Valentine nodded.
"I will be in," she said. Then she added, her eyes filling with tears--"You don"t really want to take me away from my father, Gerald?"
"I did wish to do so, dear, but we need not think of it again. The one and only object of my life is to make you happy, Val. Now go to bed, and to sleep, dearest. I am going downstairs to have a smoke."
The next morning, very much to her surprise, Mr. Paget called his daughter into his study, and made the same proposition to her which Gerald had made the night before.
"I must not be a selfish old man, Val," he said. "And I think it is best for young married folks to live alone. I know how you love me, my child, and I will promise to pay you a daily visit. Or at least when you don"t come to me, I will look you up. But all things considered, it is best for your husband and you to have your own house. Why, what is it, Valentine, you look quite queer, child."
"This is Gerald"s doing," said Valentine--her face had a white set look--never before had her father seen this expression on it. "No, father, I will not leave you; I refuse to do so; it is breaking our compact; it is unfair."
She went up to him, and put her arms round his neck, and again her golden locks touched his silvered head, and her soft cheek pressed his.
"Father darling, you won"t break your own Val"s heart--you couldn"t; it would be telling a lie. I won"t live away from you--I won"t, so there."
Just at this moment Wyndham entered the room.
"What is it, sir?" he said, almost fiercely. "What are you doing with Val? Why, she is crying. What have you been saying to her?"
"My father said nothing," answered Valentine for him. "How dare you speak to my father in that tone? It is you. Gerald; you have been mean and shabby. You went to my father to try to get him on your side--to try and get him--to try and get him to aid you in going away--to live in another house. Oh, it was a mean, cowardly thing to do, but you shan"t have your way, for I"m not going; only I"m ashamed of you, Gerald, I"m ashamed of you."
Here Valentine burst into a tempest of angry, girlish tears.
"Don"t be silly, Val," said her husband, in a quiet voice. "I said nothing about this to Mr. Paget. I wished for it, but as I told you last night, when you disapproved, I gave it up. I don"t tell lies. Will you explain to Valentine, please, sir, that I"m guiltless of anything mean, or, as she expresses it, shabby, in this matter."
"Of course, Wyndham--of course, you are," said Paget. "My dear little Val, what a goose you have made of yourself. Now run away, Wyndham, there"s a good fellow, and I"ll soothe her down. You might as well go to the office for me. Ask Helps for my private letters, and bring them back with you. Now, Valentine, you and I are going to have a drive together. Good-bye, Wyndham."
Wyndham slowly left the room--Valentine"s head was still on her father"s shoulder--as her husband went away he looked back at her, but she did not return his glance.
"The old man is right," he soliloquized bitterly. "I have not a chance of winning her heart. No doubt under the circ.u.mstances this is the only thing to be desired, and yet it very nearly maddens me."
Wyndham did not return to Queen"s Gate until quite late; he had only time to run up to his room and change his dress hastily for dinner.
Valentine had already gone downstairs, and he sighed heavily as he noticed this, or he felt that unwittingly he had managed to hurt her in her tenderest feelings that morning.
"If there is much of this sort of thing," he said to himself. "I shall not be so sorry when the year is up. When once the plunge is over I may come up another man, and anything is better than perpetually standing on the brink." Yet half an hour later Wyndham had completely changed his mind, for when he entered the drawing-room, a girlish figure jumped up at once out of an easy-chair, and ran to meet him, and Valentine"s arms were flung about his neck and several of her sweetest kisses printed on his lips.
"Forgive me for being cross this morning, dear old darling. Father has made me see everything in quite a new light, and has shown me that I acted quite like a little fiend, and that you are very nearly the best of men. And do you know, Gerry, he wishes us so much to live alone, and thinks it the only right and proper thing to do, that I have given in, and I quite agree with him, quite. And we have almost taken the sweetest, darlingest little bijou residence in Park-lane that you can imagine. It is like a doll"s house compared to this, but so exquisite, and furnished with such taste. It will feel like playing in a baby-house all day long, and I am almost in love with it already. You must come with me and see it the first thing in the morning. Gerry, for if we both like it, father will arrange at once with the agent, and then, do you know the very first thing I mean to do for you, Gerry? Oh, you need not guess, I"ll tell you. Lilias shall come up to spend the winter with us. Oh, you need not say a word. I"m not jealous, but I can see how you idolize Lilias, Gerry."
CHAPTER XIV.
At the end of a week the Wyndhams were settled in their new home, and Valentine began her duties as wife and housekeeper in earnest. She, too, was more or less impulsive, and beginning by hating the idea she ended by adopting it with enthusiasm. After all it was her father"s plan, not Gerald"s, and that in her heart of hearts made all the difference.
