The laughter of life

CHAPTER i

Drusilla Heronworth paused when she got to the bend in the staircase and stood looking down on her sister with a faint smile on her lips. She was dressed for walking, and wore the most bewitching toque of sable, with a real gardenia pinned in it. There was a sable stole thrown loosely about her shoulders. She watched her sister moving slowly about the hall. Bertha Heronworth walked with a slight limp.

A large tray filled with vases of flowers had been brought in and placed on one of the tables, and Miss Heronworth was putting these vases in different corners.

The hall was a low-roofed, square-shaped apartment, having about it something of a farmhouse look. It was furnished in a comfortable, homely kind of a way, and though not used exactly as a living-room, possessed many comfortable chairs, and at least one seductive corner, where one could read or work, or sleep most peacefully.

“You always put the flowers just where they ought to go,” said Drusilla. “ That bit of pink on your writing-desk is simply lovely, Beth, and oh — ” with an appreciative sniff — “how sweet something smells! What is it?”

The elder sister looked up at that charming figure leaning over the balustrade.

“ So, after all, you are going out,” she said.

Drusilla answered:

“ Yes, after all, I am going out. I don’t want to go one little bit, but I feel that if I don’t have a walk at least once every day I shall get so fat.” She gave a little sigh; then she said: “Beth, I’m ever so happy! I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am.”

Bertha Heronworth picked up some splendid specimen chrysanthemums and rearranged them in the tall glass vase.

“ It is very cold this morning,” she said, “ and very damp. I hope you have on thick boots, Drusilla.”

Drusilla laughed.

“Oh! Beth, prosaic Beth! I discourse to you about happiness and you talk about my boots.”

In the same breath she said: “ Those specimen chrysanthemums are very magnificent, I suppose, but I don’t care a pin about them, they are so grand and so artificial. Chrysanthemums always remind me of Aunt Edith.”

“Where are you going?” asked her sister.

Drusilla shrugged her shoulders.

“I have no plan; I shall just wander unless you have something you want me to do.”

“Well, if you are only going for a walk, will you leave this note at the Rectory, and some papers for me at the Cottage Hospital? I always send all the light literature there; it is so much appreciated.”

Drusilla made a grimace and then said :

“Yes, I don’t mind. Must I go in?”

“They would be very glad to see you,” said Bertha; “but don’t bother, if you would rather not; just leave the papers at the gate.”

Drusilla came down the last of the stairs very slowly.

“Really and truly, there is no place like home,” she observed. “ After having been in all sorts of other people’s houses, I am in a position to assert this positively. Beth, I shall never, never, never go away again!”

Bertha Heronworth laughed at this.

She turned and came across to her sister, and firstly she felt the sleeve of Drusilla’s coat, and then she stooped and examined the sole of the very smart little boot which peeped from under the serge skirt.

There was not the smallest point of resemblance between the sisters. Although there was undoubted character in the face of the elder Miss Heronworth and a certain sweetness and charm in her expression, she was not what is even called good-looking ; her one beauty was perhaps her hair, which was most abundant, and she had a particularly agreeable voice, a quality shared by Drusilla.

As she stooped to assure herself that her sister was sensibly shod, the other girl patted her smooth head.

“Darling,” she said, “you don’t know — you can’t even imagine — how I have longed to be back with you! ”

There was a flush on Bertha Heronworth’s face.

“ I wonder? ” she queried, “ I wonder if that is really true, or only just one of your pretty ‘Drusilla’ speeches?” Then she drew the girl nearer to her and kissed her tenderly. “ At any rate,” she said, “I am glad to have you here once again. The weeks you were away seemed like years, Drusilla. I am only afraid that you will feel dull. We must get some people here ; people you like.”

Drusilla flung down her big sable muff and began to pull on her gloves.

