LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

that it is a great shock to hear so suddenly of a death in the family, when we are just fresh from all the excitement and pleasure of the wedding."

      "In the family?"

      "James, you are in what I call a cavilling mood to-day, dear. Why repeat everything I say in that absurd tone of incredulity? The Baronne may not have been an actual blood-relation of our own, but for my poor Esmée's sake I have always looked upon her as one of ourselves. And though we did not see much of her, owing to her living abroad, she and I were great friends."

      James refrained from cavilling again at this remarkable statement, but his expression was such that Mrs. Lloyd-Evans replied to it with some heat:

      "You are too young to remember anything about it, dear, but I shall never forget a journey your father and I took all the way to Paris on purpose to see the old Baronne. It was soon after we lost dear Esmée, and something had to be settled about poor little Zella. Louis was quite heart-broken, in his own way, and, besides, gentlemen do not really quite understand about things always, so he very wisely left it all to me. I remember saying to your father at the time: 'Henry, it is of no use to tell me that the Baronne is a foreigner and a Roman Catholic: I know she is. But dear Esmée always looked upon her as Zella's own grandmother, and it is right she should be allowed a say in the matter.'"

      "I wonder she persuaded you to let Zella go to a convent school, all the same."

      "She persuaded me to nothing," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans with great dignity. "I hope I am broad-minded enough to realize that there is good in every creed; and it was very natural that a Roman Catholic, which the Baronne as a foreigner could hardly help being, poor thing! should wish to have Zella brought up in a Roman Catholic convent. And, after all, James, any religious teaching is better than none, which is what it would have been if Zella had remained with poor Louis, never going to church or anything."

      "Perhaps the Baronne de Kervoyou foresaw that her going to a convent would end in her turning R.C.," suggested James rather dryly.

      "My dear boy, do not impute motives. It may have been so, but one would prefer not to think so just now, at all events," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans solemnly. "In the grave all things are forgotten."

      Evidently they were, for Mrs. Lloyd-Evans refused to dwell upon the Roman Catholicism, foreignness, and French artfulness, of the Baronne, which had hitherto been the only characteristics allowed her in the Lloyd-Evans household, and sallied forth to condole with Zella, garbed in the modified mourning of black moire and purple feathers.

      "No colours on such an errand," she had murmured, with a chastened smile at her son.

      "I'll walk across the Park with you, mother. Of course, Zella knows already, doesn't she?"

      James, versed in his mother's expressions, detected a slight symptom of stiffening.

      Yes, dear, she does. Gentlemen are often very inconsiderate, and, instead of asking me to go round and break it gently to the child, which I would willingly have done, however much one shrinks from that kind of errand, poor Louis must needs go and telegraph to her last night. I dare say she is quite upset to-day," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans with some satisfaction.

      "What does Uncle Louis say?"

      "Nothing much. You know that hasty telegraphio style of his. Louis's letters never really tell one anything. I have always thought it rather an affectation of poor Louis's, to write in that way, though one does not like to say anything of that sort just now, when he is in grief. I always say, Jimmy, that there is what I call a certain sacredness about the first days of a bereavement."

      James wondered, from long experience, whether a reference to little Archie or to poor Esmée would follow.

      "I shall never forget those first few days at Villetswood after the loss of Esmée—how one's only comfort was in dwelling together on the past."

      His mother's construction of a sentence always made the Oxford prig in James writhe.

      She continued with sad but serene volubility:

      "Poor Louis had got over his grief in the most extraordinary manner, considering that in his own way he really was devoted to poor Esmée. But I am afraid that this may reopen the old wound. After all, Jimmy, no one can take a mother's place. A man may find another wife, but never another mother."

      "In this case, however," dryly observed James, "the Baronne de Kervoyou was Uncle Louis's stepmother."

      "Very likely, dear," retorted the undefeated Mrs. Lloyd-Evans; "that only shows the force of my words, that a man can never have two mothers. And however devoted a stepmother may be, it is not the same thing, though in this case I know poor Louis feels as though it were, since he can never remember any other mother than the Baronne. He has often told me that he can never recollect feeling the want of a mother's love."

      This apocryphal quotation reduced James to an appalled silence, which lasted until they had almost reached the St. Crayes' door.

      "Are you coming in, dear?" inquired his mother. "It might be cousinly just to see poor little Zella for a moment —unless, as is very likely, she is lying down quietly in her own room. I often think that to be quite alone and silent is a great comfort in grief. But she might come downstairs to the drawing-room for a few minutes, I dare say."

      "I don't think I'll come in, mother."

      "Ah, my dear boy, I can tell just how you are feeling. Boys are always so shy of any emotion, and you feel afraid of a little scene, I dare say. But there really would be no need for you to say much. I often think," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans with earnest discursiveness, one foot on the St. Crayes' doorstep—" I often think that one can convey more sympathy with just one look than by any number of words. Words are so meaningless, somehow, in grief. You will find that out as you grow older."

      "My dear mother, they will be answering the bell in another minute," said James in some agitation.

      "I dare say, dear, though in these big houses the servants are often very badly trained. And I don't think Lady St. Craye is a woman who would manage a household at all well; there is something very frivolous and shallow about her, I always think."

      "Good-bye, mother. Give Zella my love. I shan't see you to-night, as I am dining out."

      "Where, Jimmy? I wish you would not make petty mysteries, my dear boy; why not say quite simply and openly"

      "Is Lady St. Craye at home?" was what James did say, as the door was opened noiselessly behind Mrs. Lloyd-Evans.

      "Yes? Good-bye, then, mother."

      He was gone, and Mrs. Lloyd-Evans, who had had no intention of asking to see anyone but her niece, resentfully found herself ushered into the drawing-room.

      Lady St. Craye trailed forward, appealingly pretty, with outstretched hand.

      "How is Zella?" demanded Mrs. Lloyd-Evans without preliminary greeting. "I knew you would understand my coming straight round on hearing this sad news from my poor brother-in-law this morning, and of course it came as a shock. The Baronne was a very old friend of ours, and though, of course, she was over seventy, no one expected the end to be so near."

      "I'm so sorry," murmured Lady St. Craye regretfully. "Do sit down, and of course Zella must be told you are here. I think she is in Alison's sitting-room; they are great friends, you know."

      She ended with her habitual half-timid, little lingering smile.

      Mrs. Lloyd-Evans looked with reproachful eyes at the smile, and forcibly dragged the conversation back from this lighter vein by repeating wearily:

      "One feels how true it is, that in the midst of life we are in death."

      "Was it quite unexpected?" hazarded Lady St. Craye.

      "One knew it must come some day," returned her guest with an air of prescience. "But she was really no worse than she had often been, with these bronchial attacks. Then quite suddenly my poor brother-in-law got a telegram from his sister saying that—well, it was really a curiously worded telegram. One hardly knows how to repeat it, except that one makes

Скачать книгу