“An excellent woman.” agreed Rotherham. “Serena’s marriage will no doubt be a sad loss to her. She is really quite unfitted to live alone.”
“Exactly so! One cannot but feel that she needs to be protected from—But I fear she will have her sister thrust upon her, and from all I can discover a more disagreeable, censorious girl never existed!”
“Indeed? A gloomy prospect, certainly. However, I daresay she will marry again.”
“Marry!” The Major sounded thunderstruck, but said quickly, after a blank moment: “Why, yes! Of course! We must hope she may.”
“I do hope it,” said Rotherham cryptically, and opened the door.
The sound of music met them, as they mounted the stairs. They found Fanny seated by the open window, gazing out into the gathering dusk, and Serena at the piano in the back half of the drawing-room. She stopped playing when she saw that the gentlemen had come in, but the Major went to her, saying: “Ah, don’t get up! You were playing the Haydn sonata I recommended to you!”
“Attempting to play it! It is not fit yet to be heard!”
“Try it once more!” he coaxed her. “I’ll turn for you.”
She allowed herself to be persuaded. Rotherham walked over to the window, and sat down beside Fanny. For a few moments he watched the couple at the far end of the room, his face expressionless. Then he turned his head to look at Fanny. He said, his voice a little lowered: “I understand that this marriage has your approval, Lady Spenborough.”
“Yes, I—I feel so sure that he will make Serena happy!”
“Do you?”
“It couldn’t be otherwise!” she said wistfully. “He is so very kind, and—and has loved her so devotedly!”
“So I am informed.”
“Indeed, it is quite true! He worships her: I think there is nothing he would not do to please her!”
“Excellent! Does he quarrel with her?”
“No, no! His temper is of the sweetest, and he is so patient! I cannot but feel that his tenderness and forbearance must put it out of her power to quarrel with him.” She saw the sardonic smile curl his lips, and faltered: “You do not dislike him, Lord Rotherham?”
He shrugged. “I see nothing to dislike.”
“I am so glad you have not withheld your consent.”
“It would have been useless.”
She looked anxiously at him, and nerved herself to say: “I am afraid you are not quite pleased. He is not her equal in rank or fortune, but in worth, I do assure you—”
He interrupted her, in his brusque way. “On the contrary! I am much better pleased than I expected to be. Had I known—” He broke off. She saw that the smile had quite vanished, and that his brows were lowering again. He sat in a brown study for several minutes. It seemed to her that his face hardened as she watched him. As though he felt her eyes upon him, he came out of his reverie, and turned his head to meet her inquiring look. “Such persons as you and Major Kirkby are to be envied!” he said abruptly. “You make mistakes, but you will not make the crass mistakes that spring from a temper never brought under control! I must go. Don’t get up!”
She was wholly bewildered, and could only say: “You will stay for tea!”
“Thank you, no! It is not yet dark, and there will be a full moon presently: I mean to start for London tonight.” He shook handswith her, and strode away to take his leave of Serena and the Major.
“Going so soon!” Serena exclaimed, rising quickly from the piano stool. “Good God, have I driven you away by my lamentable performance?”
“I wasn’t listening to it. I am sleeping at Marlborough, or Newbury, tonight, and must not stay.”
She smiled, but retained his hand. “You have not wished me happy.”
There was a moment’s silence, while each stared into the other’s eyes. “Have I not? I do wish you happy, Serena.” His grasp on her hand tightened rather painfully for an instant. He released it, and turned to shake hands with the Major. “I wish you happy too. I fancy you will be.”
A brief goodbye, and he was gone. Serena shut the piano. The Major waited for a moment, watching her, as she gathered her music together. “No more?” he asked gently.
She looked as though she did not realize what she had been doing. Then she put the music into a cabinet, and replied, “Not tonight. I must practise it before I play it to you again.” She turned, and laid her hand on his arm, walking with him into the front half of the room. “Well, that went off pretty tolerably, didn’t it? I wish I had not flown into a rage, but he made me do so. Did you hate him?”
“I didn’t love him,” he confessed. “But I thought he treated my pretensions with a degree of kindness I had no right to expect.”
“Your pretensions! I wish you will not talk in that absurd way!” she said impatiently. He was silent, and she pressed his arm, saying, in a lighter tone: “Do you know I am close on twenty-six years of age? I am very much obliged to you for offering for me! I had quite given up hope of achieving a respectable alliance.”
He smiled, but said: “It won’t do, Serena. You must not try to turn it off. This matter must be seriously discussed between us.”
“Not now! I don’t know how it is, but I have the headache. Don’t tease me. Hector!”
“My darling! I will rather beg you to go up to bed! You should not have let me keep you at the piano! Have you any fever?”
She pulled her hand away. “No, no! It’s nothing—the heat! Ah, here is the tea-tray at last!”
He looked at her in concern, which was not lessened by Fanny’s saying: “A headache? You, dearest? I never knew you to complain of such a thing before! Oh, I hope you may not have a touch of the sun! I wish you will go to bed! Lybster, desire her ladyship’s woman to fetch some vinegar to her room directly, if you please!”
“No!” almost shrieked Serena. “For heaven’s sake, let me alone! Of all things in the world I most abominate being—” She clipped the word off short, and gave a gasp. “I beg your pardon!” she said, forcing a smile. “You are both of you very kind, but pray believe I don’t wish to have my temples bathed with vinegar, or to have such a rout made over nothing! I shall be better when I have drunk some tea.”
It seemed as if the Major was going to say something, but even as he opened his mouth to speak Fanny caught his eye, and very slightly shook her head. “Will you take this cup to Serena, Major?” she said calmly.
But he had first to hover over Serena, while she disposed herself in a wing-chair, to place a cushion behind her head, and a stool at her feet. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair till her knuckles gleamed, and her lips were tightly compressed. But when he set her cup down on a table beside her, she smiled again, and thanked him. Fanny began to talk to him, in her soft voice, distracting his attention from Serena. In a minute or two, Serena sat up, allowing the cushion to slide down behind her, and sipped her tea. When she spoke, it was in her usual manner, but when she had finished the tea in her cup she went away to bed, saying, however, that her headache was gone, and she was merely sleepy.
The Major turned an anxious gaze upon Fanny. “Do you think her seriously unwell, Lady Spenborough?”
“Oh, I hope not!” she replied. “I think, perhaps, Lord Rotherham vexed her. If she is not better in the morning, I will try to persuade her to let me send for the doctor. But it never answers to pay any heed if she is not quite well.” She smiled at him consolingly. “She cannot bear anyone to be in a fuss about her, you see. Indeed, I quite thought she would have flown out at you for trying to make her comfortable. Will you have some more tea?”
“No, thank you. I must go. I shall call tomorrow morning, if I may, to see how she goes on,” he said.
But when he presented himself in Laura Place at ten o’clock next day, he found the ladies breakfasting, Serena in her riding dress. She greeted him with mock abuse, demanding to be told why he had broken faith with her. “Ten whole minutes did I wait for you to come trotting over the bridge, and that, let me tell you, is longer than I have waited for any man before! Well for you you did not appear by that time, for I should certainly have sworn at you! Fanny, I forbid you to give him that coffee! He has slighted me!”