Set in Silver
hills girdling the old city go waving in gradations of blue to an opal
horizon. There's an old Well House in the garden, which is one of its
chief ornaments, and has adorned it since the fifteenth century. Bishop
Beckington--the Beckington of the punning rebus (Beacon and Tun) built
it to supply water to the city. But there were plenty of other springs,
always--seven famous ones--which suggested the name, Wells; and had they
not existed, perhaps King Ina (who flourished in the eighth century, and
was mixed up in Glastonbury history) would not have founded a cathedral
here. Blessed be the seven wells, then, for without them one of the
fairest places in England might never have existed.
I had heard of the celebrated swans, and as I knew she would like them,
I determined to pay the birds a morning call (the day after we arrived)
with Ellaline. From any obtrusion of Emily's I felt safe, for her mind
whirls here with old oak carvings, Flaxman sculptures, ancient
vestments, carven tombs, and, above all, choral services. Indeed, Emily
is never at her best except in a cathedral; and I knew that swans would
not be ecclesiastic enough to please her. But of Mrs. Senter and Dick I
had to be more wary; for the lady, no doubt because she is my guest,
feels it polite to give me a good deal of her society; and Dick
naturally considers that Ellaline's time is wasted on me, especially
when he isn't by to alleviate the boredom.
My one chance was to lure the girl out early, for neither Mrs. Senter
nor Burden loves the first morning hours. With all the guilty tremors of
one who cooks an intrigue, I sent a note to Ellaline's room, just after
she had gone to bed, asking if she were "sporting enough" to come for a
walk at seven-thirty. I thought that way of putting the invitation would
fetch her, and it did; but perhaps a card I enclosed had something to do
with her prompt acceptance. I printed, in my best imitation of engraved
text, "Mr. and Mrs. Swan and the Misses Cygnet, At Home, In the Moat,
Bishop's Palace. Ring for Refreshments. R.S.V.P."
Five minutes later came down a scrap of paper (all she had, no doubt)
with a little pencil scrawl, saying that Miss Lethbridge was delighted
to accept Mr. and Mrs. Swan's kind invitation for seven-thirty, and
thanked Sir Lionel Pendragon for obtaining it. I have put this away with
my treasures, of course.
I was at the place appointed before the time, and she didn't keep me
waiting. As a matter of fact, she's always extraordinarily prompt.
Modern school training, I suppose, as Ellaline the First was never known
to be in time for anything. And the swans were worth getting up for.
They are magnificent creatures; but, unlike many professional beauties,
they're as clever as they are handsome. For generations they and their
ancestors have been trained to ring a bell when they breakfast; and to
see the whole family, mother, babies, and cousins, breasting the clear,
lilied water, and waiting in a dignified, not too eager, row while
father pulls a bell in the old palace wall, tweaking the string
impatiently with his beak, is better than any theatrical performance of
this season in London.
Ellaline was entranced, and would have the play played over and over
again by the swan actors and the stage manageress, a kindly and polite
woman who conducted the entertainment. When we were both ashamed to beg
for more, Ellaline suggested a walk round the town, which is of an
unspoiled beauty, and you can guess whether or no I was glad to be her
guide. I'm certain I should have proposed before breakfast (I wonder if
any other man was ever in love enough for that?) if Dick Burden and his
aunt hadn't turned a corner at the critical moment. But perhaps it was
just as well. In spite of what you say, I am certain she would have
refused me.
Nevertheless, for your encouragement, my dear old Pat, I am
Yours ever gratefully,
Pen.
XXVI
MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN
_Empire Hotel, Bath_,
_August Without End, Amen!_
My Dear Sis: Talk about a land where it is always afternoon!
Seems to me it will never stop being August. I'm dead sick of motoring
in present company, and so furious with Sir Lionel that the only revenge
I can think of is to marry him. Would that I could say, "Vengeance is
mine"; but it's still a bird in the bush, I regret to say, while in my
hand is nothing save the salt which I'm trying to sprinkle on its tail.
Curious feeling one has on a motor tour. I have the sensation of being
detached from my own past (good thing that, for _some_ ladies of our
acquaintance!) like a hook that's come out of its eye. The hook,
however, is quite ready to fit into any new eye that happens to be
handy, or dig out any eye that happens to be in the way. And that brings
me back to Mademoiselle Lethbridge. It really can't be good for one's
liver to dislike anyone as much as I have grown to dislike that girl;
but unfortunately I can't afford to despise her. She is clever; almost
too clever, for cherished, protected, schoolgirl nineteen. Would that I
could find a screw loose in her history! Wouldn't I make it rattle? I
thought I had got hold of one, through the Tyndals, but Sir Lionel
wouldn't listen to the rattling, wouldn't let it rattle for an instant.
It is only the change of climate and English food that prevents his
manners from being (as no doubt they were in Eastern climes) those of a
Bashaw; and if he were one's husband he couldn't be more disagreeable
than he is at times.