“ Oh! I want to be dull; life has been going at such a pace lately. I feel as if I had weeks of sleep to make up. At Braske, you know, they never go to bed till two or three o’clock; no chance of beauty sleep there. Do you know what Catherine said to me this morning when she brought me my tea? ‘ Law, Miss Drusilla, you’re growing quite hagged; you look every bit of forty, that you do ! ’ ”

Then she laughed.

“Is it* true?” she asked. “Have I lost my looks? Would you take me to be forty or only thirty-nine, if you met me for the first time? Be truthful, Beth; I want to know the worst!”

“You haven’t told me anything about your visit to Braske. Who was staying there? Anybody you liked very much? Your letters were most unsatisfying, you know, naughty child,” said Miss Heronworth, returning to her flowers.

“It was rather amusing,” the girl answered languidly, after an imperceptible pause. “ Kitty Deravan is such a good hostess, she is always contriving something new. We had a paper chase one night.”

“ One night?”

“Yes,” Drusilla laughed, and her eyes sparkled as at some delightful recollection ; “ we had to hunt with lanterns, of course, and we found ourselves in all sorts of extraordinary places. I think the village people thought we had gone mad. I really enjoyed it though, and all the wild doings, but still I am ever so glad to be home again. And it’s sweet of you, Beth, to be glad to have me back? But I knew you wanted me. Even if you have bought the most wonderful library in the world, and there is a mysterious and attractive young librarian to live on the premises, aren’t I better than anybody or anything else? Now I am ready,” Drusilla announced; “where are the papers, and have you anything else you want me to do?”

Bertha Heronworth shook her head as she tied up a number of illustrated papers in a stout roll.

Whilst she waited, Drusilla asked:

“Beth, does Mr. Keston ever speak? I can’t make him talk ; he won’t even look at me. I suppose people who always live amongst books must get dull; but he is awfully clever, isn’t he? ”

Miss Heronworth said “Very” in her quiet way, and there was the faintest note of restraint in her voice as she added: “And he is just the right sort of person to help me. I was so grateful to Mr. Lethbridge for sending him here; he won’t stay very long.”

“Oh!” said Drusilla lightly. “I don’t mind how long he stays. He is certainly good to look at, even if he is dull, and perhaps I shall be able to wake him up a little before he goes. By the way, they were talking about your purchase at Braske. Lord Deravan declared the nation ought to be grateful to you, Beth, as all the good things in books and pictures seem to be going to America nowadays.”

“ I think I am lucky. Happily for me,” said Miss Heronworth, “negotiations had been commenced between Lord Caroby and myself some time before his death, and he had left expressed wishes that I should be given the first chance; otherwise I am not very sure that I should have got this library. Of course,” she added, laughing with a little nervousness, “the purchase has meant a very big sum of money, but Mr. Lethbridge regards it in the light of a very excellent investment.”

“ I don’t think it matters what Mr. Lethbridge thinks,” said Drusilla coolly, “ so long as you are satisfied; and I am glad, dearest, that you have at least spent a little money to please yourself. You are always doing more than enough for other people, goodness knows ! ”

The roll of newspapers was tied securely, and Bertha Heronworth weighed it in her hand a little anxiously.

“I hope it won’t be too heavy for you, and, Drusilla, don’t go across the fields ; there is really a nasty wind to-day; keep to the road.”

“Haven’t you any other errands?” asked Drusilla. She paused on her way out. “ Look here, when I come back, can’t I write some letters for you? You really ought to have a secretary, Beth; if I’m no good, why can’t Mr. Keston help you? ”

“Letters never bother me, as you know,” answered Bertha Heronworth; “and there is more in the library than you can imagine. Lord Caroby was an enthusiastic collector, but he never made the smallest effort to have his books put in proper order. From what Mr. Keston tells me, they seem to have been sent here massed together in extraordinary confusion. Then there is a great quantity of valuable manuscripts, and these must be properly tabulated and fixed in cases; and, of course, I want a really good catalogue.”

