In the Mountains Part 22

Then he hesitated, groping for the name. 'Mrs.,' said Dolly, sweetly correcting him, her hand in his.

'Ah, I beg your pardon. Married. These introductions--especially in that noisy wind.'

'No--not exactly married,' said Dolly, still sweetly correcting him, her hand still in his.

'Not exactly--?'

'My sister has lost her--my sister is a widow,' said Mrs. Barnes hastily and nervously; alas, these complications of Dolly's!

'Indeed. Indeed. Sad, sad,' said my uncle sympathetically, continuing to hold her hand. 'And so young. Ah. Yes. Well, good night then, Mrs--'

But again he had to pause and grope.

'Jewks,' said Dolly sweetly.

'Forgive me. You may depend I shall not again be so stupid. Good night.

And may the blessed angels--'

A third time he stopped; pulled up, I suppose, by the thought that it was perhaps not quite seemly to draw the attention of even the angels to an unrelated lady's bed. So he merely very warmly shook her hand, while she smiled a really heavenly smile at him.

We left him standing with his back to the fire watching us go up the stairs, holding almost tenderly, for one must expend one's sympathy on something, a gla.s.s of hot water.

My uncle is very sympathetic. In matters that do not touch his own advancement he is all sympathy. That is why widows like him, I expect.

My aunt would have known the reason if she hadn't been his wife.

_October 1st._

While I dress it is my habit to read. Some book is propped up open against the looking-gla.s.s, and sometimes, for one's eyes can't be everywhere at once, my hooks in consequence don't get quite satisfactorily fastened. Indeed I would be very neat if I could, but there are other things. This morning the book was the Bible, and in it I read, _A prudent man_--how much more prudently, then, a woman--_foreseeth the evil and hideth himself, but the simple pa.s.s on and are punished._

This made me late for breakfast. I sat looking out of the window, my hands in my lap, the sensible words of Solomon ringing in my ears, and considered if there was any way of escaping the fate of the simple.

There was no way. It seemed hard that without being exactly of the simple I yet should be doomed to their fate. And outside it was one of those cold windy mornings when male relations insist on taking one for what they call a run--as if one were a dog--in order to go through the bleak process they describe as getting one's cobwebs blown off. I can't bear being parted from my cobwebs. I never want them blown off. Uncle Rudolph is small and active, besides having since my aunt's death considerably dwindled beneath his ap.r.o.n, and I felt sure he intended to run me up the mountain after breakfast, and, having got me breathless and speechless on to some cold rock, sit with me there and say all the things I am dreading having to hear.

It was quite difficult to get myself to go downstairs. I seemed rooted.

I knew that, seeing that I am that unfortunately situated person the hostess, my duty lay in morning smiles behind the coffee pot; but the conviction of what was going to happen to me after the coffee pot kept me rooted, even when the bell had rung twice.

When, however, after the second ringing quick footsteps pattered along the pa.s.sage to my door I did get up,--jumped up, afraid of what might be coming-in. Bedrooms are no real protection from uncles. Those quick footsteps might easily be Uncle Rudolph's. I hurried across to the door and pulled it open, so that at least by coming out I might stop his coming in; and there was Mrs. Antoine, her hand lifted up to knock.

'_Ces dames et Monsieur l'Eveque attendent,_' she said, with an air of reproachful surprise.

'_Il n'est pas un eveque_,' I replied a little irritably, for I knew I was in the wrong staying upstairs like that, and naturally resented not being allowed to be in the wrong in peace. '_Il est seulement presque un_.'

Mrs. Antoine said nothing to that, but stepping aside to let me pa.s.s informed me rather severely that the coffee had been on the table a whole quarter of an hour.

'_Comment appelle-t-on chez vous_,' I said, lingering in the doorway to gain time, '_ce qui vient devant un eveque?_'

'_Ce qui vient devant un eveque?_' repeated Mrs. Antoine doubtfully.

'_Oui. L'espece de monsieur qui n'est pas tout a fait eveque mais presque?_'

Mrs. Antoine knit her brows. '_Ma foi--_' she began.

