The Mating of Lydia Part 68

"Yes--it's December," said Boden, smiling, to Lady Tatham; "but perhaps"--the accent was ironical--"when she comes back the seasons will have changed!"

The session broke up in excited conversation, of which Faversham was the centre.

"This is final?" said Undershaw, eying him keenly. "You intend to stand by it?"

"'Fierce work it were to do again!'" said Faversham, in a quotation recognized by Undershaw, who generally went to bed with a scientific book on one side of him, and a volume of modern poets on the other. Faversham was now radiant. He stood with his arm round Lydia. Victoria had her hand.

Meanwhile in the Italian garden and through the yew hedges, Daphne fled, and Apollo pursued. At last he caught her, and she sank upon a garden seat. He put the shawl round her, and stood with his hands in his pockets surveying her.

"What was the matter, Felicia?" he asked her, gently.

"It is ridiculous!" she said, sobbing. "Why wasn't I asked? I don't want a guardian! I won't have you for a guardian!" And she beat her foot angrily on the paved path.

Tatham laughed.

"You'll have to go back and behave nicely, Felicia. Haven't you any thanks for Faversham?"

"I never asked him to do it! How can I look after all that! It'll kill me. I want to sing! I want to go on the stage!"

He sat down beside her. Her dark head covered with its silky curls, her very black eyes and arched brows in her small pink face, the pointed chin, and tiny mouth, made a very winning figure of her, as she sat there, under a garden vase, and an overhanging yew. And that, although the shawl was huddled round her shoulders, and the eyes were red with tears.

"You will be able to do anything you like, Felicia. You will be terribly rich."

She gazed at him, the storm in her breast subsiding a little.

"How rich?" she asked him, pouting.

He tried to give her some idea. She sighed. "It's dreadful! What shall I do with it all!"

Then as her eyes still searched him, he saw them change--first to soft--then wild. Her colour flamed. She moved farther from him, and tried to put on a businesslike air.

"I want to ask a question."

"Ask it."

"Am I--am I as rich as any girl you would be likely to marry?"

"What an odd question! Do you think I want money?"

"I know you don't!" she said, with a wail. "That's what's so horrid! Why can't you all leave me alone?"

Then recovering herself fiercely, she began again:

"In my country--in Italy--when two people are about equally rich--a man and a girl--their relations go and talk to each other. They say, 'Will it suit you?'--the man has so much--the girl has so much--they like each other--and--wouldn't it do very well!"

She sprang up. Tatham had flushed. He looked at her in speechless amazement. She stood opposite him, making herself as tall as she could, her hands behind her.

"Lord Tatham--my mother is ill--my father is dead. You're not my guardian yet--and I don't think I'll ever let you be! So there's n.o.body but me to do it. I'm sorry--I know it's not quite right, quite--quite English.

Well, any way! Lord Tatham, you say I have a _dot_! So that's all right.

There's my hand. Will you marry me?"

She held it out. All her excitement had gone, and her colour. She was very pale, and quite calm.

"My dear Felicia!" cried Tatham, in agitation, taking the hand, "what a position to put your guardian in! You are a great heiress. I can't run off with you like this--before you've had any other chances--before you've seen anybody else."

"If you don't, I won't take a farthing! What good would it be to me!"

She came closer, and put her little hands on his shoulders as he sat--the centre of one of those sudden tumults of sense and spirit that sweep a strong man from his feet.

"Oh, won't you take care of me? I love you so!"

It was a cry of Nature. Tatham gave a great gulp, put out his arms, and caught her. There she was on the bench beside him, laughing and sobbing, gathered against his heart.

The cheerful December day shone upon them: a robin sang in the yew tree overhead....

Meanwhile the library was still full. n.o.body had yet left it; and instinctively everybody was watching the French window.

Two figures appeared there, Felicia in front. She came in, her eyes cast down, a bright spot on either cheek. And while every one in the room held their breath she crossed the floor and paused in front of Faversham.

"Mr. Faversham, I ask your pardon, that I was so rude. I--" A sob rose in her throat, and she stopped a moment to control it. "Till the other day--I was just a poor girl--who never had a _lira_ to spend. All that we ate--my mother and I--we had to work for. And now--you have made me rich.

It's--it's very wonderful. I only wish"--the sob rose again--"just that last time--my father had been kind to me. I thank you with all my heart.

But I can't take it all, you know--I _can't!_"

She looked at him appealing--almost threatening. Faversham smiled at her.

"That doesn't lie with you! One of your trustees has already signed the deed--here comes the other." He pointed to Tatham.

"But he isn't my trustee!" insisted Felicia, the tears br.i.m.m.i.n.g over; "he's--"

Tatham came up to her, and gravely took her hand.

Felicia looked at him, then at Victoria, then at the circle of amazed faces. With a low cry of "Mother" she turned and fled from the room, drawing Lady Tatham with her.

A little while later, Lydia, the lawyers and Faversham having departed, found herself alone a moment in the library. In the tumult of happy excitement which possessed her, she could not sit still. Without any clear notion of where she was going, she wandered through the open door into the farther room. There, with a start, and a flush, she recognized her own drawings--five of them--in a row. So here, all the time, was her unknown friend; and she had never guessed!

At a sound in the room behind, she turned, hoping it was Lady Tatham who had come back to her. But she saw that it was Tatham himself. He came into the little room, and stood silently beside her, as though wanting her to speak first. With deep emotion she held out her hand, and wished him joy; her gesture, her eyes, all tenderness.

"She is so lovely--so touching! She will win everybody's heart!"

He looked down upon her oddly, like some one oppressed by feelings and thoughts beyond his own unravelling.

"She has been very unhappy," he said simply. "I think I can take care of her."

Lydia looked at him anxiously. A sudden slight darkening seemed to come into the day; and for one terrified moment she seemed to see Tatham--dear, generous youth!--as the truly tragic figure in their high mingled comedy.

Not Melrose--but Tatham! Then, swiftly, the cloud pa.s.sed, and she laughed at herself.