certainly vernon's story was the most amazing that any girl had ever listened to. notwithstanding my great joy i could not take it all in at once. the first time of telling seemed to have little or no effect on me, except that it lightened my heart in a most curious manner of a load which was almost insupportable. i sprang suddenly to my feet.
"will you come out with me?" i said. "shall we go up on the downs, and will you tell me there the whole story from beginning to end over again?"
he smiled and said, in his bright way:
"all right, little heather."
i flew upstairs. aunt penelope was moving about in her room, but i would not go to her. i felt somehow that i could not meet her just yet, and she, dear old thing, must have guessed my feelings, for she did not attempt to trouble me. i put on my hat and jacket, snatched up my gloves, and ran downstairs. vernon was waiting for me. how tall he was, and broad, and how splendidly he carried himself!
"oh, vernon," i said, looking into his face, "i am so proud that you are a soldier!"
he laughed.
"thank you very much indeed, little heather," he said.
when we got out he drew my hand through his arm, and we went up to the beautiful downs. we sat on the heather and he told me the story over again; i took it in much better this time. when it was quite finished i said:
"and father—what is to become of father?"
"i'm afraid he'll have to go on living with lady helen," was vernon's answer. but i shook my head.
"no," i said; "not at all. i have a better scheme than that. lady helen is very much frightened, isn't she, vernon?"
"a 'blue funk' doesn't even describe her," replied vernon.
"well, then," i said, "i have a plan in my head. you and i will go up to london to-morrow." "i am quite agreeable, heather—that is, if it causes you to hurry on our wedding day."
"oh, there's time enough for our wedding day," i said. "we mustn't be selfish, you know, vernon."
"selfish? by jove!" he exclaimed. "little you know about selfishness when you accuse me of it."
"oh, vernon," i said, "i'm just so happy i scarcely know what to do. but because i am so happy i don't want the one i love best in all the world after yourself to be out in the cold."
"what do you mean by that, heather dear?"
"just what i say. i don't want to leave my own darling father absolutely miserable."
"jove! you're right there. but what can you do? you can't part a man from his lawful wife."
"no more i can—that's quite true; but i do want to see him and—i must see lady helen, too. vernon, you'll help me, won't you?"
"by all means," he answered. "but now, let us talk of ourselves. how soon do you think we can be married—in a fortnight? surely a fortnight would be long enough for any reasonable girl."
"i am by no means certain of that," i replied. "i will marry you, vernon, as soon as ever i can put other matters right."
"oh, but i have a voice in this, for i mean to marry you without a moment's delay—that is, i mean that i will give you one fortnight and not an hour beyond. it is the fashion now to be married by banns. well, we'll have our banns cried on sunday next and on the following sunday and the sunday after, and we can be married on the monday after that. that's about right, isn't it? that's as it ought to be."
"vernon, you are so—so impulsive."
"well, little girl, i'm made like that. when i want a thing i generally contrive to get it, and that as soon as possible. jove! i did have work in getting you. if i hadn't thought and thought, and very nearly driven myself distracted, do you imagine for a single moment i'd have ferreted out that secret of gideon dalrymple's? so much thinking is exceedingly bad for a fellow, heather, and the sooner you can set his heart at rest, the better for his general health."
"all right," i replied. "i will marry you in a fortnight if father is happy and if aunt penelope is satisfied."
"you needn't doubt her," said vernon. "i put the question to her before you entered the drawing-room. when you were upstairs, putting on that pretty frock and tidying your hair, i had the brunt of the business settled with her. she likes sharp work; she told me so. when you appeared on the scene i was quite like an old family man pouring out the tea for her, and all the rest."
"there never was anyone like you," i said, and i took his hand timidly in mine.
"come—this is all nonsense! kiss me, heather."
"no, no, vernon—i—i can't."
"don't be a dear little goose. i must be paid for what i've done. kiss me this instant."
"it's your place——" i began.
"all right, if that's how you put it."
he clasped his arms round me and drew me close to him and kissed me over and over and over again.
"there now," he said; "it's your turn."
"but you have kissed me."
"of course, i have. i want you to kiss me. now begin. come, heather, don't be shy."
i did kiss him, and after i had kissed him once i kissed him again, and my dark eyes looked into his blue ones, and i seemed to see the steadfast, bright, honourable soul that dwelt within his breast, and i knew that i was the happiest of girls.
we went slowly back from the downs into the more shady part of the little town. we stopped at aunt penelope's house. a great deal had been happening in our absence. buttons was flying about like a creature demented, the parrot was calling in a voice loud enough to deafen you: "stop knocking at the door!" and aunt penelope was in her very best cap and in her softest and most stately black silk dress. she wore black silk dresses of the sort which are never seen now. it was thick; it would almost stand by itself; it had a ribby sort of texture, and in order to enrich the silk it was heavily trimmed with bands of black velvet and with a fringe of what they called black bugles. the effect was at once dull and extremely handsome. it suited aunt penelope to a nicety—that and her little cap with the real point lace and the soft mauve ribbons.
when i appeared she just nodded to me and said something to vernon, and he said: "yes, certainly." i ran upstairs. presently i heard a tap at my door. i went to open it; aunt penelope stood outside.