“Things which will keep Mr. Keston pretty busy. Well, if I can’t help you, perhaps I can help him. I have come home resolved to do all sorts of sensible things. You know, Beth, it is really time I began to be useful.”

“There are so many useful people in the world,” said the elder sister. “ Good-bye, don’t get into mischief.”

“ Mischief ! ” echoed Drusilla. “ Good heavens! Don’t you realize that I am a virtuous person? Why, if all the Ten Commandments were spread out before me now I should refuse to break one. Honour bright I should ! ”

She blew a kiss to her sister and turned away, passing to the back portion of the house, where she whistled to the dogs. As they came tumbling about her she said meditatively to herself :

“Mischief! Happily there is not a ghost of a chance of doing anything foolish down here. Now if I had stayed on at Braske, it might have been a different thing! I am glad I insisted upon

coming away, and yet ” As she started on

her walk she gave a little sigh, followed by a little laugh. “Mischief can be very sweet,” she said, “ sometimes.”

The dogs made havoc of her trim serge skirt. They were wild with joy at the prospect of going for a walk with her; but first of all, there were so many people who wanted to have a word with Miss Drusilla.

The younger sister was in fact adored by the household, whilst Bertha Heron worth, with a few exceptions, commanded respect rather than love — a touch of irony which so frequently fashions the conundrums of everyday life.

It was not merely a duty, but a source of personal pleasure with Miss Heronworth to interest herself in one and all about her. She knew all the various ailments of her various servants ; she remembered the number and the condition of

THE LAUGHTER OF LIFE IS

their relations ; she allied herself with them sympathetically, and studied them in every way ; yet she never once obtained from them that wholehearted appreciation which they lavished upon Drusilla.

Bertha Heronworth, for instance, would never have dreamed of peeping into the kitchen except when she considered it convenient to be received. Drusilla walked in just whenever she felt inclined. On this particular occasion she perched herself on the corner of the big kitchen table, whilst the tribe of dogs (swept out of this domain as a general rule by the autocratic mistress of it) paddled about with dirty paws on the redtiled floor which had just been scrubbed.

It was only after Drusilla had eaten a small home-made cake, which she did not want, and had swallowed half a glass of milk, which she loathed, simply because she was expected to do these things, that she realized the condition of the floor. But she was so sorry, and she said she was sorry so prettily, that the cook was prepared to go down on her knees there and then and take up the mud stains just to ease Miss Drusilla’s mind!

From the kitchen the girl went to the stables, and as she was crossing the courtyard a man wheeled swiftly past her on a bicycle. He took off his cap as he saw the younger Miss Heronworth, and Drusilla smiled and nodded.

“ So the bookworm does come out of his lair every now and then,” she said to herself. “I wonder where he is going.”

Casson, the old coachman, met Drusilla, and told her that his invalid wife was sleeping after a very bad night.

“Then I won’t disturb her now. I’ll come again this afternoon and see her,” said Drusilla. “I’ve got a present for her, Casson. Tell her not to get tea for me or to make any fuss.”

It was such a cosy little home up the narrow staircase above the coach-house. In far-off days Drusilla remembered that it was wont to be one of her most delightful treats to be allowed to spend an afternoon with Mrs. Casson.

The coachman himself was portly and full of rheumatism; he should have been pensioned, but he would still insist on driving Miss Heronworth, and looked with eyes of jaundiced contempt on the splendid motor-car which had been introduced into the establishment to please Miss Drusilla.

It would, however, have taken a great deal more than a motor-car to have displaced Drusilla Heronworth from the proud affection which the old coachman lavished upon her, although it must be confessed that he had passed a sleepless night following the arrival of that forty horse-power Panhard at Crowder Chase.

“And is it walkin’ you’ll be. Miss Drusilla?” he asked her now, with a twinkle in his eyes, “when you might be drivin’ and killin’ on the road as you go? ”

And sure it’s walking I’ll be,” said Miss Drusilla, and she laughed in his face. “ I’ll have you out with me, Casson, for a spin before many days are gone. I’ll wake you up for once in your life, Casson!”