Not that he means to be disagreeable. If he did, one would know how to
take him--or not to take him. But it is his polite indifference to which
I object. I'm not used to it in men. It's like a brick wall you're dying
to kick against, only it's no use. I don't take all the trouble I do
with my hair and complexion not to be looked at, I assure you. Why, my
waist might just as well be two inches bigger for all he notices! It is
too trying. And then, to see the way he looks at that girl, who doesn't
know enough about physical economy to make powder stick on her nose when
it rains!
It does me good to talk to you like this. Dick isn't sympathetic,
because he happens to be in love with the young female, and though he
occasionally abuses her himself, on the spur of a snub, he won't let me
do it.
Don't think, however, that I give up hope. By no means. I have heaps of
tricks up my sleeve, small and fashionable as it is, and lots of strings
to my bow. But I just wish one was a "bowstring" and round a girl's
neck. I'd give a tiny, tiny pull. In fact, I _did_ give one
yesterday--one which I've been wanting to give ever since I received
your letter. But actually, till yesterday, I never got a chance. I
"made" several, but they always went to bits, like a child's house of
cards. Poor me! That is part of the creature's cleverness. I think she
knew by instinct that I had something nasty to say, and she kept dodging
about, preventing me from laying hands (I won't say claws) on her.
Dick, too, she has kept in the same position, waiting for an opportunity
to pounce. Indeed, she has handled us both surprisingly well,
considering her age and bringing up. I have a certain respect for her.
But one often respects people one dislikes, doesn't one? At least,
really nice, amusing people of my type do.
Exactly what Dick wants to do with his white mouse when he has pounced
on it I have no means of knowing, for since a slight misunderstanding,
not to say row, which we had on the night of his return from Scotland
and you, a certain reserve has fallen between us, like a stage curtain.
He is on the stage side; I am in the position of audience. But I was
never in doubt for a moment as to what would follow _my_ pounce,
provided the mouse didn't prove too strong for me--and I don't think it
has. My pretty little ladylike bite must have left a mark on the velvet
fur.
I dare say I have excited your curiosity by referring to a "row" with
Dick, and lest you neglect my interests in the rest of the letter, to
brood upon his, I'd better pander at once to your maternal anxiety.
He wouldn't have confessed to me anything you had told him about Miss
Lethbridge's antecedents, for the very good reason that he hangs onto
her with the grip of a bulldog on a marrow-bone; but as I was armed with
your letter (I found it waiting for me at Bideford) containing full
information, he saw it was no use to keep anything back.
If I had had the letter a little earlier I might not have racked my
valuable brain as violently as I did to give him a chance alone with
Ellaline. I arranged for him to find her deserted at King Arthur's
Castle, like Mariana in her moated grange; but on reading what you had
to say, I admit I had qualms as to the wisdom of my policy where Dick's
future was concerned. However, even then I trusted to myself to save him
if it came to the worst; and it might have been valuable for my future
if things had happened "according to schedule"--just because Sir Lionel
_is_ such a Bashaw. He would never again have felt the same to the girl
if she had schemed to be left behind in order to meet Dick. However--I
can control most men, and many women, but I can't control trains; and it
was through their missing connections that Dick missed rescuing his
ladylove. As it has turned out, no harm has been done to him. I wish I
could be as sure of myself; for Sir Lionel, I fancy, hasn't been quite
as nice since. He can't guess what I had to do with the affair; but--I
suppose even men have instinct, inferior to ours though it be.
Dick came to my room at Bideford, and was cross because things had gone
wrong; I was cross because he was cross (I hate injustice in anyone but
myself), and then he was crosser because I told him it would never do
for him to marry the girl, knowing what we now know. He said he would
have her, and hang everybody else, especially Sir Lionel; I argued that
hanging people would do no good; and he then said that it would be all
right anyhow about the _dot_, as he knew a way of getting something
decent out of Sir Lionel for her. What he knew he firmly refused to
divulge, and when I asked if he'd told you, he replied that he jolly
well hadn't. Also he accused me of "stinginess," in not wanting
"Pendragon to part," and wishing to keep the "whole hog" for myself; his
delicate way of expressing my desire to retain the means of purchasing
tiaras, etc., suitable to my rank, in case I should become the future
Lady Pendragon.
At this point in the conversation our family relations were somewhat
strained, but before they reached snapping point, with my accustomed
tact (partly learned from you) I smoothed my nephew down, regardless of
my own injured feelings. Nothing could be better for me than that he
should be engaged to Miss Lethbridge, though, of course, nothing could
be worse for us all than that he should marry her. Trust me, I say
again, as I have said before, to prevent that. I assure you, I can
easily do it. Meanwhile, I encourage Dick to believe that he has
softened my hard heart; and though he doesn't believe in me absolutely,
or tell me all the workings of his mind, I'm certain you need have no
anxiety about your son and heir.
Now to my own affairs, which, after Dick's future and your neuralgia, I
flatter myself are dear to you.
You've often remarked that I'm nothing if not dramatic, and perhaps when
I tell you what I did yesterday you will think I've proved it for the
hundredth--or is it the thousandth?--time.
We left Wells (which depressed me as all cathedral towns do, because
everybody, and even every building, seems so unco guid) to run through
the Cheddar ravine, which, I fancy, though I don't know and care less,
is among the Mendip Hills. I woke up with a headache, not having slept