Scarlet and Hyssop Part 13

Maud laughed.

"Oh, you ridiculous person," she said; "you will be away ten minutes.

Would you like to make your will, too?"

"Well, if it's only ten minutes--oh, he's looking. There!" and she waved a tiny morsel of a handkerchief to him.

Maud looked at her with grave attention.

"Now, I cannot understand that," she said.

"No, dear, of course not. You're not married. I should have thought it as ridiculous as you before. By the way, Maud--oh, _that's_ why you look careworn. Is it true you are going to marry Anthony Maxwell? Darling, how nice, and _simply_ rolling!"

"You think that is important?" asked Maud.

"Why, of course. It's the only crumpled rose-leaf Arthur and I have. It makes us quite miserable; there's always that little ghost in the corner. Can we afford this? Can we spare the money for that? But you haven't answered me. Is it true?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," said Maud.

Kitty laughed.

"You absurd creature!" she said; "you must know. Has he proposed to you?"

"No, but he has told mother he wants to. And he has been stalking me all the afternoon."

Kitty turned quickly back.

"He shall stalk you no longer," she said. "Really, Maud, you are behaving very unfairly to him. If you are going to marry him, say so; if not--well, if not, you will be a very foolish person, but still say so.

He has a mother, I know that, but really his mother matters very much less than the man himself. He's all right, isn't he? Behaves nicely--I mean, hasn't a vice about him--looks decent?"

"Moderately," said Maud.

"Oh, my dear, what do you want? Every one can't be an Adonis, and, as the copybooks used to say, human nature is limited. I dare say he's not a genius; well, no more are you. As for beauty, you've got enough for two, and he's got money enough for three--baby, as well, do you see? Oh yes, I am indelicate, I know, but it's far better than being delicate.

Being delicate never pays; on the other hand, you have to pay for it, and I haven't got enough money for it. You are lucky, Maud."

"Why? I want to talk to you about it."

"My dear girl, there is nothing to say. You will be a fool if you don't marry him, as I told you. There is simply nothing else to talk about. I was in a state of blank indifference about Arthur before I married him.

My mother--and I bless her for it--absolutely obliged me to accept him.

So will yours do if she has any sense, and I am certain she has heaps.

Unless you are a visionary or a fanatic of some kind, you will be glad to be married. Glad? Good gracious! it is much more than that."

She turned sharply on her heel, Maud following.

"Then, why are there so many unhappy marriages?" asked the latter.

"Ah, in books, only. They are there because the author does not know what else to say. 'You can't write about happy marriages,' so an author a.s.sured me. 'They are so dull. Happy people have no history.'"

Maud was silent a moment.

"You have changed very much, Kitty," she said at length.

"Thank goodness, I have! Oh, Maud, I don't mean to be nasty to you.

Those old days were really dear days. But one can't always remain a girl, Maud. It is mercifully ordained that girls become women. And the door by which they enter is marriage."

"It means all that?"

"All. More----"

Maud found herself struggling for utterance. The blush and the downcast eye which she had thought Anthony could never have produced in her were hers now.

"You mean a man--the fact of a man?" she said stammeringly.

Kitty laughed the laugh of a newly-married woman, which is as old as Eve.

"Put it that way if you like," she said. "But there is another--the fact of a woman."

"But I am content," she said almost piteously. "Why does everybody--you, mother--want me to marry?"

"You have left out Anthony," remarked Kitty rigorously. "I and your mother, because we are women; he, because he is a man."

They had come to the populated lawn again, and further intimate conversation would next moment be impossible. Kitty turned to her hurriedly.

"Oh, my dear, it is like having a tooth out," she said. "No doubt it is a shock. But it no longer aches. There is Mr. Anthony; let him ask you, anyhow. That is bare justice; and remember what I have said."

"I shall not forget it," said Maud.

Under no circ.u.mstances would Kitty have bitten out her tongue, so it would be a mere figure of speech to say that she would have even been inclined to had she known precisely what effect her volubility would have had on her friend. But it is certain that she would sooner have bitten it very hard--so that it hurt, in fact--could she have foreseen in how opposite a direction to that intended her words had inclined her.

As it was, she left the two together in a small solitude encompa.s.sed by company, and went to join her husband with a light heart and an approving conscience--a delicious and rare combination. Anthony, at any rate, was primed and ready.

"Do take me to see the rose-garden," he said to Maud, with a _ba.n.a.lite_ that seemed to him unavoidable. He was quite aware of it, and regretted the necessity, for, to do him justice, he had tried many other lures that afternoon. "I hear it is quite beautiful," he went on; "and Mrs.

Brereton promised me you should show it me after tea. And it is after tea," he added.

Maud was slightly taller than he, and had the right to drop her eyelids a little as she looked at him. Of the advent.i.tious advantage she took more than her justifiable measure, and beheld the back of his collar-stud.

"By all means," she said. "A promise is a promise, whoever gave it."

"You are rather hard on me," observed Anthony.

"Hard? Surely not."

"Well, on your mother, then."

Maud thought a moment.

"It is natural for you to think so," she said, "since she agrees with you."

They had left the lawn behind them, and threaded a dusky lane set in rhododendrons. Anthony stopped.