CHAPTER IV.

_A LITTLE CLOUD._

"My dear, you are charming--perfect. I own that I have had misgivings: but you have proved yourself the best judge. My own treasured Madame could not have turned you out better. I am delighted with you. Now you need not blush at a compliment from a sister, not but what it is a remarkably becoming blush."

"Now Beatrice--please----"

"My dear child, if you think to stop my tongue, or to curb my freedom of speech, you are attempting an utter impossibility, as your husband will tell you, if you still take the trouble to apply to him for information. Well, Odeyne, I hope you will enjoy your first introduction to society. You must expect to have your measure taken pretty freely by all the company, who are more or less dying of curiosity to see Desmond's bride: but at least your appearance defies criticism. It is as quaint and delicious and altogether charming as your name, which nobody has ever heard before."

Odeyne was standing before Beatrice, in one of the elegantly-appointed rooms of Rotherham Park, the country residence of the Hon. Algernon Vanborough. It was the first dinner-party which had been given in honour of the bride, and Odeyne felt a little excited, and perhaps a trifle nervous too, at the prospect of facing a fashionable assemblage, met together in her honour, though fortunately for her she was not either self-conscious or shy. The long straight folds of her white silk wedding-dress hung in severely classical lines about her slight, well-proportioned figure, giving it additional height and grace. The dress was absolutely plain, without a particle of trimming, and had originally been high to the throat and wrists. Since then Alice's deft fingers had cut a small square in front and arranged a high Medicis collar at the back, whilst the sleeves were now short to the elbow and finished off with delicate lace ruffles. Odeyne wore no ornaments save the string of pearls--Beatrice's wedding gift--round her neck, and a spray of stephanotis and maidenhair fern fastened on her shoulder. Starry white blossoms nestled in her dusky hair, which was piled up on the top of her head. She possessed a marked individuality of her own that was not lost upon Beatrice. Not only was she decidedly beautiful, but she had an air of distinction--a thing of which Mrs. Vanborough thought a great deal more.

Odeyne and her husband had come early, a good hour before other dinner guests were likely to arrive. The young wife had taken a liking to Beatrice, more because she found her so easy to get on with, than for any great similarity in taste or feeling: and then there was no doubt that Beatrice liked her--which was more than she could say with certainty of the rest of Desmond's near relatives; and it is easy under such circumstances to entertain warm feelings. Odeyne was eager to like her husband's people and make herself one of them, but Maud's coldness repelled her, whilst there was something in the air and manner of the mother which always had the effect of jarring on her sensibilities, though she could never exactly tell why.

So Beatrice was a pleasant contrast, and she had accepted the brother's wife as a sister from the first. Desmond, too, liked his sister's house far better than his mother's, and was always ready to ride or drive across, or to ask them over to the Chase. Odeyne had seen Beatrice quite a number of times already, and the small amount of natural constraint she had felt at first was rapidly vanishing away. It was certainly rather hard to feel constrained with Beatrice, unless she intended you to be so.

As they turned to go downstairs together, Odeyne paused and said--

"Please may we go to the nursery first? I have not seen the boy for such a long time."

Beatrice laughed as she answered--

"Do you say that because you really wish to go, or because you think it will please me to pretend you do?"

"I say it because I want it. I think it bores you to go to your nursery, Beatrice, but I can quite well go alone. I know the way by this time."

Again Beatrice laughed, shaking her head.

"Your candour is delightful, and your eyes are sharp. Take care that the combination does not get you into trouble one of these fine days, fair sister. But I will go with you. You have a happy knack of not boring me with your admiration of the boy. You do not expect me to drivel over him, and really I cannot stoop to that."

The nursery was dimly lighted, cool and empty. The rosy, beautiful boy lay sleeping in his cot, with one round, fat arm flung over his head. Odeyne bent over him and kissed him many times, a strange thrill running through her as she did so. It seemed such a holy and beautiful and wonderful thing to have a little innocent child all one's own. She felt that if such a life should some day be given to her, as a gift from heaven, she would hardly know how to prize or cherish it enough.

"Oh, Beatrice," she said, lifting herself up at last, "how good it must make you try to be, to have a darling like that to think for! I think it must be a great help, though of course it is a great anxiety too."

Her sister-in-law regarded her with a look of speculative curiosity, in which amusement and something not altogether removed from sadness were strangely blended.

