‘Oh yes, thank you, the baby is well,’ she answered, high and bright, descending with some skill to a darker key: ‘I wish I could say the same of Laura, who devotes herself to the child so unselfishly, her own health must suffer in the end.’
Mrs Pringle tilted her head in a certain polite way. Although Dear Laura’s Baby had become an institution in their own immediate circle, she was aware that in other quarters unwholesome references frequently were made to Miss Trevelyan’s Child.
So that it was pure magnanimity on the part of Mrs Pringle, when, at a later date, she dispatched Una with Miss Abbey to the Bonners, to suggest a picnic party.
‘At short notice,’ Una had composed, ‘but Mamma did think you might possibly be free.’
They were all seated in the drawing-room — that is to say: Mrs Bonner, determined to disguise her gratitude; Belle, who had barely had time to put up her hair after washing it; Una Pringle, in new gloves; Miss Abbey, a governess in her late thirties; Dr Badgery, surgeon of Nautilus; and a midshipman so shy that nobody had caught his name. Arriving at the Pringles’ on shore leave, the two latter, although not unwilling, had at once been conscripted to escort the ladies on their morning call.
‘On Thursday afternoon, at Waverley,’ Una Pringle continued, to fulfil her duty.
‘Now, you are sure it was Thursday, dear? I cannot remember precisely what Mamma said. I have an idea it could have been Wednesday,’ interrupted Miss Abbey, who would catch thus at a conversation, as it flowed by, and hope to be carried along.
Una Pringle ignored the governess of her younger sisters.
‘Mamma suggests we all gather at our house; then we shall give one another protection on the way.’
‘Oh dear, do you think we shall need it?’ laughed Miss Abbey, and looked at the gentlemen.
She would have liked to make a clever remark, but could not think of one.
‘I mean,’ she said, ‘one no longer meets the ruffians one is promised.’
It was very still in the drawing-room.
Then Mrs Bonner frowned, and sighed, and let it be understood she was engaged in a kind of higher mathematics:
‘Let me see. Thursday?’
She had grown contemplative of the whole of time.
‘Now, had it been Wednesday, that is always inconvenient. And Friday, that would be out of the question. Miss Lassiter is to fit Belle for her dress. The wedding-dress. My daughter, Mr Badgery, is to be married, you may not have heard. To Lieutenant Radclyffe.’
‘Ha!’ exclaimed the surgeon of Nautilus, and was horrified to hear himself smack his lips.
This unexpected noise was distinguished quite clearly by all the ladies present, the kinder of whom hastened in their minds to blame the madeira, of which Mrs Bonner had offered a glass, but lately imported, too. It could have been the madeira, or the biscuit; a dry biscuit does encumber the tongue. Mrs Bonner herself examined the surgeon afresh, and saw a somewhat thick-set individual, of healthy complexion, and crisp hair. If not quite a gentleman, at least his eye was honest.
‘Lieutenant Radclyffe,’ the tactful hostess continued to explain, ‘who will resign his commission shortly before the ceremony. The young couple propose to take up residence in the Hunter Valley.’
‘Oh, Mamma, you are becoming tedious!’
Belle blushed, and did look very pretty.
‘The Hunter Valley?’ said the surgeon. ‘I must confess to ignorance of almost everything concerning New South Wales, but hope to remedy that, with time and study. The sea-shells, I have noticed, appear to be particularly fine.’
It is a dismal fact that, to know one is not as dull as one can sound, does not help in the least.
‘Dr Badgery reads books,’ Una Pringle contributed.
‘Ah,’ Mrs Bonner accepted, ‘my niece, Laura, who will be down presently, is the one for reading books. She is quite highly educated, Mr Badgery, although I do say it myself. Most men, of course, are prejudiced against education in a woman; to some it even appears unseemly, but then, on the whole, men are timid things. Please do not misunderstand me, Mr Badgery. Naturally, there are exceptions. Although, in my opinion, timidity in certain avenues does enhance manliness. Just as intellect in a woman can spice her charm and sweetness. As in our Laura.’
Oh, Mamma, Belle barely breathed, who had not suspected her mother of such enlightenment.
‘Laura is so sweet,’ said Una Pringle, as she had been taught, and examined her new kid glove, which had rather a distinctive smell. ‘How is the baby? Laura has a baby,’ she explained kindly, for the sake of Dr Badgery.
‘A baby?’
The surgeon suspected that his surprise sounded less polite than indelicate and, for the second time, was made most unhappy.
It was fortunate that the midshipman had broken his biscuit. As he gathered up the fragments from the carpet, everybody was able to stare at his big, cold-looking, boy’s hands.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bonner, who was most fascinated by the midshipman’s god-sent crumbs. ‘A baby. It is a touching story. Laura herself will tell you.’
Thus inspired, she dared that Una Pringle to say another word, and Una did not.
It was then that Dr Badgery noticed the dark young woman entering the room, and realized that all else, though elegant in its way, had been the preliminary roll of kettle drums. All were soon looking at her, because by now she had closed the door, and was forced to face them. Equally, the strangers were forced to face Miss Trevelyan, so that the walls contained a certain feeling of suppressed thunder.
‘Please sit down,’ Laura did not quite command, but addressed them as a woman who had attained to a position of authority.
She had also distributed kind smiles, but as there was no further debt owing to Dr Badgery, she proceeded to talk in a low, agreeable voice to Una Pringle about the latter’s brothers and sisters.
‘And Grace?’ Laura asked.
‘Grace has had the croup. We were terrified,’ Una said.
‘But is better?’
‘But is better.’
Dr Badgery watched Miss Trevelyan’s hand, which was most pleasing, as it hung from the arm of the chair. Or withdrew itself to her lap. Or rested upon the line of her jaw. On one finger she was wearing a little agate ring, that she would twist suddenly. Her hands were never still for long, yet preserved their air of authority and grace, if not of actual beauty, for they appeared to have become reddened by some labour.
‘We are forgetting,’ said Laura, with an effort, ‘that Dr Badgery is not entertained. He will go away with the poorest opinion of the ladies at Sydney.’
This was an affectation, of course, and in which he refused to believe.
Immediately on closing her dark lips, she saw that the stranger might have read her, so she put her handkerchief to her mouth, but without being able to hide more than the lower part of her face.
Dr Badgery was, in fact, a man of some native sensibility. He would have liked to convey his appreciation of what he had observed, but had been rendered temporarily wooden by conventions and too many ladies.
At this point the aunt, beaming for her niece’s self-possession and looks, could not resist announcing:
‘Mr Badgery is anxious to study the geography of New South Wales, Laura. He, too, is of an intellectual turn of mind.’
Such compliments are apt to become accusations.
‘I do not make claims on the strength of one or two hobbies.’ The surgeon began to bristle.
Then he gave up. It would have been exhilarating if the young woman had united with him in their common defence, but he realized that for some reason she did not wish him to continue. In fact, she was beseeching him not to involve her in any way.
His immediate respect for her wishes should have increased that understanding which obviously did exist between them, but in the case of Laura, she was embarrassed. She found herself staring at his rather coarse, though kind hand spread upon his thick, uneasy thigh. As for the surgeon, he would remember certain of her attitudes, to his own torment.