But Casson shook his head.

“ Horses’ll do my time, miss, and I don’t want rousin’, not in that way, anyhow!”

Drusilla laughed again, and tucking her roll of newspapers securely under her arm, walked quickly out of the stable-yard with the dogs skirmishing about her.

When she had progressed a little way she stopped and turned to look behind her. This was one of her favourite spots. Time after time in the days of her childhood she had brought out her sketching block and had tried to set down in immature fashion the impression of the old house she loved from this particular point.

Since she had left the school-room and had begun to wander, Drusilla had seen many other houses — grander houses, houses stately without and within, but no place was to her so beautiful and so desirable as this little old-fashioned dwelling where she had lived all her young life.

She was perfectly well aware that she regarded Crowder Chase with a loving prejudice, for to many people the house was little more than a country villa, charmingly surrounded and comfortable enough, but altogether too small and unpretentious for people so wealthy as Bertha and herself.

Drusilla, however, had a happy knack of ignoring the opinion of others; moreover, she was truly feminine in her sentimental loyalty to everything which belonged to Bertha and her homelife; hence, Crowder Chase remained to her the dearest place in the world. She turned now sharply, and, following her sister’s directions, she kept to the road after she had left the grounds, and she walked briskly through the cold wind for some distance, talking nonsense to the dogs, and throwing occasional stones and sticks for them to run after; and all at once, when she came to a gateway, she paused and rested the bundle of newspapers on top of it.

“Light literature, indeed!” she said, and then she laughed; and then she laid her cheek on her arm and fell into a dreamy mood whilst the dogs stood waiting with panting tongues and expectant eyes.

Evidently Drusilla’s thoughts were engrossing. She seemed to have drifted far, far away from the reality of things; not even the chill sting of the wind, nor the damp of the ground on which she stood had power to rouse her. Gradually the remonstrative whine of Bob, the fox terrier, became a mournful howl, and still Drusilla did not move. She might possibly have remained in this fit of abstraction for a much longer period, had not the roll of newspapers chosen at this moment to slip from her arm and fall with a plump into the mud on the other side of the gate. There was only one way of regaining possession of the papers, and that was to climb the gate and pick them out of the mud.

To cleanse them Drusilla conceived the happy idea of rubbing them on the rough back of Danny, the Scotch terrier; then she climbed over the gate again and went on her way to the Cottage Hospital.

At the entrance to the hospital grounds she met the young man whom she had seen leaving the stable-yard at Crowder Chase on a bicycle. Drusilla gave Brian Keston a radiant smile.

“How do you do? Isn’t it a nice cold, grey day?”

She put out her hand so that Keston was obliged to stop. He looked very annoyed, awkward and shy — but Drusilla continued to smile at him.

“So glad you are having a little air and exercise,” she said ; “ of course, this is a very wonderful library which my sister has bought, and I am quite sure that you are an enthusiast about books; but I am equally quite sure it can’t be good for you to be shut up all day in a musty, dusty atmosphere. Now I am home again we must change this. I wonder if you would be so good as to give these papers in at that door? ”

He did her bidding with an almost undisguised lack of graciousness; but the girl’s eyes only sparkled.

When he came back to her, she said:

“ I am going to the village to post postcards ; please come with me.”

Without a word he went to where his bicycle was standing and wheeled it into the road.

He was as conscious of Drusilla’s beauty and elegance as he would have been of the warmth of the sun, had it deigned to shine on him just then; but he was absolutely unused to intimate contact with women of any kind, and in the presence of Drusilla, he felt uncomfortable. Moreover, as he had come to her home as a paid official, any intimacy seemed to him out of the question.

There was, however, about the younger Miss Heronworth a touch of imperiousness which demanded obedience, so he did as she wished.