"A help?" she repeated questioningly. "In what way?"

"Oh, you must know, you must feel it. Think how sad it would be if one's own children saw the least thing to make them lose confidence in one. I know if I had seen mother or father doing wrong, or being careless or frivolous, it would have felt as if the very foundations of the world were giving way. Don't you know what I mean? I think you must. There are so many temptations in life, but nothing would help to keep us clear of them like the thought that we might be setting a bad example to the children who trusted us. It would be too dreadful to think that we had perhaps given the first impetus in a wrong direction."

And Odeyne's face was turned upon her companion with a depth of sweet seriousness upon it that for once seemed to silence the lively Beatrice.

"Well, dear, suppose we go down now," she said, after a little pause. "Your ideas are beautiful--almost too beautiful for daily wear, I fear--never mind, you shall set us all an example one of these days. No, I am not laughing at you, I verily believe you will; though whether we follow it is quite another matter. Ah, here is Maud, come in good time also. Well, I will leave you together, and go down, for people may be coming any time now, and Algy is always fussing over the wine till the very last moment."

Beatrice's dinner was a great success--most of her entertainments were--for both she and her husband possessed the knack of getting the right people together, and entertaining them well.

Odeyne was the person of greatest importance that night, and she made quite a little social success, which she enjoyed in the fresh, spontaneous way of a young thing, to whom everything was new and delightful.

She saw that Desmond was pleased with her, and with everything, and that added to her enjoyment; and then the talk was so bright and lively, there was such sparkle and wit in the sallies and retorts, that the girl was quite taken out of herself, and found it all most entertaining; nor was she herself by any means a cypher either, but showed that she could talk with a spice of originality that delighted her neighbours. She was so fresh and bright and unsophisticated, without being silly, that all were taken with her, and it was said on all hands that the new Mrs. St. Claire was going to be an addition to the county.

So the dinner and the first part of the evening passed off delightfully, and it was only after the gentlemen joined the ladies later on in the drawing-room that anything occurred to mar the pleasure of what had gone before.

Odeyne gathered from the talk in the drawing-room that the Goodwood races, which had hitherto been but a name to her, were shortly coming off, and that everyone talked as if all were going as the veriest matter-of-course.

So far Desmond had not mentioned the matter to his wife, and Odeyne was a little surprised that Beatrice should speak of her going as if it were a settled thing.

The girl had never seen a race in her life, and she thought it must be a very pretty sight.

At the same time she felt a misgiving as to whether her parents would altogether like her to be there, and she wondered if there could be anything wrong about it, for all these people evidently meant to go, and saw no harm in it.

Beatrice looked at her once or twice as the conversation proceeded, as if to see how it affected her; but Odeyne was not one to air her opinions too freely, especially when she was uncertain of her ground, and she had implicit confidence in her husband's judgment. He would never take her to any place she ought not to be seen at.

Desmond seemed in a very lively mood when he came in. He stood beside his wife's chair, as though he liked to feel her near; but he continued his conversation with the men about him, and though Odeyne listened to every word, she found that she understood very little. It seemed to be about horses and racing, and that was about all she made out. Sometimes note-books were produced, and entries made--Desmond himself made a good many--but she did not understand what it was about, and was half ashamed of the feeling of uneasiness which came over her as she watched and listened.

But before long the carriage was announced, and they took their departure; and when she was once alone with her husband, felt his arm about her waist, and heard his tender words of playful praise for the impression she had made on the neighbourhood that night, she felt perfectly happy again. He would never do the least thing that was wrong; and, indeed, her confidence was such that she was not afraid to put the question to him direct when they had got home, and were sitting together for a chat before retiring for the night.

"Desmond, what were you all doing with your note-books just now?" she said, laying her hand caressingly on his coat-sleeve; "it looked almost as if you were betting together. What was it?"

"Well, you might have made a worse shot, little wifie; did you never hear of fellows laying a little money upon coming events?" and he laughed at his little pleasantry.

"But, Desmond, I thought it was wrong to bet."

He stooped and kissed her grave face.

"So it can be, darling--very wrong indeed, as some men do it; but not as your husband does. You may trust me, my sweet, never to cross the line that divides a little innocent fun from what verges on actual fraud and roguery. Why, what a serious face, to be sure! What is the matter, Odeyne?"

