CHAPTER IV.
THE PALACE OF THE KINGS.
Miss Agnes Delacour was the last person to let the gra.s.s grow under her feet. She, as she expressed it to herself, "cornered" her brother-in-law as soon as the five little girls tripped off to bed.
There was nothing, she said inwardly, like taking the bull by the horns. Accordingly she attacked that ferocious beast in the form of quiet, courteous Mr Lennox with her usual energy.
"George," she said, "you are angry with your poor sister."
"Oh, not at all," he replied. "Pray take a seat. This chair I can recommend as most comfortable."
Miss Agnes accepted the chair, but pursued her own course of reasoning.
"You "re angry," she continued, "because I did not go to poor Lucy"s funeral."
"We will let that matter drop," said Lennox, his very refined face turning slightly pale.
"But, my dear brother, we must _not_ let it drop. It is my duty to protest, and to defend myself. There was a woman with cataract."
"Dear Agnes, I know that story so well. I am glad the woman recovered her sight."
"Then you are a good Christian man, George, and we are friends once again."
"We were never anything else," said Lennox.
"That being the case," continued Miss Delacour, "you will of course listen to the object of my mission here."
"I will listen, Agnes; but I do not say that I shall either comprehend or take an interest in your so-called _mission_."
"Ah, narrow, narrow man," said Miss Delacour, shaking her plump finger playfully at her host as she spoke.
"Am I narrow? I did not know it," replied Lennox.
"Fearfully so. Think of the way you are bringing up your girls."
"What is the matter with my la.s.ses? I think them the bonniest and the best in the world."
"Poor misguided man! They are nothing of the sort."
"If you have come here, Agnes, to abuse Lucy"s children, _and_ mine, I would rather we dropped the subject. They have nothing to do with you.
You have never until the present moment taken the slightest notice of them. They give _me_ intense happiness. I think, perhaps, Agnes, seeing that we differ and have always differed in every particular, it might be as well for you to shorten your visit to The Garden."
"Thank you. That is the sort of speech a child reared by you has already made to me. She has, in fact, impertinent little thing, already asked me when I am going."
"Do you allude to Hollyhock?"
"Now, George, is it wise--is it sensible to call those children after the flowers of the garden and the field? I a.s.sure you your manner of bringing up your family makes me _sick_--yes, sick!"
"Oh, don"t trouble about us," said Lennox. "We get on uncommonly well.
They are _my_ children, you know."
"And Lucy"s," whispered Miss Delacour, her voice slightly shaking.
"I am very sorry to hurt you, Agnes; but Lucy herself--dear, sweet, precious Lucy--liked the idea of each of the children being called after a flower; not baptismally, of course, but in their home life.
One of the very last things she said to me before she died was, "Call the little one Delphinium." Now, have we not talked enough on this, to me, _most_ painful subject? My Lucy and I were one in heart and deed."
"Alas, alas!" said Miss Delacour. "How hard it is to get men to understand! I knew Lucy longer than you. I brought her up; I trained her. The good that was in her she owed to me. She has pa.s.sed on--a beautiful expression _that_--but I feel a voice within me saying--a voice which is her voice--"Agnes, remember my children. Agnes, think of my children. Do for them what is right. Remember their father"s great weakness.""
"Thanks," replied Lennox. "That voice in your breast did not come from Lucy."
Miss Delacour gave a short, sharp sigh.
"Oh, the ignorance of men!" she exclaimed. "Oh, the silly, false pride of men! They think themselves the very best in the world, whereas they are in reality a poor, very poor lot."
Lennox fidgeted in his chair.
"How long will this lecture take?" he said. "As a rule I go to bed early, as the children and I have a swim in the lake before breakfast each morning."
"How are they taught other things besides swimming?" asked Miss Delacour.
"Taught?" echoed Lennox. "For their ages they are well instructed. My sister and I manage their education between us."
"George, I suppose you will end by marrying again. All men in your cla.s.s and with your disposition do so."
"Agnes, I forbid you to speak to me on that subject again. Once for all, poor weak man as you consider me, I put down my foot, and will not discuss that most painful subject. Lucy is the only wife I shall ever have. I have, thank G.o.d, my sister and my sweet girls, and I do not want anything more. I am a widower for life. Cecilia is a widow for life. We rejoice in the thought of meeting the dear departed in a happier world. Now try not to pain me any more. Good-night, Agnes.
You are a little--nay, _more_ than a little--trying."
"I"ve not an idea of going to bed yet," said Miss Delacour, "for I have not divulged my scheme. You have got to listen to it, George, whether you like it or not."
"I suppose I have," said George Lennox. He sat down, and made a violent struggle to restrain his impatience.
"I will come to the matter at once," said Miss Delacour. "You know, or perhaps you do not know, how I spend my life."
"I do not know, Agnes. You never write, and until to-day you have never come to The Garden."
"Well, I have come now with a purpose. Pray don"t fidget so dreadfully, George. It is really bad style. I am noted in London for moving in the very best society. I see the men of culture and refinement, who are always remarked for the stillness of their att.i.tudes."
"Are they?" said George Lennox. "Well, I can only say I am glad I don"t live there."
"How Lucy _could_ have taken to you?" remarked Miss Delacour.
"Say those words again, Agnes, and _I_ shall go to bed. There are some recent novels on the table, and you can read then till you feel sleepy."
"Thanks; I am never sleepy when I have work to do. My work is charity; my work is philanthropy. You know quite well that I am blessed by G.o.d with considerable means. Often and often I go to the Bank of England and stand by the Royal Exchange and see those n.o.ble words, "_The earth is the Lord"s, and the fulness thereof._" George, those words are _my_ text. Those words exemplify my work. "The earth is the Lord"s." I therefore, George, give of my abundance to the Lord, meaning thereby the Lord"s poor. I hate the Charity Organisation Society; but when I see a man or a woman or even a child in our rank of life struggling with dire poverty, when, after making strict inquiries, I find out that the poverty is real, then I help that man, woman, or child. I live, George, in a little house in Chelsea. I keep one servant, and one only. I do not waste money on motor-cars or gardens or antiquated mansions like this. I give to the Lord"s poor. George, I am a very happy woman."
"I am glad to hear it," said Lennox. "Since you entered my house, I should not have known it but for your remark."
"Ah, indeed, I have cause for sorrow in your ridiculous house, surrounded by your absurd children"----