Quita: a novel

Chapter I

"Thank Heaven that she is in mourning," ejaculates Nina, piously. "And for so near a relation," adds Nesta, in devout continuation. " We must tell her that mourning is more strictly observed than ever," says little Lulu, who is sitting in a heap on the hearthrug, " and trust to Providence that she will not find out for some time that no one pays the least attention to it nowadays." " You should not say that, Lulu," comments her mother, severely, from the background, where she is buried in billows of knitting. " Some people are very particular about it. Lady Cornwall wore VOL. I. B QUITA. crape bows in her bonnet quite six weeks for her mother." " She never missed one ball after the funeral," persists Lulu. " What is the use of talking about Lady Cornwall ? " breaks in Nina, impatiently. " What she does is no guide for this terrible cousin of ours."

"Besides, Quita is sure to be half Spanish, and Spaniards always shut themselves up for ages after any one dies," says Nesta. "At any rate, her father's recent death is as good an excuse as any other for our not taking her about," declares Nina. " It is not an excuse, my dear," says Mrs. de Moleyns, primly. " It is a most sufficient reason. I should think it extremely heartless of Quita to wish to go out so soon after losing her father." " So soon ! " exclaims Lulu, disrespectfully. "You know it is six months since you gave up wearing that old grey velvet, which was your nearest approach to mourning for your only brother." Lulu is the youngest of the group — eighteen, QUITA 3 and just come home from school in Paris. Her conversation is crude in its juvenile worldliness; and although advancing years and the force of example will teach her how to cast a veil of decency over the shameless nakedness of Truth, she is at present youthful enough to blurt out many an unnecessarily bald statement within her family circle.

"Be quiet, Lulu," says Nina (Mrs. de Moleyns wiping her eyes ostentatiously the while), and, " How tiresome you are, Lulu ! " says Nesta. To prevent any unnecessary strain upon the reader's imagination it may here be explained that when he has pictured Nina to himself he will have a very fair idea of Nesta. Their persons have been cast in much the same mould. It is true that Nina's nose is straighter, while Nesta's hands are smaller ; and that Nina's hair is not so hay-coloured as Nesta's, while Nesta's complexion is the brighter of the two. But these trifling details are only grasped after minute and prolonged study; at first sight — and indeed after many sights — one Miss de Moleyns is much the same as the other. If a man be ready b QUITA to dance with Nesta, he will be just as pleased if Nina take her place ; if Nina be pledged to dine anywhere, there are no blank looks if Nesta appear in her shoes.

Nina is the leading spirit of the two ; she is the substance and Nesta the shadow ; but so perfect is the shadow, that she cheats the substance of all individuality and walks the world upon an equal footing. " I suppose we had better see about lodgings at once," says Nina, picking up a closely written letter which had been lying open on her mother's work-table. " Quita says they will arrive at Southampton on the 2nd of May — that is a fortnight from to-day." " I don't think we had better take it upon ourselves to engage rooms for them," answers Mrs. de Moleyns, slowly. " There is the uncle to be considered ; we don't know what arrangements he may have made." " Mr. Peake has evidently made no arrange ments at all," argues Nesta, " and it is quite clear that they expect us to take them in." "He may have friends at West Kensington, QUITA, 5 or Hampstead, or some of those places," says Mrs. de Moleyns, with the cool insolence of Belgravia, "and if we leave them to themselves they may go off some little distance."

" On the other hand they may drive here in a growler straight from Waterloo," chuckles Lulu. "That certainly would be very awkward," hesitates her mother. " These antipodeans have no conscience at all," says Nesta. " They are so accustomed themselves to putting up people for weeks together that they expect us to do likewise." " Yes, I remember when we gave Charlie Lascelles a letter of introduction to Mr. Peake, that Charlie stayed for some months at his estancia" reflects Mrs. de Moleyns. " Perhaps it is as well to be on the safe side and engage rooms." " And it would seem kinder," says Nina, who has been glancing over the letter in her hand and who looks up with a softened face. "Poor thing ! she says she is looking forward to seeing us all. What money has she, mother ? " " I wish I could tell," responds Mrs. de Moleyns, shaking her head.