"I--I hardly know how to say it, Desmond; you know it is not that I do not trust you--I know you would never do anything really wrong. But I cannot help thinking it would be so much better not to bet at all. You admit yourself that it can be very wrong indeed, and don't you think in such a case it is safer to leave it alone altogether?"

His pleasant smile beamed like sunshine over his face. It was almost enough in itself to dissipate her fears.

"My good, little, prudent wife, you speak with great seeming wisdom, but with a good deal of inexperience too. We live in a world where, unfortunately, every good thing and every pleasant thing is not only used, but abused also--very shamefully abused in many cases; but that is hardly a reason for not making a legitimate use of them. We cannot cease clothing ourselves because sweaters' dens exist, nor can we all feel it necessary to give up our glass of wine or beer because some men will persist in getting drunk. We have to buy horses, even though we know that dealers are cheating us, and we should have to live in glass cases, and never do a thing, if we were to be deterred by the thought that we were unconsciously encouraging vice in some form or another in the actions of our daily lives. We can only take care that all we do ourselves is upright and honest, and leave the rest. We cannot possibly stop the evil in the world, but if we set a good example of temperance in all things, and just and upright dealing, we are doing good in a way--and nowhere is such temperate example more needed than on the racecourse."

Odeyne was silent. She had hardly given these matters a thought in her past life, they had been so utterly removed from her range of vision. She felt that there was a flaw in Desmond's specious argument, but hardly knew how to detect or expose it. As her silence did not appear to be of quite a consenting kind, Desmond continued his little discourse.

"You see, Odeyne, it does not do for a man to make himself peculiar. If he does, he at once loses all influence over his friends, and is put down at once as a milksop or a fool. I live amongst a very nice set of fellows, I know their ways and like them, and we thoroughly understand one another. Everyone admits that it is a right and proper thing to spend a certain amount of one's income in amusement; and so long as this sum can be well afforded, and is never exceeded, there can be no reason alleged against spending it as one wishes. If it amuses me to risk a few pounds over a little bet with a fellow, just as well off as myself, what earthly harm can it do? We can both of us afford to lose, and if I win his money one day, he will win mine the next, and so in the long run things are pretty much where they were, and we have had our little bit of fun. You wouldn't think anything of playing a game for counters; and really, when one has a little margin in money to throw about in that sort of way, there's precious little difference that I can see. I admit that a man who tries to get his living by betting is likely enough to turn rascal, and, of course, it is simple idiocy the way clerks and fellows of that class are betting nowadays. But, as I said before, with that we have nothing to do. What I do promise, little wife, is that you shall never have any cause to be anxious on my account; but to say I would never lay a pound on a favourite horse would be absurd. We should be the laughing-stock of the whole place, and lose every scrap of influence we might otherwise possess. The moment you put yourself on to an entirely different plane from the rest of your world, from that moment your power ceases; and I should be really sorry to lose what influence I have with Algernon Vanborough, for he is disposed to be very reckless, and for poor Beatrice's sake I should be most reluctant to cut myself off from the chance of keeping him steadier. He is a very good fellow, and will listen to advice now; but if he thought I had 'turned Puritan,' as he would call it, he would never listen to another word I had to say."

Even then it was some time before Odeyne answered, and her words were prefaced by a sigh.

"Well, Desmond, perhaps you know best, but I am sorry, for I can't like it, or feel quite as you do. I know so little about these things that I can't argue--I have no facts to go upon--only a vague feeling that it can hardly be right to encourage any amusement that leads to so much sin and misery. It isn't the racing itself I mean. I think it must be a splendid sight to see the beautiful, strong horses run. If you like me to go with you to Goodwood, or anywhere else like that, I would go directly. But I do wish you would not bet--I have such a strong feeling against it, though to you perhaps it seems a foolish one. It seems to me almost like stealing, to take another man's money without earning it--and you say yourself that it is roguery in lots and lots of people. I'm afraid I don't quite see the difference. How can what is wrong in one case be right in another? The degree of wrong, I can see, may differ, but in kind it is the same; it is still a wrong."

