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The Mistress of Shenstone. Barclay Florence Louisa
Читать онлайн.Название The Mistress of Shenstone
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Автор произведения Barclay Florence Louisa
Жанр Зарубежная классика
Издательство Public Domain
The doctor smiled. “Quite so,” he said, “Only, we must not quote him as an instance; because, being made of brass, I fear he was devoid of instinct. Otherwise he would have been an excellent case in point. And I believe animals possess far more spiritual life than we suspect. Do you remember a passage in the Psalms which says that the lions ‘seek their meat from God’? And, more striking still, in the same Psalm we read of the whole brute creation, that when God hides His face ‘they are troubled.’ Good heavens!” said the doctor, earnestly; “I wish our spiritual life always answered to these two tests: – that God’s will should be paramount over our strongest instincts; and that any cloud between us and the light of His face, should cause us instant trouble of soul.”
“I like that expression ‘spiritual life,’” said Lady Ingleby. “I am sure you mean by it what other people sometimes express so differently. Did you hear of the Duchess of Meldrum attending that big evangelistic meeting in the Albert Hall? I really don’t know exactly what it was. Some sort of non-sectarian mission, I gather, with a preacher over from America; and the meetings went on for a fortnight. It would never have occurred to me to go to them. But the dear old duchess always likes to be ‘in the know’ and to sample everything. Besides, she holds a proprietary stall. So she sailed into the Albert Hall one afternoon, in excellent time, and remained throughout the entire proceedings. She enjoyed the singing; thought the vast listening crowd, marvellous; was moved to tears by the eloquence of the preacher, and was leaving the hall more touched than she had been for years, and fully intending to return, bringing others with her, when a smug person, hovering about the entrance, accosted her with: ‘Excuse me madam; are you a Christian?’ The duchess raised her lorgnette in blank amazement, and looked him tip and down. Very likely the tears still glistened upon her proud old face. Anyway this impossible person appears to have considered her a promising case. Emboldened by her silence, he laid his hand upon her arm, and repeated his question: ‘Madam, are you a Christian?’ Then the duchess awoke to the situation with a vengeance. ‘My good man,’ she said, clearly and deliberately, so that all in the lobby could hear; ‘I should have thought it would have been perfectly patent to your finely trained perceptions, that I am an engaging mixture of Jew, Turk, Infidel, and Heathen Chinee! Now, if you will kindly stand aside, I will pass to my carriage.’ – And the duchess sampled no more evangelistic meetings!”
The doctor sighed. “Tactless,” he said. “Ah, the pity of it, when ‘fools rush in where angels fear to tread!’”
“People scream with laughter, when the duchess tells it,” said Lady Ingleby; “but then she imitates the unctuous person so exactly; and she does not mention the tears. I have them from an eye-witness. But – as I was saying – I like your expression: ‘spiritual life.’ It really holds a meaning; and, though one may have to admit one does not possess any, or, that what one does possess is at a low ebb, yet one sees the genuine thing in others, and it is something to believe in, at all events. – Look how peacefully little Peter is sleeping. You have evidently set his mind at rest. That is Michael’s armchair; and, therefore, Peter’s. Now we will send away the tea-things; and then – may I become a patient?”
CHAPTER III
WHAT PETER KNEW
“Isn’t my good Groatley a curious looking person?” said Lady Ingleby, as the door closed behind the butler. “I call him the Gryphon, because he looks perpetually astonished. His eyebrows are like black horseshoes, and they mount higher and higher up his forehead as one’s sentence proceeds. But he is very faithful, and knows his work, and Michael approves him. Do you like this portrait of Michael? Garth Dalmain stayed here a few months before he lost his sight, poor boy, and painted us both. I believe mine was practically his last portrait. It hangs in the dining-room.”
The doctor moved his chair opposite the fireplace, so that he could sit facing the picture over the mantelpiece, yet turn readily toward Lady Ingleby on his left. On his right, little Peter, with an occasional sobbing sigh, slept heavily in his absent master’s chair. The log-fire burned brightly. The electric light, from behind amber glass, sent a golden glow as of sunshine through the room. The dank damp drip of autumn had no place in this warm luxury. The curtains were closely drawn; and that which is not seen, can be forgotten.
The doctor glanced at the clock. The minute-hand pointed to the quarter before six.
He lifted his eyes to the picture.
“I hardly know Lord Ingleby sufficiently well to give an opinion; but I should say it is an excellent likeness, possessing, to a large degree, the peculiar quality of all Dalmain’s portraits: – the more you look at them, the more you see in them. They are such extraordinary character studies. With your increased knowledge of the person, grows your appreciation of the cleverness of the portrait.”
“Yes,” said Lady Ingleby, leaning forward to look intently up at the picture. “It often startles me as I come into the room, because I see a fresh expression on the face, just according to my own mood, or what I happen to have been doing; and I realise Michael’s mind on the subject more readily from the portrait than from my own knowledge of him. Garth Dalmain was a genius!”
“Now tell me,” said the doctor, gently. “Why did you leave town, your many friends, your interests there, in order to bury yourself down here, during this dismal autumn weather? Surely the strain of waiting for news would have been less, within such easy reach of the War Office and of the evening papers.”
Lady Ingleby laughed, rather mirthlessly.
“I came away, Sir Deryck, partly to escape from dear mamma; and as you do not know dear mamma, it is almost impossible for you to understand how essential it was to escape. When Michael is away, I am defenceless. Mamma swoops down; takes up her abode in my house; reduces my household, according to their sex and temperament, to rage, hysterics, or despair; tells unpalatable home-truths to my friends, so that all – save the duchess – flee discomforted. Then mamma proceeds to ‘divide the spoil’! In other words: she lies in wait for my telegrams, and opens them herself, saying that if they contain good news, a dutiful daughter should delight in at once sharing it with her; whereas, if they contain bad news, which heaven forbid! – and surely, with mamma snorting skyward, heaven would not venture to do otherwise! —she is the right person to break it to me, gently. I bore it for six weeks; then fled down here, well knowing that not even the dear delight of bullying me would bring mamma to Shenstone in autumn.”
The doctor’s face was grave. For a moment he looked silently into the fire. He was a man of many ideals, and foremost among them was his ideal of the relation which should be between parents and children; of the loyalty to a mother, which, even if forced to admit faults or failings, should tenderly shield them from the knowledge or criticism of outsiders. It hurt him, as a sacrilege, to hear a daughter speak thus of her mother; yet he knew well, from facts which were common knowledge, how little cause the sweet, lovable woman at his side had to consider the tie either a sacred or a tender one. He had come to help, not to find fault. Also, the minute-hand was hastening towards the hour; and the final instructions of the kind-hearted old Duchess of Meldrum, as she parted from him at the War Office, had been: “Remember! Six o’clock from London. I shall insist upon its being kept back until then. If they make difficulties, I shall camp in the entrance and ‘hold up’ every messenger who attempts to pass out. But I am accustomed to have my own way with these good people. I should not hesitate to ring up Buckingham Palace, if necessary, as they very well know! So you may rest assured it will not leave London until six o’clock. It gives you ample time.”
Therefore the doctor said: “I understand. It does not come within my own experience; yet I think I understand. But tell me, Lady Ingleby. If bad news were to come, would you sooner receive it direct from the War Office, in the terribly crude wording which cannot be avoided in those telegrams; or would you rather that a friend – other than your mother – broke it to you, more gently?”
Myra’s eyes flashed. She sat up with instant animation.
“Oh,