For the first time in her life, Valentine had more to get through than she could well accomplish. Her days, therefore, just now were one long delight to her, and even Gerald felt himself more or less infected by her high spirits. It was pretty to see her girlish efforts at housekeeping, and even her failures became subjects of good-humored merriment. Mr. Paget came over every day to see her, but he generally chose the hours when her husband was absent, and Wyndham and his young wife were in consequence able to spend many happy evenings alone.
By-and-bye this girlish and thoughtless wife was to look back on these evenings, and wonder with vain sighs of unavailing regret if life could ever again bring her back such sweetness. Now she enjoyed them unthinkingly, for her time for wakening had not come.
When the young couple were quite settled in their own establishment, Lilias Wyndham came up from the country to spend a week with them.
Nothing would induce her to stay longer away from home. Although Valentine pleaded and coaxed, and even Gerald added a word or two of entreaty, she was quite firm.
"No," she said, "nothing would make me become the obnoxious sister-in-law, about whom so much has been written in all the story books I have ever read."
"Oh, Lilias, you darling, as if you could!" exclaimed Val, flying at her and kissing her.
"Oh, yes, my dear, I could," calmly responded Lilly--"and I may just as well warn you at once that my ways are not your ways in a great many particulars, and that you"d find that out if I lived too long with you.
No, I"m going home to-morrow--to my own life, and you and Gerald must live yours without me. I am ready to come, if ever either of you want me, but just now no one does that as much as Marjory and my father."
Lilias returned to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Valentine for some days continued to talk of her with enthusiasm, and to quote her name on all possible occasions.
"Lilias says that I"ll never make a good housekeeper, unless I bring my wants into a fixed allowance, Gerald. She says I ought to know what I have got to spend each week, and not to exceed it, whether it is a large or small sum. She says that"s what she and Marjory always do.
About how much do you think I ought to spend a week on housekeeping, Gerry?"
"I don"t know, darling. I have not the most remote idea."
"But how much have we to spend altogether? We are very rich, are we not?"
"No, Valentine, we are very poor. In fact we have got nothing at all."
"Why, what a crease has come between your brows; let me smooth it out--there, now you look much nicer. You have got a look of Lilias, only your eyes are not so dark. Gerald, I think Lilias so pretty. I think she is the very sweetest girl I ever met. But what do you mean by saying we are poor? Of course we are not poor. We would not live in a house like this, and have such jolly, cosy, little dinners if we were poor. Why, I know that champagne that we have a tiny bottle of every evening is really most costly. I thought poor people lived in attics, and ate bread and American cheese. What do you mean by being poor, Gerald?"
"Only that we have nothing of our own, dearest; we depend on your father for everything."
"You speak in quite a bitter tone. It is sweet to depend on my father.
But doesn"t he give us an allowance?"
"No, Valentine, I just take him all the bills, and he pays them."
"Oh, I don"t like that plan. I think it is much more important and interesting to pay one"s own bills, and I can never learn to be a housekeeper if I don"t understand the value of money. I"ll speak to father about this when he comes to-morrow. I"ll ask him to give me an allowance."
"I wouldn"t," replied Gerald. He spoke lazily, and yawned as he uttered the words.
"There"s no use in taking up things that one must leave off again," he added, somewhat enigmatically. Then he opened a copy of Browning which lay near, and forgot Valentine and her troubles, at least she thought he forgot her.
She looked at him for a moment, with a half-pleased, half-puzzled expression coming into her face.
"He is very handsome and interesting," she murmured under her breath.
"I like him, I certainly do like him, not as well as my father of course--I"m not sorry I married him now. I like him quite as well as I could ever have cared for the other man--the man who wore white flannels and had a determined voice, and now has been turned into a dreadful prosy curate. Yes, I do like Gerald. He perplexes me a good deal, but that is interesting. He is mysterious, and that is captivating--yes, yes--yes. Now, what did he mean by that queer remark about my housekeeping--"that it wasn"t worth while?" I hope he"s not superst.i.tious--if anything could be worth while it would be well for a young girl like me to learn something useful and definite. I"ll ask him what he means."
She drew a footstool to her husband"s side, and taking one of his hands laid her cheek against it. Wyndham dropped his book and smiled down at her.
"Gerry, do you believe in omens?" she asked.
Gerald gave a slight start. Circ.u.mstances inclined him to superst.i.tion--then he laughed. He must not encourage his wife in any such folly.
"I don"t quite understand you, my love," he replied.