" It would make everything QUITA, 6 so much easier if one knew exactly how the girl was left." " Let us go and hunt up some rooms for the 2nd," says Nina. " Where shall we begin ? In Ebury Street?" " Much too near," declares Lulu. " She would be here all day long." "We must see something of her," contends Nina. "We must take her out walking in the morning now and then." " And have her to dine when no one else is coming," chimes in Nesta. " Yes ; and I should wish her to hear a little good music," continues Mrs. de Moleyns mag nanimously. " She and Lulu can go sometimes to the Saturday concerts." " Well, I do call it hard," breaks out Lulu, utterly overwhelmed by this last touch, " to con demn me to bear-lead a savage, while you are all larking off to Hurlingham, or Ranelagh, or somewhere !

" " You forget yourself, Lulu," rebukes her mother, severely. "Not at all," retorts the incorrigible. "It is QUITA, 7 you who forget me — all three of you ; who forget that I am eighteen and dying to go out, and that I have every prospect of being kept in the back ground during the whole of my natural existence because Nina and Nesta have hung fire, and there isn't room for a third girl in the establishment." "Leave the room, Lulu," ejaculates Mrs. de Moleyns, breathlessly. Nina and Nesta exchange wrathful looks as the accusing culprit bangs the door defiantly, and marches upstairs singing Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre at the top of her shrill voice. There is silence in the pretty drawing-room for a while. The subject is a delicate one, and some times it is better to ignore these little difficulties.

" And now here is another girl to be grappled with," sighs Mrs. de Moleyns at last, picking up the stitches which have slipped from her knitting needles in sheer horror at Lulu's plain speaking. " But on a very different footing," says Nesta. " If Quita Balfour chooses to leave her own home and wander about the world, it is no business of ours." QUITA, "She has no home, I am afraid," dissents Mrs. de Moleyns feebly. " She could scarcely live alone at her age." " Well, there's Mr. Peake," returns Nina. " He is bringing her to England ; why doesn't she go and keep house for him ? Her mother's brother, isn't he ? " "Yes, and I hope that he will recognise his responsibility towards her," says Mrs. de Moleyns more cheerfully. "I am sure I should be willing to do my best for Quita, but it is impossible for me to take her about with justice to you girls."

"It would be much more natural that Mr. Peake should look after her," agrees Nina. " He is a bachelor, with no other claims upon him ; and they will be accustomed to one another and to colonial ways. They are so terrible, those colonials." "The people from the River Plate are not colonial," says her mother crossly. Mrs. de Moleyns feels the reproach of the undesirable re lationship which, through herself, connects her elegant daughters and their outlandish cousin ; she is as annoyed with Fate and Quita Balfour as are Nina and Nesta, yet, with inconsistent QUITA 9 defence, feels suddenly impelled to continue ; " And I must beg you to remember, my dears, that Quita is as well born as yourselves. Your Uncle Lionel was foolishly democratic in many ways, but he was a gentleman in every sense of the word.

Our family, as you know, is older and better connected than your poor father's." "That may be," retorts Nina, carelessly ; "but Quita must be vulgar, brought up as she has been among such fearful people." "They are so dull, too, those outsiders," com plains Nesta. " They will talk to one about latitudes and longitudes, and insist upon explaining how the Gulf Stream affects the English climate." " Yes, and they usually have strong ideas about Free Trade and Protection. I dare say Quita would like to argue by the hour about the duty on im ported preserves," grumbles Nina. " She is sure to get very excited over frozen meat — they all do," continues Nesta. " And to be full of impossible anecdotes of the Royal Family," caps Nina. "You keep forgetting that Quita is not an Australian," repeats Mrs. de Moleyns, in a fretful QUITA. manner.