"may i come in, heather?"
"of course, darling auntie."
i took her hand; i drew her into the room.
"heather, i know—it's too wonderful. what a splendid fellow! heather, i am glad."
"oh, auntie, my heart is bursting with happiness!"
"heather, child, i'm a woman of few words, but if your mother were alive she'd be proud of this day. he has the very soul of honesty in his face; he is better looking than your poor dear father ever was, but he has the same sort of nature, so boyish, so impulsive, so brave. he's a dear—that's all that i can say about him."
"and if you weren't a dear for your own sake, you'd be one for calling him one," was my somewhat incoherent answer.
"well, now, that's enough sentiment, child; we must to business. how do you like my dress?"
"it's magnificent—and you have put it on in honour of me."
"in honour of a captain in his majesty's army. child, i do so greatly respect army men."
"oh, yes, i see. thank you, so do i. indeed, it's a very handsome dress," i continued.
"i think so," she replied. "it was made fifteen years ago, at least. i only wear it on the very best occasions, otherwise it would have got greasy ages and ages before now. it's amazing how difficult it is to keep these really good silks from turning greasy; the grease seems to cling to them in some sort of fashion, and you can never get it out, try as you will."
"it looks awfully nice—it really does, auntie."
"i am proud to be wearing it for your sake and for his to-night."
"and you have asked him to dinner?"
"yes. i have come to speak of that. it is a real dinner; jonas and i have concocted it between us. you are to know nothing about it; you are just to eat it when it comes on the table, and to be right-down thankful. now that you are happy you must eat well, for nothing in some ways takes it out of one more than happiness. you have been looking sadly worn out, child, and now you have got to eat and drink and get your pretty, youthful roses back again. oh, heather, vernon agrees with me about the world; he hates fashionable people. he told me, dear boy, that for a short time he was engaged to one of them. i never met anybody so confiding."
"i know all about his engagement," i said. "i saw her once, too; she was very handsome."
"ah, yes; i have no doubt—a society doll. well, he hasn't chosen badly, when he's elected that your little face and your brown eyes and your warm heart shall accompany him through life. you'd best smarten yourself up a bit for dinner, heather; i don't want your old aunt to take the shine out of you, my love—and, remember, this dress is uncommonly handsome."
"yes, auntie, i know. i shouldn't be surprised if you did take the shine out of me; but i don't think i shall greatly mind."
so i put on a pretty white dress, for a few of my dresses had been sent from london, doubtless by my dear father's orders, and ran downstairs. bless that boy buttons—he had effected marvels! the tiny dining room was gay with flowers, the very best old dinner service had been got out for the occasion, the best silver had been polished up, and i, who was accustomed to doing pretty nearly half the work of the house, wasn't allowed to put my hand to anything. i really felt annoyed. i did not like to be at hill view without attending to its household economy.
vernon came in from his rooms at the little hotel, looking spick and span, as he always did. we three sat down to dinner, and certainly that dinner was a triumph. i have often puzzled myself to wonder how aunt penelope contrived to manage it. first of all there was soup, the best soup i had ever tasted, and then there was fish, trout which had been alive a couple of hours before, and then there was pigeon pie and peas and potatoes, and afterwards strawberries and cream. there was also a bottle of very old port wine, which aunt penelope fingered with a trembling hand.
"i have had it in the house since long before your mother was married," she said to me. "vernon, my boy, you will find it worthy of even your refined tastes."
vernon immediately begged to be allowed to draw the cork; he said that such precious old wine as that required most tender handling. aunt penelope and i had a little glass each, and vernon had one or two, and afterwards he told aunt penelope something of our plans and how he and i were going to london on the morrow to see my father and lady helen.
aunt penelope nodded her head several times.
"i have only one improvement to make on that plan," she said.
"oh, but what improvement can you make, auntie?" was my reply.
"i can and i will," she said, with emphasis. "i am quite well now, as well as ever. now what i mean to do is this; i mean to go with you two good young people. i will never be in your way, never for a moment, but i will guard you from the malicious tongue of mrs. grundy. she's a nasty old body, and i don't want her to get at you. there's a quiet little hotel in bloomsbury where heather and i can have rooms, and where we can stay, and i make not the slightest doubt that i can help heather very considerably in her dealings with lady helen dalrymple."
