An unknown lover

Project Gutenberg's An Unknown Lover, by Mrs George de Horne Vaizey This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: An Unknown Lover Author: Mrs George de Horne Vaizey Release Date: June 20, 2010 [EBook #32936] Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN UNKNOWN LOVER *** Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Mrs George de Horne Vaizey "An Unknown Lover" Part 1— Chapter I They were seated together at the breakfast-table, a handsome, bored-looking man of thirty-three, and a girl of twenty-six, whose dress of a rich blue made an admirable touch of colour in the dim, brown room The house had been designed in the period when shelter from the wind seems to have been the one desired good, and was therefore built in a dell, from which the garden rose in a rapid slope Today the house would crown the head of the slope, and the dell be relegated to a retreat for occasional hot afternoons; the breakfast-room would face east, and the sun stream in through wide bay-windows, from which fact the spirits of the occupants would benefit afresh with each new morn As it was the light filtered dimly through mullioned panes, and the oak panelled walls gave back no answering gleam Curtains and carpet alike were of dull neutral tints, and the one bright spot in the picture was the blue dress of the girl, who sat behind the coffee urn Was she beautiful? Was she merely pretty? Was she redeemed from plainness only by a certain quality of interest and charm? At different times an affirmative answer might have been given to each of the three questions in turns; at the moment Katrine Beverley appeared just a tall, graceful girl who arranged her hair with a fine eye for the exigencies of an irregular profile, and who deserved an order of merit for choosing a dress at once so simple, so artistic, and so becoming Martin was enjoying a breakfast menu which he sturdily refused to vary Year in, year out, through “It is true Isabel was right Here you are already, back at our bacon! I am afraid, Captain Bedford, that you are very much absorbed in yourself.” “Devoted to him! Of course Why shouldn’t I be? Know him so well, don’t you know—understand his ways! Capital fellow, when you know him.—A woman asked me once whom I loved best in the world I said: ‘Myself, of course.’ It was the bed-rock truth; it is the truth about most solitary people, if they would only admit it, but she was shocked.” “I’m shocked, too Even if it were true, I don’t think one should admit —” “I don’t say it now It would not be true That was some time ago.” Katrine’s thoughts flew back with instant recollection to the day before, to the quiet pocketing of the tortoise-shell trifle She waited silently, holding her breath in the intensity of her anxiety, but no explanation was vouchsafed She tossed her head with a restless gesture, and said tentatively: “You—you are not in the least what I expected.” “What precisely did you expect?” “N-othing precisely, but everything different! I thought you’d be older for one thing, and would look more worn Captain Blair said you were shy and silent.” “Blair would say anything but his prayers As a matter of fact I was paralysingly shy at dinner that night! Glad I concealed it so well It was rather a formidable occasion meeting an—” “Unknown girl! Was I?” Katrine hesitated on the verge of a question, eager yet bashful, and her companion concluded the sentence with mischievous assurance “What I had expected? Well! to an extent I had seen your photographs, and they are as good as photographs can be, but the original always comes as a surprise You look younger, and—there’s some red in your hair, isn’t there? It pretends to be dark, but this morning when you were sitting in the sun, I’ll swear it was red! And—if you’ll forgive me—your nose isn’t quite so classic as it was represented! I suspect that photographer of fakes.” “He filled in the dips,” said Katrine tracing with a finger tip the delicate irregularities of her nose “I like dips,” said Bedford, and they laughed again Katrine wondered if he also approved of the ruddy lights which the sun had revealed in her hair She had noticed them once or twice as she stood before her mirror on bright spring mornings, but no one else had commented on the peculiarity She herself had admired the dull-red gleam, she hoped he had done the same, but it was with an air of forced resignation that she spoke again: “Very well, then, it is settled that I have red hair, and a bobbley nose Please observe that I remain serene and unruffled That proves that I have a sweet and modest disposition, and don’t care a pin how I look!” “Or what you wear, or whether that