"I don't believe they hear much about our Royal Family in the Argentine." "At any rate she will be full of immoderate reverence for a title," declares Nina, firmly. " Colonials or Americans, they are all the same about that." "And she will arrive in the most outlandish attire, and expect us to introduce her the very next day to every soul we know," says Nesta. " What a comfort that she is in mourning ! " exclaims Nina, with a grateful recurrence to the silver lining of the cloud which is overshadowing No. 99, Grosvenor Place.

Chapter II

" Sat good-bye to the Southern Cross while there is yet time, Miss Balfour," calls out young Stayner. "It won't be visible after to-night — at least not before bedtime, and we shall lose it altogether in a day or two." Quita Balfour pauses in her walk. A tropical moon and an electric jet, swung in the centre of the quarter-deck, contend for the honour of illumi nating her slim person. The moon gets the best of it so far as the delicate, uplifted face is con cerned, and floods the girl's features with her delicate silver rays ; but the electric light from behind silhouettes each outline of the upright figure. " Come down from that bulwark at once," she commands, imperatively. " Yes, I dare say it is QUITA quite safe, and I see there is a stanchion close by for you to hold on to ; but I don't like people to balance themselves over the mighty deep in that risky fashion.

It makes me uncomfortable." Algie Stayner slips meekly on to the deck and murmurs humbly that he "will never do it again." After a sojourn of three years in the Southern hemisphere, where women are rare and men are cheap, he, in common with the whole of the good steamer Azalea's passengers and crew, looks upon the act which makes a lady uncom fortable as a heinous offence, and will certainly not be guilty of repeating it, though the innocent pastime of trying how far he can lurch over the purple-blue waves, without actually falling in, is beloved of his boyish heart. "Dear Southern Cross," ecstasizes Quita, gazing at the four brilliant stars which make the holy sign, "I am so sorry to say good-bye to you. Every night, when I am far away, you will still be looking down on the dear old home in Esmeralda — on the lovely palms, on the wide shining river, on the orange groves, and the waving eucalyptus."

"Most likely. You don't suppose the stars QUITA. 13 will go out of their way to keep you company ? " says her uncle's voice from among the group of men behind her ; " though I dare say you would like to make your first appearance in the old country with a new constellation streaming after you." 33 " On the cattle and the horses, on old Dona Carmen, and my tame ostrich," continues Quita, unheedingly. "And also on the mosquitoes, and the bichos, and the rattlesnakes, and all the rest of the live stock," murmurs the same voice, in the indistinct tones which a cigar between the teeth is apt to produce. " Don't be so prosaic, Peake," reproves the captain of the Azalea; "Miss Balfour is already beginning to look upon rattlesnakes through the enchanting glamour of distance; and now — what with the moonlight and what with the farewell to the Southern Cross — she is persuading herself that it is very hard to leave the land of her birth, and that her heart is left behind in the Argentine."

" I am not persuading myself anything of the QUITA. sort," retorts Quita, ungrammatically. "I am as anxious as ever to see England, and my relations, and English life, and — and the capitals of Europe, and all the rest of it." " There's a lame conclusion," says her uncle, teasingly. " Now, I appeal to you, Quita, do you imagine that you will make that impression in European society which is so much to be desired if you express yourself in such extremely vague language ? Your relations — the capitals of Europe — and all the rest of it ! " " Well, you know what I mean," laughs Quita, with a comprehensive wave of the hand. " It will all be so new and strange that I can't classify things. You don't realise, for instance, that even the white cliffs of Albion will be a new sensation for me ; and the grey skies, and the fogs, and the snow and ice.

I have never seen snow. The very weather will be deeply interesting ! " "You will soon get over that excitement," remarks the captain. " But seriously, now, what are you most looking forward to in the Old World ? " The little group around her press closer to QUITA 15 listen to Quita's answer. She is still standing in the bright moonlight, facing the sea. On either side Algie Stayner and the captain of the Azalea are leaning with their backs against the bulwarks and gazing at her, whilst her uncle and another man are immediately behind. A lace mantilla has fallen backwards from her head, leaving the brown curly hair to be stirred by the warm breeze, and the small face is clearly outlined by the black indistinctness of her garments. "Yes, tell us what will interest you most," repeats Stayner, as she pauses before replying.