It was very uphill work carrying on a onesided conversation. Consequently, Drusilla ceased in a little while to make remarks and came to questions.

“What were you doing at the hospital?” she asked. “Did my sister send you with a message also? ”

Stiffly, and with that curious reluctance in his manner to be in the least degree sociable, Keston informed her that there had been an accident early that morning in the village, and that he had been one of those who had been able to render help.

“An accident?” said Drusilla quickly, her colour fading just a little. “What sort of an accident? Who is hurt? Not anybody I know? ”

“ It is one of the boys at the mill. I think his name is Rogers.”

“Not — Phil Rogers?”

The girl stood still suddenly in the middle of the muddy road.

“ I hope it isn’t Phil Rogers,” she said. “ Oh! Mr. Keston, is he badly hurt? ”

Keston said:

“ Yes,” just that and nothing more.

Drusilla turned.

“Don’t wait for me, please; I must go back. I know this boy very well. His mother was at Crowder Chase years ago as a servant; she married one of the gardeners. Phil is all she has. If he is seriously hurt I think it will break his mother’s heart.”

Keston turned and walked back with her rapidly.

“You are not going to see him?” he asked.

He noticed that she was very pale.

She nodded her head.

“ Yes, of course I must see him.”

“ I don’t think there is any 4 of course ’ in the matter,” Brian Keston said. 44 And you can’t do any good.”

Drusilla turned on him with a flash.

44 That is rather rude, Mr. Keston,” she said. 44 How do you know I can’t do any good?”

He answered her quietly.

44 1 don’t mean to be rude, I only want you to understand that I do not think you ought to go. I daresay they will admit you because you are Miss Heronworth, but I am quite sure that everyone in the hospital will agree that it will not be right for you to see this boy in his present conso dition. There will have to be an operation,” he added. “His mother has been informed — she is with him.”

Drusilla walked on, taking no notice of his words, and he placed his bicycle by the gate and followed her through the neat gardens up to the red-brick building. She passed in through the porch, and he went also.

The matron came hurrying when she heard that Miss Drusilla Heronworth wished to see her. She said exactly what Mr. Keston had said.

“It is very, very good of you, but I do not think you had better see the poor boy. Dr. Redgood is with him, and we are expecting Mr. Bates, the surgeon, from the town as soon as he can get here. If they had not managed to stop the machinery the boy must have been killed.”

She gave a few more details, and Keston, watching the girl closely, noticed how Drusilla winced and how white her lips grew.

It was an act of impulse which made him put his hand on her arm and firmly lead her out into the air. He did not release his hold until he saw that Drusilla could stand alone, and that the colour was creeping back into her cheeks.

They walked slowly away from the hospital, and neither spoke until they had gone some distance; then Drusilla turned to him with a faint smile.

“It is rather nice of you, Mr. Keston,” she said, “ not to say 4 1 told you so,’ but I had to go.”

The young man answered:

“I quite understand your wish to offer sympathy to the mother or to do anything in your power for the boy, but you serve no good purpose by willingly seeking to harrow yourself with the sight of suffering which you cannot help.”

“ I don’t pretend to explain this sort of thing,” said Drusilla a little impatiently. “ I only know one lias to do things which are not easy or agreeable! Of course, I don’t mean always,” she added. “ I mean when circumstances force this kind of position upon one.”

“I am afraid I don’t see very much reason in that kind of argument.”

Drusilla lost her temper just for an instant.

“Reason!” she said. “Why must there always be a reason for everything? I hate people who sit down and work things out mathematically. The best things in life are spontaneous, because then they are sincere. I am sure if you stop to think about it,” she said lightly the next moment, “you will agree that it was at least a nice idea on my part to go and see poor Phil.”

He frowned ever so slightly, and his sense of impatience, of something approaching to dislike for this girl flashed into being again. If he could with all courtesy have left her, he would have done so willingly; but Drusilla, with conscious perverseness, kept him beside her.

