to choose the most disagreeable path that offered itself, in the conviction that it was the right one. Her husband, much as he admired Félicia’s beauty, grumbled a little in private that Usk should choose an American bride, and one who took no interest in social questions, but Lady Caerleon persisted that love would set everything right. Félicia had even learnt to like the country since Usk had come home, and very soon, no doubt, she would be taking an active interest in the Temperance cause. In the kindness of her heart the mother even petted Maimie, for whom she still felt an instinctive distrust, and devised all sorts of little pleasures for her, to soften the loneliness that fell to her lot now that Félicia had forsaken her so completely.