"The women," says Miss Quita at last, with sententious solemnity. A burst of laughter greets her unexpected announcement ; and indeed the words do sound odd, coming from such girlish lips. " I mean it," she declares, stoutly. " I am long ing to see some nice women; I have never met any. I have always had men about me. Just look at me now ; here am I, one girl, surrounded by one, two, three, four men. It seems to me that I have been surrounded by about four men all my life. As long as I can remember it has always QUITA been men ; men to ride with, men to talk to, men to educate me — I have never had one lesson from a woman — men to fetch and carry. You are very nice, all of you, and I like you very much," looking coolly around upon her audience; "but a little feminine society will be a refreshing change."

"I wish you joy of it," ejaculates the captain, bitterly ; " and I hope I may hear your candid opinion of your own sex after twelve months' experience of their tricks and ways." "I don't expect to find them all perfect," returns Quita, glancing softly at him. Captain Belmore is a married man, with an unhappy matri monial past which he has confided to Quita — all her men friends confide in her. "But a nice woman must be a charming creature. My cousins, for instance — I am sure they are delightful girls." " What makes you think so ? " inquires the misogynist. " They look nice, to begin with," she answers, reflectively. " I have their photographs, and they look so pretty." QUITA. 17 " Are you going to stay with them ? " asks Algie Stayner. " I suppose so. I wrote and told them I was coming, so of course they will expect me."

"And you are going to desert Mr. Peake," concludes Stayner. " Robert Peake has not lived in this weary world for five-and-forty years without being well prepared for feminine desertion," observes that gentleman. " Just at present it is ' Dear Uncle Bob, shall we go here ? ' and ' Dear old thing, let us go there ; ' but ' the old thing ' is quite aware of the fact that he will become ' Uncle Robert ' as soon as his fair charge is comfortably settled in Grosvenor Place and has no further need of his devoted attentions." "There is no harm in your putting it like that if it gives you any satisfaction," rejoins Quita, laughing, "and I will leave the present company, who have enjoyed the honour of your society for the last fortnight, to judge between us and to imagine the state of your mind and temper if you were tied to a girl's apron strings during your holiday.

Now I will finish vol. i. c QUITA my walk. Captain Belmore, will you come with me?" The invitation is given with the utmost coolness and perfect certainty of a welcome acceptance, much as a royal princess might name her partners at a ball. Quita has found herself as entirely without rivals on board the Azalea as she complains of having been upon her father's estancia, and has accepted the position with the calm of habit. "You are like a damsel in a fairytale, sailing away over the sea to seek your fortune," says Captain Belmore presently, as they pace along the deck. The Azalea is ploughing steadily through the phosphorescent waves, and a gentle buzz of conversation rises from the various groups of people scattered around, some playing cards under the electric light, some spinning impossible yarns of wild adventures in the strange country they are leaving behind them, and some merely emitting friendly grunts of interest from time to time as they smoke unending cigars.

"Yes, it is like the beginning of a novel," muses Quita, gravely. "If one could only turn over the pages and see the end ! " QUITA. 19 " It will be the usual end, of course," rejoins Belmore, lightly. "Married and lived happily ever afterwards." Quita frowns at his commonplace answer; and he, unwilling to vex her, continues with awkward haste : " How strange everything will be to you ! The very houses and the servants are so different from all you have seen." " You must remember that I have read everything I could get hold of about England," returns Quita, seriously. " I think novels give one si good idea of the life of a people, and I have read all the standard novels very carefully." "And you will be a new sensation, too," continues Captain Belmore, smiling again. "Not really?" cries Quita, anxiously.