gauzy thing round your head is arranged at a becoming angle or not! Can I help in any way? It seems troublesome to arrange!” said Bedford coolly as for the third time Katrine’s hand went up to pull forward the chiffon hood She flushed in the moonlight, and pushed it back with an impetuous jerk “Now my hair will get rough It’s not my fault if it blows into ends.” “I like ends,” said Bedford once more Katrine thanked Providence that her ends curled, and did not blow over her face in lanky streaks as did the ends of other women Sometimes when she had been out in the wind she had felt it a pity to brush them back She felt a glow of thankfulness for her own fair looks, which was inimitably removed from an ordinary conceit To look pleasant in the eyes of others—that gave one joy To-morrow she would wear a blue dress “It’s against my upbringing to be untidy,” she said demurely “At home I have walked between a double fire The vicar’s wife on one side, and my Sunday School girls on the other Both would have been scandalised by ‘ends,’ both expected me to be a model of neatness and decorum.” She heaved a great sigh of relief “Oh, I’m so thankful not to be a model any more! It’s lovely to begin life again, away from criticism, to be free to do and think what I like!” He stared at her, his eyes intent and searching beneath puckered brows It was a handsome, almost a beautiful face into which he looked: the softened light, the happy mood, even the floating ends of hair combined to give it an air of unusual youth Nevertheless there were lines written thereon which told their own tale Katrine noticed his scrutiny, and questioned him thereon: “What are you thinking about?” “You,” he said simply “We are talking about ourselves You are so young in many ways, younger than your years, but you look—” “Older?” “Yes,” he said again, serenely unconscious of offence “It’s not a girl’s face There are the marks of trouble, of suffering ” Katrine sighed On her lips flickered a smile which was strangely pathetic “Or of lack of trouble!” she corrected “Oh, I mean it It sounds incomprehensible to a man, but a woman would understand Trouble would be easier to bear than the grey, monotonous routine month after month, year after year, which women have to live in small country towns Trouble is educational and ennobling; monotony cramps growth at the roots I am twenty-six, but there were women ten years older, still young, still pretty, jogtrotting along the same path, year after year, year after year Nothing had happened to them! No man can understand all that that means Nothing had happened!” Bedford straightened himself significantly “They should make things happen!” “Perhaps in time to come they may, when they are more developed —they, and their parents! Many well-to-do parents think that their daughters ought to be contented to stay peacefully at home and arrange the flowers I had a real duty, but in some families nearby there were three or four women-girls pottering! I went to see one of them on her birthday last year When I wished her many happy returns she shrank, as if I had hurt her ‘Another year!’ she said ‘Three hundred and sixty-five days And all alike!’ It was fear that she felt, poor soul; fear of the blank! You can’t understand.” “Personally, no Monotony has not been my cross When a man is knocking about the world he is inclined to envy the people who can vegetate peacefully at home, but thirty-six years of stagnation is a killing business!” He looked down at her with steady scrutiny “I am glad you had courage to cut yourself free before it came to that point.” “But I am different I told you so I had my work,” protested Katrine, flushing, “and moreover something did happen Fate came to my aid, and practically forced me away!” “Yes?” Once more Bedford leaned his elbows on the rail, and bent towards her with a keen interrogative glance “Is it permissible to ask in what form?” Why on earth need she blush? Katrine mentally railed at herself, but the more she fumed the hotter blazed the colour in her cheeks Plying such a flag of betrayal it seemed obviously absurd to reply by a prim: “My brother married, and no longer required my services,” and in Bedford’s equally prim “Quite so,” the scepticism seemed thinly veiled There was silence for several moments, while both gazed fixedly ahead Without looking in his direction Katrine knew exactly the expression which her companion’s face would wear The lips closed tight, drooping slightly to one side The chin dropped, the eyes unnaturally grave Strange how clearly his changes of expression had already stamped themselves upon her mental retina! She knew how he would look, what she could