Then in rushed Gillian, followed by Dolores.
"Oh, mother!" cried Gillian, "there's a fresh instalment of pots and pans come in, such horrid things some of them! There's a statue in terra-cotta, half as large as life, of the Dirty Boy. Geraldine, do pray come and see what can be done with him. Kalliope is in utter despair, for they come from Craydon's, and to offend them would be fatal."
"Kalliope and the Dirty Boy," said Mrs. Grinstead, laughing. "A dreadful conjunction; I must go and see if it is possible to establish the line between the sublime and the ridiculous."
"Shall I ask your nephew's leave to let you go," said Lady Merrifield, "after all the orders I have received?"
"Oh, no-" she began, but Gerald had jumped up.
"I'll steer you over the drawbridge, Cherie, if go you must. Yes,"- to the young ladies-"I appreciate your needs. Nobody has the same faculty in her fingers as this aunt of mine. Come along, Mona, it is Mrs. Henderson's stall, you know."
Ludmilla came, chiefly because she was afraid to be left, and Lady Merrifield could not but come too, meeting on the way Anna, come to implore help in arranging the Dirty Boy, before Captain Henderson knocked his head off, as he was much disposed to do.
Gillian had bounded on before with a handful of sandwiches, but Dolores tarried behind, having let the General help her to the leg of a chicken, which she seemed in no haste to dissect. Her uncle went off on some other call before she had finished, eating and drinking with the bitter sauce of reflection on the fleeting nature of young men's attentions and even confidences, and how easily everything was overthrown at sight of a pretty face, especially in the half-and-half class. She had only just come out into the verandah, wearily to return to the preparations, which had lost whatever taste they had for her, when she saw Gerald Underwood springing over the partition wall. Her impulse was to escape him, but it was too late; he came eagerly up to her, saying-
"She is safe with Mrs. Henderson. I am to go back for her when our duet comes on."
Dolores did not want to lower herself by showing jealousy or offence, but she could not help turning decidedly away, saying-
"I am wanted."
"Are you? I wanted to tell you why I am so interested in her. Dolores, can you hear me now?-she is my sister."
"Your sister!" in utter amaze.
"Every one says they see it in the colour of our eyes."
"Every one"-she seemed able to do nothing but repeat his words.
"Well, my uncle Lancelot, and-and my mother. No one else knows yet. They want to spare my aunt till this concern is over."
"But how can it be?"
"It is a horrid business altogether!" he said, taking her down to the unfrequented parts of the lower end of the garden, where they could walk up and down hidden by the bushes and shrubs. "You knew that my father was an artist and musician, who fled from over patronage."
"I think I have heard so."
"He married a singing-woman, and she grew tired of him, and of me, deserted and divorced him in Chicago, when I was ten months old. He was the dearest, most devoted of fathers, till he and I were devoured by the Indians. If they had completed their operations on my scalp, it would have been all the better for me. Instead of which Travis picked me up, brought me home, and they made me as much of an heir of all the traditions as nature would permit, all ignoring that not only was my father Bohemian ingrain, but that my mother was-in short-one of the gipsies of civilization. They never expected to hear of her again, but behold, the rapturous discovery has taken place. She recognised Lance, the only one of the family she had ever seen before, and then the voice of blood-more truly the voice of £ s. d.- -exerted itself."
"How was it she did not find you out before?"
"My father seems to have concealed his full name; I remember his being called Tom Wood. She married in her own line after casting him off, and this pretty little thing is her child-the only tolerable part of it."
"But she cannot have any claim on you," said Dolores, with a more shocked look and tone than the words conveyed.
"Not she-in reason; but the worst of it is, Dolores, that the wretched woman avers that she deceived my father, and had an old rascally tyrant of an Italian husband, who might have been alive when she married."
"Gerald!"
Dolores stood still and looked at him with her eyes opened in horror.
"Yes, you may well say Gerald. 'Tis the only name I have a right to if this is true."
"But you are still yourself," and she held out her hand.
He did not take it, however, only saying-
"You know what this means?"
"Of course I do, but that does not alter you-yourself in yourself."
"If you say that, Dolores, it will only alter me to make me-more- more myself."
She held out her hand again, and this time he did take it and press it, but he started, dropped it, and said-
"It is not fair."
"Oh yes, it is. I know what it means," she repeated, "and it makes no difference," and this time it was she who took his hand.
"It means that unless this marriage is disproved, or the man's death proved, I am an outcast, dependent on myself, instead of the curled darling the Grinsteads-blessings on them!-have brought me up."
"I don't know whether I don't like you better so," exclaimed she, looking into his clear eyes and fine open face, full of resolution, not of shame.
"While you say so-" He broke off. "Yes, thus I can bear it better. The estate is almost an oppression to me. The Bohemian nature is in me, I suppose. I had rather carve out life for myself than have the landlord business loaded on my shoulders. Clement and Lance will make the model parson and squire far better than I. 'The Inspector's Tour' was a success-between that and the Underwood music there's no fear but I shall get an independent career."
"Oh! that is noble! You will be much more than your old self-as you said."
"The breaking of Cherie's heart is all that I care about," said he. "To her I was comfort, almost compensation for those brothers. I don't know how-" He paused. "We'll let her alone till all this is over; so, Dolores, not one word to any one."
"No, no, no!" she exclaimed. "I will-I will be true to you through everything, Gerald; I will wait till you have seen your way, and be proud of you through all."
"Then I can bear it-I have my incentive," he said. "First, you see, I must try to rescue my sister. I do not think it will be hard, for the maternal heart seems to be denied to that woman. Then proofs must be sought, and according as they are found or not-"
Loud calls of "Gerald" and "Mr. Underwood" began to resound. He finished-
"Must be the future."
"Our future," repeated Dolores.
CHAPTER XX. FRENCH LEAVE
She came, she is gone, we have met, And meet perhaps never again.-COWPER.
The evening of that day was a scene of welcomes, dinners, and confusion. The Rotherwoods had arrived that evening at the Cliff Hotel just in time for dinner, of which they considerately partook where they were, to save Jane Mohun trouble; but all four of the party came the instant it was over to hear and see all that was going on, and were fervently received by Gillian and Mysie, who were sleeping at their aunt's to be ready for the morrow, and in spite of all fatigue, had legs wherewith to walk Lord Ivinghoe and Lady Phyllis round the stalls, now closed up by canvas and guarded by police. Phyllis was only mournful not to have assisted in the preparations, and heard all the fun that Mrs. Grinstead had made. But over the wall of Carrara a sight was seen for which no one was prepared-no other than Maura White's pretty classical face!
"Yes," she said, "how could I be away from such an occasion? I made Uncle White bring me to London-he had business there, you know-and then I descended on Kalliope, and wasn't she surprised! But I have a lovely Italian dress!"