'_Oh, j'ai oublie_,' I said. '_Vous n'etes plus catholique. Il n'y a rien comme des eveques et comme les messieurs qui sont presque eveques dans votre eglise protestante, n'est-ce pas?_'

'_Mais rien, rien, rien_,' a.s.severated Mrs. Antoine vehemently, her hands spread out, her shoulders up to her ears, pa.s.sionately protesting the empty purity of her adopted church,--'_mais rien du tout, du tout.

Madame peut venir un dimanche voir...._'

Then, having cleared off these imputations, she switched back to the coffee. '_Le cafe--Madame desire que j'en fa.s.se encore? Ces dames et Monsieur l'Eveque--_'

'_Il n'est pas un ev--_'

'Ah--here you are!' exclaimed my uncle, his head appearing at the top of the stairs. 'I was just coming to see if there was anything the matter.

Here she is--coming, coming!' he called out genially to the others; and on my hurrying to join him, for I am not one to struggle against the inevitable, he put his arm through mine and we went down together.

Having got me to the bottom he placed both hands on my shoulders and twisted me round to the light. 'Dear child,' he said, scrutinizing my face while he held me firmly in this position, 'we were getting quite anxious about you. Mrs. Barnes feared you might be ill, and was already contemplating remedies--' I shuddered--'however--' he twisted me round to Mrs. Barnes--'nothing ill about this little lady, Mrs. Barnes, eh?'

Then he took my chin between his finger and thumb and kissed me lightly, gaily even, on each cheek, and then, letting me go, he rubbed his hands and briskly approached the table, all the warm things on which were swathed as usual when I am late either in napkins or in portions of Mrs.

Barnes's clothing.

'Come along--come along, now,--breakfast, breakfast,' cried my uncle.

'_For these and all Thy mercies Lord_--' he continued with hardly a break, his eyes shut, his hands outspread over Mrs. Barnes's white woollen shawl in benediction.

We were overwhelmed. The male had arrived and taken us in hand. But we were happily overwhelmed, judging from Mrs. Barnes's face. For the first time since she has been with me the blessing of heaven had been implored and presumably obtained for her egg, and I realised from her expression as she ate it how much she had felt the daily enforced consumption, owing to my graceless habits, of eggs unsanctified. And Dolly too looked pleased, as she always does when her poor Kitty is happy. I alone wasn't. Behind the coffee pot I sat pensive. I knew too well what was before me. I distrusted my uncle's gaiety. He had thought it all out in the night, and had decided that the best line of approach to the painful subject he had come to discuss would be one of cheerful affection.

Certainly I had never seen him in such spirits; but then I haven't seen him since my aunt's death.

'Dear child,' he said, when the table had been picked up and carried off bodily by the Antoines from our midst, leaving us sitting round nothing with the surprised feeling of sudden nakedness that, as I have already explained, this way of clearing away produces--my uncle was actually surprised for a moment into silence,--'dear child, I would like to take you for a little run before lunch.'

'Yes, Uncle Rudolph?'

'That we may get rid of our cobwebs.'

'Yes, Uncle Rudolph.'

'I know you are a quick-limbed little lady--'

'Yes, Uncle Rudolph?'

'So you shall take the edge off my appet.i.te for exercise.'

'Yes, Uncle Rudolph.'

'Then perhaps this afternoon one or other of these ladies--' I noted his caution in not suggesting both.

'Oh, delightful,' Mrs. Barnes hastened to a.s.sure him. 'We shall be only too pleased to accompany you. We are great walkers. We think a very great deal of the benefits to be derived from regular exercise. Our father brought us up to a keen appreciation of its necessity. If it were not that we so strongly feel that the greater part of each day should be employed in some useful pursuit, we would spend it, I believe, almost altogether in outdoor exercise.'

'Why not go with my uncle this morning, then?' I asked, catching at a straw. 'I've got to order dinner--'

'Oh no, no--not on _any_ account. The Dean's wishes--'