not guess was what he would think What would he think! That preposterous blush would surely suggest a reason more personal than a brother’s marriage A love affair, a lover, but mercifully a lover in England, since she had already explained that Jack Middleton and his wife were her sole friends in India Yes! that would be the explanation, a persistent lover—a lover who had been refused, a lover left behind to recover at his ease Katrine’s self-possession was restored by this assurance Certainly she had had lovers She adopted what was evidently intended to be an “Isabel Carnaby air,” and demanded lightly: “And now, Captain Bedford, it is your turn to confess your troubles.” “I have none,” he said instantly He looked full into her face with his twinkling eyes “Or if I had—I have forgotten.” Chapter Twenty Five The next morning broke hot and still The breeze had died down and its absence was shown in pallid faces, and limp, exhausted attitudes A few daring spirits waxed apoplectic over deck sports Jackey, the mischievous, roamed from one deck chair to another, teasing, protesting, whimpering, and ultimately curled up in a corner of the deck, and falling asleep became instantly converted into a vision of exquisite childhood, all pink cheeks, golden curls, and rounded limbs As for Katrine she felt very tired, very lazy, very thankful that her hair was curled by nature not by art, very content to lie back in her luxurious chair and be amused and waited upon by a man who appeared abundantly satisfied to be so employed The voyage had turned, so far as she was concerned, into one long tèteà-tète, for Bedford had presented so impenetrable a front to would-be acquaintances, that he was now left severely alone to devote himself to her amusement Mrs Mannering joked and quizzed, Keith kept sourly afar, the passengers stared with mounting curiosity, and Katrine, who had lived all her life beneath the tyranny of “They say,” amazed herself by a sudden reckless indifference Let them say! Let them stare! Let them laugh!—It meant nothing to her These days were her own; not an hour, not a moment should be wasted though a whole world criticised.—It is a truism that in the growth of friendship a day at sea is equal to a week on shore; less than a week had passed since Bedford joined the ship, yet Katrine acknowledged to herself that they had reached a degree of intimacy which she at least had never before experienced There was not a subject which had engrossed her attention, not a problem which had baffled, not a hope or a fear, an ambition or a dream, save only those which concerned Jim Blair, which she had not discussed at length with this friend of a few days, and each fresh discussion left her more conscious of help and sympathy, and of profound admiration for his broad-minded, open-hearted character Now the high-water mark of intimacy had been reached when silence could be prolonged without apology, a vibrant silence broken at length by a remark which but put into words the point to which the thoughts of each had arrived Katrine had at first been amused and delighted at this similarity of thought; later on she grew afraid This morning the great heat was not conducive to conversation Katrine held a book on her lap, and from time to time flicked over pages, but she was too languid even to read; from time to time her eyes met Bedford’s and they smiled a wordless greeting The morning was not half over, but already her eyelids drooped heavily; she shut the book, and composed herself to sleep Suddenly, startlingly, the torpid silence was rent in twain A woman’s voice rose in a shriek—high, frenzied, appalled As by an echo it was repeated on every side, until the very air vibrated with the sound The serried rows of chairs were emptied, and thrust aside; white-faced, gasping, the passengers rushed to the rail, and over, desperately scanning the sea The vibrant cry gained volume; its incoherence took shape, and became definite words—words among those the most dreaded in a life on sea “Man overboard!” ... When he had left England he had been but a lanky youth, now he was a man, and a handsome man at that Katrine looking on felt a pang of resentment This land of exile demanded many tolls of the women... something,? ?an understanding, between me and another man,—enough in any case to make anything else impossible, on either side There was no need to tell Captain Bedford; we are the merest acquaintances, but it... When I wished her many happy returns she shrank, as if I had hurt her ‘Another year!’ she said ‘Three hundred and sixty-five days And all alike!’ It was fear that she felt, poor soul; fear of the blank! You can’t understand.”