Alice Lauder/Part 2/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
THE delicious spring days that followed Mrs. Damon’s reception were very far from being wholly delightful to Alice. There was a wrong note in all the spring harmony, a vague sense of trouble even in the bee-haunted daffodils. She hardly asked herself what was wrong, and she avoided the little social meetings of the neighbours where her bright friendliness had usually been so welcome. There was nothing in the few words that Mr. Austin had addressed to her that evening to spoil her peaceful enjoyment of nature; but she carried about a painful impression of confusion and misunderstanding. Perhaps it was not so much his warning—if warning were really meant—that gave her this presentiment of trouble; but Alice had suddenly felt that her eyes were opened to something wrong, something dangerous—she hardly knew what it was, or where the cloud rose in the blue sky. There was trouble—worse, there was a sense of wrongdoing—in the air, and in the sunny outburst of nature’s happiness that Southern spring morning. After a time she began to piece together, with the unconscious workmanship by which we join words and thoughts and scenes together, till they form a connected whole, all the little sayings and meanings of the Green Street circle which had fallen unheeded on her ears hitherto. It was not to be supposed, in such a green, idyllic spot as this, that gossip would forget to trade her wares; and, indeed, poor Lizzie’s name had been frequently canvassed of late amongst her friends. Everybody knew, of course, what a good, open-hearted child of nature she was in reality; still, she was going a little too far this time. She ought to be advised by somebody; or, at least, Mr. Campbell should be spoken to; or, if not Mr. Campbell, then why did not her husband interfere? She would get herself into hot water, and there was danger ahead. There is no smoke without fire; and so on, and so on. This airy conflict raged over Lizzie’s head, however, quite unperceived by her, and she continued her joyous and meteor-like career over the ballrooms and tennis lawns of town and country as gaily and triumphantly as any woman with a perfect profile, a new dress for every day in the year, and a clear conscience, could possibly desire.
It is true that some women may steal a heart while others dare not look over a hedge; and Lizzie had always appeared to belong to this pleasing and unblamed class of criminals. But now she had reached the invisible cordon which separates the safe from the unsafe—in the eyes of the world, at all events—and it was time for her to draw back. But the worst of it all was—and this struck a pang of cold foreboding into Alice’s soul—that Mrs. Austin’s sparkling face and geranium complexion were not so joyous and brilliant as they were wont to be. There was an unusual sweetness and gentleness in her voice and manner, a more wistful and far-away expression of thought in her liquid childlike eyes, that made her look far sweeter, but different, in some remote indescribable way. We all know the name of the magician who generally works these changes, and we know, too, that his victim is often the only one in the circle who is unconscious of his fatal spell. Some Frenchwoman has said, “Love is a tile that falls on one’s head,”—a saying that really sums up the philosophy of the whole matter in a nutshell. But supposing the tile falls on a young matron’s thoughtless curly head? Who is to warn her of her danger, and to what hospice can she flee for refuge? These questions troubled everybody, more or less, who knew Lizzie, except herself; and they troubled Alice more than anyone, perhaps, though she was in no way concerned, as she assured herself with great firmness several hundred times a day on an average. There seemed, however, some strange conspiracy in the air—in the very flowers of her garden, and the wattle blossoms that shook their golden hailstorms over the wall—to draw the net closer around her and bring her into the meshes of fate along with the Austin family, however she might struggle against it. Even Mrs. Granby, the solemn, the dignified pattern of propriety, had in some mysterious way sought her out for counsel and consolation. “My dear Miss Lauder, Lizzie does not know what love is! She has really never loved; Thomas was saying so only this morning to me. We must hope and believe that she never will. Of course I know how much she is attached to Mr. Austin, and he deserves all her gratitude and esteem. But it was a mariage de convenance, as everyone knows. Now love, Miss Lauder, that is a different thing; our hearts have had some experience, though I dare say you young people think you have it all to yourselves.”
The good lady gazed benevolently over her spectacles at her companion. It certainly had struck Alice for a moment that there was something a little ludicrous in the idea of these two portly old people—one with a bald head and mutton-chop whiskers, the other in a lace cap, and picture-frame sides of hair, discussing the romance of life together—but she saw immediately that this was a wrong point of view. It was they who were in the right; they had tasted the sacramental wine of life; they had travelled together for thirty years, and together they had
Wept, feasted, despaired—been happy.”
