The Man Between [56]
and gave lessons in housekeeping or dressmaking or some other drudgery till noon. They walked back to the Castle for lunch. They attended to their own improvement from half-past one until four, had lessons in drawing and chemistry, and, I believe, electricity. They had another walk, and then indulged themselves with a cup of tea. They dressed and received visitors, and read science or theology between whiles. There was always some noted preacher or scholar at the dinner table. The conversation was about acids and explosives, or the planets or bishops, or else on the never, never-ending subject of elevating the workingman and building schools for his children. Basil, of course, enjoyed it. He thought he was giving me a magnificent object lesson. He was never done praising the ladies Mary Elinor and Adelaide Stanhope. I'm sure I wish he had married one or all of them--and I told him so."
"You could not be so cruel, Dora."
"I managed it with the greatest ease imaginable. He was always trotting at their side. They spoke of him as `the most pious young man.' I have no doubt they were all in love with him. I hope they were. I used to pretend to be very much in love when they were present. I dare say it made them wretched. Besides, they blushed and thought me improper. Basil didn't approve, either, so I hit all round."
She rose at this memory and shook out her silk skirts, and walked up and down the room with an air that was the visible expression of the mockery and jealousy in her heart. This was an entirely different Dora to the lachrymose, untidy wife at the Savoy Hotel in London, and Ethel had a momentary pang at the thought of the suffering which was responsible for the change.
"If I had thought, Dora, you were so uncomfortable, I would have asked Basil and you to the Court."
"You saw I was not happy when I was at the Savoy."
"I thought you and Basil had had a kind of lovers' quarrel, and that it would blow over in an hour or two; no one likes to meddle with an affair of that kind. Are you going to Newport, or is Mrs. Denning in New York?"
"That is another trouble, Ethel. When I wrote mother I wanted to come to her, she sent me word she was going to Lenox with a friend. Then, like you, she said `she had no liberty to invite me,' and so on. I never knew mother act in such a way before. I nearly broke my heart about it for a few days, then I made up my mind I wouldn't care."
"Mrs. Denning, I am sure, thought she did the wisest and kindest thing possible."
"I didn't want mother to be wise. I wanted her to understand that I was fairly worn out with my present life and needed a change. I'm sure she did understand. Then why was she so cruel?" and she shrugged her shoulders impatiently and sat down. "I'm so tired of life," she continued. "When did you hear of Fred Mostyn?"
"I know nothing of his movements. Is he in America?"
"Somewhere. I asked mother if he was in Newport, and she never answered the ques- tion. I suppose he will be in New York for the winter season. I hope so."
This topic threatened to be more dangerous than the other, and Ethel, after many and futile attempts to bring conversation into safe commonplace channels, pleaded other engagements and went away. She was painfully depressed by the interview. All the elements of tragedy were gathered together under the roof she had just left, and, as far as she could see, there was no deliverer wise and strong enough to prevent a calamity. She did not repeat to Ruth the conversation which had been so painful to her. She described Dora's dress and appearance, and commented on Fred Mostyn's description of Tyrrel Rawdon, and on Mrs. Denning's refusal of her daughter's proposed visit.
Ruth thought the latter circumstance significant. "I dare say Mostyn was in Newport at that time," she answered. "Mrs. Denning has some very quick perceptions." And Ruth's opinion was probably correct, for during dinner the Judge remarked in a casual manner that he had met Mr. Mostyn on the avenue as he was coming home. "He was well," he said, "and made all the
"You could not be so cruel, Dora."
"I managed it with the greatest ease imaginable. He was always trotting at their side. They spoke of him as `the most pious young man.' I have no doubt they were all in love with him. I hope they were. I used to pretend to be very much in love when they were present. I dare say it made them wretched. Besides, they blushed and thought me improper. Basil didn't approve, either, so I hit all round."
She rose at this memory and shook out her silk skirts, and walked up and down the room with an air that was the visible expression of the mockery and jealousy in her heart. This was an entirely different Dora to the lachrymose, untidy wife at the Savoy Hotel in London, and Ethel had a momentary pang at the thought of the suffering which was responsible for the change.
"If I had thought, Dora, you were so uncomfortable, I would have asked Basil and you to the Court."
"You saw I was not happy when I was at the Savoy."
"I thought you and Basil had had a kind of lovers' quarrel, and that it would blow over in an hour or two; no one likes to meddle with an affair of that kind. Are you going to Newport, or is Mrs. Denning in New York?"
"That is another trouble, Ethel. When I wrote mother I wanted to come to her, she sent me word she was going to Lenox with a friend. Then, like you, she said `she had no liberty to invite me,' and so on. I never knew mother act in such a way before. I nearly broke my heart about it for a few days, then I made up my mind I wouldn't care."
"Mrs. Denning, I am sure, thought she did the wisest and kindest thing possible."
"I didn't want mother to be wise. I wanted her to understand that I was fairly worn out with my present life and needed a change. I'm sure she did understand. Then why was she so cruel?" and she shrugged her shoulders impatiently and sat down. "I'm so tired of life," she continued. "When did you hear of Fred Mostyn?"
"I know nothing of his movements. Is he in America?"
"Somewhere. I asked mother if he was in Newport, and she never answered the ques- tion. I suppose he will be in New York for the winter season. I hope so."
This topic threatened to be more dangerous than the other, and Ethel, after many and futile attempts to bring conversation into safe commonplace channels, pleaded other engagements and went away. She was painfully depressed by the interview. All the elements of tragedy were gathered together under the roof she had just left, and, as far as she could see, there was no deliverer wise and strong enough to prevent a calamity. She did not repeat to Ruth the conversation which had been so painful to her. She described Dora's dress and appearance, and commented on Fred Mostyn's description of Tyrrel Rawdon, and on Mrs. Denning's refusal of her daughter's proposed visit.
Ruth thought the latter circumstance significant. "I dare say Mostyn was in Newport at that time," she answered. "Mrs. Denning has some very quick perceptions." And Ruth's opinion was probably correct, for during dinner the Judge remarked in a casual manner that he had met Mr. Mostyn on the avenue as he was coming home. "He was well," he said, "and made all the