"oh, you can, you can," i said; "it will be quite splendid!"
so the plan was carried out. jonas was informed that very evening that miss penelope and i were going to leave hill view early on the morrow.
"we shall probably be back in a few days," said aunt penelope. "in the meantime, jonas, you must attend to the house cleaning; give it a thorough turn-out. wash every scrap of paint, jonas; be sure you wash the backs of the shutters, don't leave a single place with a scrap of dirt in it; remember, i'll find it out if it exists—be certain of that."
"yes, mum; thank you, mum," said jonas. "i'll be sure to do what you wish, mum."
"and jonas, you understand the garden. you can get the grass into order and remove all the weeds. we may be having a smart time down here by and by, there's no saying, there's no saying at all, but at least remember that you haven't a minute to lose. you are a good boy, jonas, and you'll work as hard when i am away as though i were at home."
"yes, mum; of course, mum," said jonas. "me and the parrot," he added.
"stop knocking at the door!" shouted the parrot.
"there! if that bird isn't enough to split one's head," said aunt penelope.
she went upstairs. vernon had already gone back to the hotel. buttons gave me a feeling glance.
"stay below for a minute, missy. is it true? is there nuptials in this 'ere thing?"
"yes, jonas."
"i thought as much. didn't i twig it when i heard his steps and saw the starty sort of way you got into? i'm a smart boy, i am. missy, you'll have me at the wedding, won't you?"
"i promise you, jonas, you shall certainly come," i answered rashly.
the next day we went up to london. we had no special adventure on our journey to town. we went first-class. i remembered my journey down, and how interesting i had thought the third-class passengers, but now we travelled back in state. vernon said it would be less tiring for aunt penelope. when we got to paddington we drove to the little hotel that aunt penelope knew about; it was a quiet little place at one corner of a small square in bloomsbury. it was very old-fashioned and not much frequented of late. the proprietor, however, knew aunt penelope quite well. had he not entertained her and my mother also in the long-ago days when they were young? aunt penelope was anxious to secure the same rooms, and, strange as it may seem, she managed to get them. the landlord was very pleased indeed to show them to her, and she told me afterwards that the sight of them brought a prickly sensation into the back of her eyes, and made her feel inclined to cry. the rooms were quiet and clean, and that was the main thing. vernon did not think much of them, but they pleased aunt penelope, and that, of course, was the most important matter of all.
having arranged about the rooms, vernon now suggested that we should engage a taxi-cab and drive straight to hanbury square, but here aunt penelope put down her foot.
"what sort of cab did you say, my dear boy?"
"a taxi-cab, auntie." he called her "auntie" from the very moment we were properly engaged.
"i don't like new sorts of cabs," replied my aunt. "i want what in my young days used to be called a 'growler.' i hate hansoms; i wouldn't dare go in one of them."
in vain poor vernon pleaded for the light and swift motion of the cab which was driven by petrol. the old lady held up her hands with horror.
"not for worlds would i go in a motor-cab," she said. "vernon, i have admired you and stood up for you, but i shall do so no longer if you even mention such a thing to me again."
so in the end we three had to drive to my stepmother's in a four-wheeled cab. aunt penelope said that it was quite a handsome conveyance, and not the least like the "growlers" she used to remember in the days when she and her sister were young. we got to the great and beautiful house about noon. we walked up the steps and vernon rang the bell.
"perhaps they'll be out," i could not help whispering in his ear.
"no, i think not," he replied. "i sent a telegram this morning which i imagine will keep them at home. now, you'll keep up your courage, won't you, darling?"
"you needn't be afraid," i replied.
he gave my hand a squeeze, and the door was flung open. the automaton who opened it could not help becoming flesh and blood when he saw my face. a queer flicker went over his countenance; he coloured, faintly smiled, then, remembering himself, became a wooden man once again.
"is lady helen in?" i ventured to say.
"yes, miss dalrymple. i'll inquire of her ladyship if she can see you, and——" he glanced at vernon, he looked with downright suspicion at aunt penelope.
"it is all right," i said. "we can go into the little sitting-room at the left of the hall. will you please say that i have called, and that miss despard and captain carbury are with me? say that we wish to see her ladyship."
"and as soon as possible," snapped aunt penelope. "have the goodness further to inform lady helen that we are in a considerable hurry, and would be glad if she would make it convenient not to keep us waiting long."
"certainly, madam," replied the man. he disappeared, and we waited in the little room towards the left of the hall.
"aunt penelope, you are brave," i could not help saying.
"i come of a brave stock," said the old lady. "did not my father die when little more than a boy in the battle of inkerman, and my grandfather at waterloo? yes, i had need to be brave."