She listened gravely therefore, but in all good faith, while Mrs. Granby gradually rolled out her ideas in heavy-syllabled sentences.
. . . .“Thomas is really much concerned about the matter, and it must be something serious when he observes any of our little social interests. But he says it is a matter of common talk all over the place, and even in the clubs—my poor niece, why should she be so attacked?—and Thomas thinks we must take some steps to stop it. He thinks I ought to speak to Lizzie; but it is a difficult matter, and she will not always listen quietly to what I advise. But Thomas says he believes Mr. Campbell means no harm———”
“I—really—I—Mrs. Granby—I can’t discuss———”
“No, no, my dear; but I was about to say he is a man of the world, and this trifling sort of intercourse means nothing to him—nothing! He is no doubt used to something of the sort in ordinary life, just as he is used to go to races or the theatre; but I am sure he has no intention of—of—flirtation, shall we say?”
“I really don’t know, Mrs. Granby; and I must add that I don’t care either.”
“I was about to say,” went on the deep rolling accents, flattening down all these trifling interruptions, “that if some friend would speak to him—just delicately indicate that it would be the kindest and best thing to withdraw a little———”
“Very likely that would be best; but why should I know anything about it at all?” Alice spoke hurriedly, and her eyes were feverishly bright.
“Because I think—we both think—that you, Miss Lauder, should be that friend. It would come best from you.”
“From me! Me! Oh, Mrs. Granby, you are joking surely! You cannot be in earnest.”
“Because we think—we both think,” continued the old lady, just as calmly as if Alice had never spoken, “that you would have more influence over Mr. Campbell than anyone else here. We believe———” She paused, and then went on in the deepest of deliberate syllables, “We believe that Mr. Campbell has no object in seeking my niece’s society further than to while away the time. If he has an object in staying on here—and I fully believe he has—it is not to be near poor Lizzie, it is on your account, Miss Lauder.”
Alice turned very white at this homethrust, whether from pain or joy did not appear. She replied, after a moment’s pause for reflection, very gently and with no affectation:
“I really could not, Mrs. Granby, not even to save my life.”
“Not even to save another’s?”
The girl shook her head silently, and the old lady sighed.
“Then it’s no use saying any more. I think myself your scruples are overstrained in a matter of such importance as this really is. I would not have come to you for a mere trifle. Well, we will say no more,” and she rose to go with all the Granby manner of having put one in the wrong by the mere statement of facts. Alice noticed, as the old lady stood with her face to the light, evidently seeking some further argument to move her antagonist, that her face looked wrinkled and careworn under that prosperous bonnet and air of domination. Middle-aged people show their troubles more plainly than young faces. All the old cares and sorrows come to light again in wrinkles and hollows, and depress the already careworn lines of the countenance. Mrs. Granby looked ten years older in her discouragement. She had all the middle-class Englishwoman’s honourable horror of a scandal in her family, and she had the patient expression of bearing the opposition of the younger generation, which mothers of families learn to bear by long experience. Lizzie had been like a daughter to her, but now she refused to listen to a single word of counsel, and Mrs. Granby felt helpless, and wounded by her attitude. She had made a great effort to seek assistance from this stranger; but she, too, was implacable, and the old woman was going back sadder than when she came. Alice felt a sudden rush of compassion; her own profession and training had taught her to observe closely all the signs of feeling, and she felt that this was no mere society incident which moved one ordinarily so calm and dignified out of her longpursued groove, and brought her to ask such a charity.
“I am very sorry, Mrs. Granby,” she murmured vaguely, “but I hope it will all come right.”
“I hope so,” replied the old lady, dispiritedly. “We must hope for the best. I am sure you understand me, Miss Lauder, when I say I have no fear for Lizzie herself. With many people, wrong is not so very wrong, and right is not so very right. It is not so with my niece. When she awakens to reality—when she sees the precipice before her—she will act, and act decisively. But I wish I could spare her that awakening. Well, never mind. Good-bye! Shall we see you at the Klingenders on Tuesday? Nice people, but such a terrible road. I hear it is to be a very large affair. Good-bye! Pray do not come out; I can find my way down the steps by myself, though I am a little shaky to-day.”