"Well, dearest, I suppose I can hardly expect you, with your training and antecedents, to take any but a rather narrow view of such a complicated and difficult question. I admit that it is a very difficult one, and that your heroic remedy, if it could be enforced, would doubtless do an immense amount of good; but then, unluckily, it can't. We have to take the world as we find it, not as we should like it to be; and under these circumstances we have to accept a good deal of evil with it. Believe me, darling, that I am really acting for the best in not rushing to extremes either in one direction or another. I have seen as much harm done by the one extreme as by the other, and I am convinced that a middle course is the wisest and best, as well as the kindest to Beatrice. You will try to trust me, Odeyne, and believe that I act for the best?"

"I will try, dear Desmond," she answered with one of her tenderest glances. "You know that I trust you. But when a thing seems dangerous to one's self, it is always difficult to be convinced that the danger is imaginary. And you know, dear, if you do not mind my saying it, it can never be really right to do evil that good may come."

His answer was a smile. Desmond was never angry--least of all with his young wife, whom he so tenderly loved. Of course it was just what was to be expected from her, a little fear at first, and a few words of remonstrance; but she would soon learn that the danger was purely imaginary, and cease to dread it, and he would never give her one hour of real anxiety. He had had his lesson young, whilst still a mere lad. He had suffered enough then, he told himself, for a lifetime, and would be in no danger of falling into the trap again. He had plenty of ballast on board now to keep him steady--his wife at home, and his business abroad. If, to please her, he gave up a great part of his time to uncongenial toil, it would not be fair on her part to grudge him his fairly-won and innocent amusements. Odeyne was not unreasonable; she would see this for herself, and meantime he would keep all objectionable sights and sounds from her. She should be as happy as the day was long.

And there was no denying that the girl enjoyed Goodwood week immensely. Desmond took her to the place before the racing began, and showed her the country for miles round. They visited Arundel Castle and the little watering-places in the vicinity, and to Odeyne, to whom everything was new, it was altogether delightful. The beautiful sweep of down, upon the crest of which the racecourse stands, was in itself a joy to her. It was all so fresh, so breezy, so open, even in the heat of summer, that it was hard to believe anything very bad could go on there; and then the horses were so beautiful and so noble-looking, and struggled so gallantly to respond to the efforts of their riders when the time came, and it all seemed so perfectly fair and honest, that the whole scene could not but be a delight to the girl so keenly alive to beauty as Odeyne. She could not believe that there was any cheating and rascality in such an apparently simple thing as riding a race, and she was too far removed from the betting-ring, and too ignorant of the meaning of much that went on around her, to be enlightened or disillusioned to any great extent. Her husband saw her looking animated and happy, and was content, and the time passed away pleasantly for both.

Occasionally the girl's happiness was damped by the sight of some wretched, haggard face, and she would realise forcibly at such a moment that there was a very black reverse to all this sunshine and glamour. At such times she would long to be back in her quiet home, and wonder if she were right in being here at all. She would fain have given of her abundance to some of the broken-down wretches she sometimes saw, crushed down to the ground with misery; but once when she timidly suggested something of the kind to Desmond, he only shook his head.

"My dear child, where would be the use? he would only go straight to some sharper and lose it all again. What can such fellows as that know about racing? They are bound to lose. Nobody in the world can help them. They merely help those rascally bookmakers to live and thrive."

At such moments Odeyne would feel sick at heart, and wonder in what lay the almost miraculous attraction of the scene; but it was not until the last day that she was in any way disturbed on her own account, and then it was only by some chance words from Beatrice.

"Well, Odeyne, it has been charming having you in our party, I have enjoyed it double as much, so the advice I am going to give you is the more disinterested. If I were you I would try to wean Desmond away from such places. He is devoted to you and a very dear boy, and you might be able to use your influence successfully. He hasn't the head for this sort of thing. He is much too impulsive and generous and easy-going. He hasn't got far out yet; but one of these days he will get regularly dipped, if you don't keep him out of the way. Algernon is past cure; all I can hope is that he will keep fairly lucky, as he is for the most part, thank goodness. But then Algy has twice Desmond's head, and a vast deal more knowledge to boot. So if you take my advice, you will keep your boy away. He is young enough now to learn better, but he will not be so long."

Odeyne made but little reply, quietly thanking Beatrice for her advice, but not dropping a hint as to her own anxieties--she was far too loyal a wife; but she turned the counsel over many times in her mind, and went home with the feeling that the first little cloud had come into her sky to dim the sunshine of her great happiness.