"I am very English in every way. Don't you think I am?" " No one could ever mistake you for an English girl," he declares, decidedly. " I don't know what makes you say that," in a mortified tone. "I have tried very hard to be English ; I am very tidy ; I never say one word c QUITA, of Spanish among my English ; I am never idle, except on board ship — but every one is idle on board ship ; I get up early, and I have never in my life come downstairs in a dressing-gown. Why do you say I do not look English ? " in an angry crescendo. " You might be American or you might be French, but no one would ever mistake you for an Englishwoman," he reiterates. " There is nothing for you to be annoyed about in that. English women are the dowdiest on the face of the earth." " And I have my gowns from Paris," acquiesces Quita.

" But rather than be mistaken for any thing but an English girl, I will buy a tailor-made gown when I get to London, and one of those hideous felt hats with a high peak ; that will settle the matter for ever and a day, especially if I can bring myself to wear a coloured silk handkerchief around my neck ! " " If that is your idea of the personal appearance of the British female, I wonder at any desire to emulate her," says the captain, who is called away at this instant by a quartermaster, and QUITA. 21 whose place at Quita's side is promptly taken by another man, who steps forward from the shade of the deck saloon. " Dear father was so anxious that I should be thoroughly English," murmurs Quita, half to herself, and unheeding her change of companion. " Living abroad certainly makes one appreciate the old country," agrees the man by her, in a harsh, monotonous voice.

" Ah, Mr. Saville ! " says the girl, rousing from her reverie, and looking up with the amused smile which the society of this straight-backed, stiff-minded individual usually brings to her face " You will appreciate the joys of the old country ever so much more, now that you are heir to a peerage. All your friends will suddenly become so very fond of you." " I suppose so," answers George Saville, with a flattered laugh. " And as you have not been in your present proud position long, you have an excellent opportunity of estimating their affection aright," she continues, with a sidelong glance at his pleased, self-conscious face. QUITA. " Of course, I shan't believe everything I am told," he says, slowly. " I shall judge people as I find them." "Don't be too censorious," returns Quita, gravely.

"A peerage, even though still pro spective, is very apt to disturb the balance of ordinary mortals' minds. I must confess that I myself have been deeply interested in you since I heard how suddenly that distant cousin died, and that you will be an earl — a real live earl — some day in consequence." Then, as Saville gazes at her in frowning perplexity — he never knows when she is laughing at him — she continues : " You must have noticed how rare English peers are in the Argentine. If you will not repeat it, I will confess to you that I have never seen an earl; younger sons and first cousins in plenty, but the genuine article never once. It would be a perfect Godsend to me if we were to hear of Lord Rich mond's death when we get to Lisbon, and you were thereby to be turned into a veritable earl.

I should be so proud to speak to you. Why do you look so cross ? " " I think — er — it seems to me," begins Saville, QUITA 23 confusedly, " that what you say sounds as if you would not care to speak to me on my own account. It is rather hard to tell a fellow so coolly that you would never have noticed him for himself." "Is that all? You should not jump at unwarrantable conclusions," and Quita, pausing in her walk, smiles as the recollection flashes across her of the first time she saw George Saville coming on board the Azalea at Monte Video. She remembers how she had indeed noticed him, and, leaning over the ship's side, had picked him out from the little crowd of men on the agent's steam launch. She remembers that she had been quite impressed by his well-drilled bearing and handsome face ; and that he had been talking to her for full five minutes before she had been able to take his measure accurately, and to conclude within herself that an aquiline nose and a high forehead were apt to be unfairly imposing, especially with hair growing thin over the temples ; she remembers also that the five minutes had expanded into ten before she had severely decided that that serious expression, as if the fate of empires were sitting heavily upon his mind, was merely due to the QUITA. effort of a slow intellect to keep up with the conversation around.