She had a charming gift of words and could talk fluently upon any given subject without any knowledge whatever of that subject. It delighted her to talk now. That sense of poignant sympathy and of physical repugnance which the thought of any bodily suffering always produced faded away quickly. The hospital lay well behind them. If she had not entirely forgotten the injured boy, at least she did not remember him so acutely.

“You must not think,” she said to him as they approached the village, “ that I want to come into contact with things that hurt — I don’t — I really hate suffering. I am afraid I hate sorrow. I could not live in shadow; but I have a curious sense of duty. I feel I must do certain things just because I hate doing them.”

“ That is not duty,” Brian Keston said curtly. “That is an hysterical misconception of things as they are.”

Drusilla laughed.

“I believe I shall like you, Mr. Keston,” she said, “because you are argumentative. I was afraid when I met you that you were going to be tiresome and dull, because you sat like a stone and never said a word. If you will only quarrel with me now and then, I shall get quite fond of you. I have no use for people unless they can talk, and unless they will let me talk. I won’t go any farther now. Would you mind leaving this note at the rectory? I’ll wait for you.”

She watched him as he walked briskly away. From the very first she had realized that he was attractive — also, that he was indubitably a gentleman. Now she realized that he was just a littie different from most of the men with whom she had been in contact lately.

His clothes were shabby — his manners not exactly polished, but she found him interesting, and she was quite glad that he was going to stay some little while at Crowder Chase; for, despite her protestations of happiness, she was just a little tiny bit dull at home.

There had been so many strange elements in the atmosphere which had surrounded her just before her return to her sister.

As she waited for Keston to do her errand he gradually went out of her thoughts, and another figure took his place.

Three of the dogs had followed him; but Danny was always faithful. He had sat down in the mud close to Drusilla’s feet and was waiting patiently for her word of command to move on. Drusilla stooped and patted the dog’s head; then she gave a quick sigh.

“ It is simply idiotic,” she said, addressing herself, “and I never remembered anybody in this sort of way before. Why can’t I stop thinking about Carlingford? When Beth begins to ask me questions about what I did at Braske, and who I met there, I always try to speak quite naturally, and to tell her all about him; but the very moment I am going to speak his name I get scarlet in the face, and terrified lest Beth should imagine all sorts of things which don’t exist.”

She gave another quick sigh.

n THE LAUGHTER OF LIFE

“And the horridest part of all this is that I daresay he has forgotten my existence! I expect he is busy making love to someone else up in Scotland now.” And then with a sudden rush of feeling which was quite uncontrollable, she cried out to herself, “ Oh! I do hope he isn’t!”

Keston wheeled back to her on his bicycle. He had reverted to his former condition of silence. The desire to leave her was so dominant in him as to make itself felt tangibly.

But Drusilla had no intention of letting him go. She told him quite plainly.

“I know you want to get away,” she said; “you are so irritable as to be almost angry; but I am always accustomed to get what I want, and as you wouldn’t let me have my own way just now, you have to suffer for that.”

A few yards further on she became personal in her remarks.

“ I am afraid you are bad-tempered, Mr. Keston. Oh! please don’t be sulky. You have to amuse me, you know, and you can’t do that if you are always in the dumps.”

The certain conviction that he did not in the least know how to treat her and her nonsense was enjoyable up to a certain point, but after a little while it became irksome.

“ This is real hard work and no mistake,” she said to herself. “I expect when he gets in he will sit down and write out his resignation! And then Beth will scold me.”

She resolved to dismiss him.

“ I can see you are longing to get back to your work, so I won’t keep you. If you will just get me some of those fascinating red berries, I will let you escape, Mr. Keston. Let me hold your bicycle.” But he set this suggestion aside, of course, and putting the machine against the hedge he pulled and dragged at the branches above it till he had accomplished her desire.