Naturally, Quita does not impart these quick reminiscences to Mr. Saville; but, with an amused smile, gazes over the solemn mystery of the moon washed ocean, through whose smooth ripples the great steamer is cutting its black way. By degrees the amusement vanishes from her face, and a dreamy, absent look takes its place. " Well ? " interrogates Saville at last, wondering at her sudden silence. It is possible that, with masculine vanity, he is inwardly demanding whether he has part or lot in that vaguely tender expression. " Often at home I used to look over the plains in moonlight, and think how like the sea they were," answers Quita, slowly. "For miles around us they stretch out, flat, flat, with not even a billow; in autumn they are burnt almost white, and when the moon shines over them one can imagine oneself standingon the brink of a great silver sea.

Who is it calls the ocean 'a liquid plain'?" "I am not sure," says Saville, doubtfully, in QUITA. 25 distinctly disappointed tones. " Scott, eh ? Didn't he write Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll. It is in that, I should think." " Very likely," rejoins Quita, the vanished smile reappearing broadly.

Chapter III

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew ; No more he'll hear the tempest howling, For Death hath broached him to. Yet shall poor Tom have pleasant weather, When He who all commands Shall give, to call life's crew together, The word to pipe all hands. Then Death, who kings and tars despatches, In vain Tom's life hath doffed, For though his body's under hatches, His soul has gone aloft. " His soul has gone alo-o-oft, his soul has gone aloft," finishes the singer, amidst the dead silence and rapt attention of his audience. " Why did you choose such a mournful ditty ? " he demands of Quita, who has played his accompaniment, and now is furtively winking away a QUITA, 27 tear. " It is much too appropriate with the tempest howling outside and the pleasant weather so very far off."

" I love ' Tom Bowling,' " she answers. " It always makes me cry ; and I like to be harrowed. Besides, the stewards wanted it ; the captain's boy came and asked me for it after lunch." The Azalea is rolling, plunging, pitching, in the Bay of Biscay. Green seas, capriciously washing her decks, have cleared them of loiterers, and a gale has been roaring all the morning through the sailless masts. The port-holes have been rigidly fastened down ; ozone has been hermeti cally sealed out, and the ship's little world delivered over to the atmosphere of within. From the infernal regions of the Azalea's hold rise nauseous odours of bilge-water, cruelly stirred into reeking activity by violent motion, and gathering unkind reinforcement from the moistened cargo of half cured hides, uncleaned cotton, and various tropical odds and ends; while from the purgatory of below-stairs are wafted flavoured breezes, wherein haunting reminiscences of breakfast and lunch are being gradually overpowered by the more pungent QUITA. 28 prophecies from the cook's galley of the coming event of dinner.

The luckless passengers, gathered for shelter in the deck music-saloon, have yawned, dozed, and read the long day through. They have grouped their various persons upon the hard -worn red velvet settees, in touching endeavours to mitigate the hideous discomfort of an uncertain horizontal and a much-disturbed perpendicular. They have shut their eyes, and have feebly and unsuccess fully attempted to persuade themselves that they are lying as luxuriously as upon some favourite sofa, that they are sitting as easily as in some friendly arm-chair at home. Now, towards nightfall, as the wind abates a little, and the consciousness of being one weary day nearer their haven is joyfully borne in upon them, they have struggled into a semblance of life, and have persuaded the musical genius of the saloon — a short, fat man, whom Nature intended for the operatic stage, but of whom sportive fate has made a Rosario dealer in bones — to cheer them with Soft airs Harried to immortal verse.

QUITA. 29 From Handelian stateliness, through Mozart's polite phrasing, through Schumann's passion, and Gounod's tenderness, he and Quita — who accom panies him deftly and untiredly — have descended at last to Dibdin's undying ballad beloved of all nautical hearts. "The stewards asked for 'Tom Bowling,' did they ? " laughs Mr. Peake. " For genuine maritime sentiment commend me to a steward. If you had consulted the boatswain, he would have wanted ' Two Lovely Black Eyes.' " The vocalist, all heated with his efforts, is leaning against the wall and ejaculating : " Poor Tummas ! " as he mops his brow. Verging upon the divine when singing, he grazes monkeydom at all other moments of his existence, and successfully isolates himself and his individuality from the admiration called forth by his musical ability.