CHAPTER III

THE HOUSE THAT WAS WAITING

GENTIAN came to the breakfast table the next morning looking the embodiment of spring. She showed her enjoyment of her surroundings in a very fresh and unconventional fashion.

"English people are so sociable," she said; "my mother often told me so. They do not eat their breakfast alone in their rooms, and think over their mistakes, and sins of yesterday, but they come together and plan their day out as we are doing now. Oh, it is all delicious. This is how I should like to live, but it takes money to do it, does it not? These lovely flowers and the garden of flowers up to the windows, and the glass and the silver, and the well-laid table. Waddy and I could never have this, never, never!"

"I thought you were going to make your fortune," said Mr. Wharnecliffe with a good-natured smile.

"Yes, I hope I am. Will you let me drive you to the station this morning in my car? You will see then that I am an experienced driver. And I want you to test my car, and tell me if you think it is a comfortable one."

For an instant husband's and wife's eyes met across the table, then Mrs. Wharnecliffe said:

"Let her do it, Frank. We'll tell Munn he will not be needed."

Gentian was delighted. She drove her host to the station an hour later, and he found no fault with her driving, or with her car. Yet he, as well as his wife, expressed disapproval of her taking it up as a profession.

"I would not let a daughter of my own do it on any consideration," he told her.

"But if you and your wife were taken to the other world, and your daughter left alone with no money and no home, would not that alter the case?"

"No, I should never rest in my grave if I knew that a young girl was being exposed to such a difficult and dangerous life."

Gentian was silent. She did not come straight home after she had left the station. She picked up two old women trudging along the dusty road with heavy baskets of eggs which they were carrying to market in Winderball, and she drove them to their destination; then she explored the country on the farther side of the town, and coming back, bought a motor map of the county.

When she arrived at the Hall, she found Mrs. Wharnecliffe in the garden giving directions to her gardener. They walked through the garden together, Gentian giving an account of her drive.

"I am going to take you to have tea with Thorold this afternoon," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe presently. "He has invited us."

Gentian looked at her with laughing eyes but with screwed-up lips.

"He must leave me alone whilst I am your guest," she said; "I feel he will try to manage me, if I get to know him well. I suppose men can't help that assertive manner in dealing with women."

"Thorold is a dear," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe quickly; "you must not abuse him to me. He is one of the most unselfish men on the face of the earth, and it is only lately that he has had any leisure or comfort. He has toiled early and late to support three young stepbrothers, and he was very badly off before his cousin died."

"Then if he has known poverty, he ought to sympathize with me."

"Does he not?"

Gentian turned aside to pick up a fallen rose, for Mrs. Wharnecliffe was gathering some roses as she talked.

"He looks a good man," the girl said after a short silence. "I won't discuss him any more."

She was full of interest when they motored over to Crowhurst Manor, comparing the English country with Italy and telling Mrs. Wharnecliffe many of her experiences there.

When they drove up the chestnut avenue that led to the Manor, and stopped before the old grey house with its ancient tiled roof and mullioned windows, Gentian expressed her admiration. She looked curiously about her as they entered the old square hall, and were ushered into the smoking-room and library where Thorold usually sat. Tea was spread on an oval table by the fire, which was an open one, and the blazing logs shed a bright glow on the silver tea service. Thorold came forward to greet them.

"And this was my cousin's home," were Gentian's first words. Her face was grave as she spoke. Thorold looked at her.

"Are you sorry you did not come here in his life time?" he asked her.

"Certainly not. He was a stranger to me. Why should I leave my mother to go to a stranger?"

"Now, Gentian," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe lightly: "we are here to enjoy ourselves, so we won't rake up the past. Shall I pour out tea for you, Thorold? I generally do, don't I?"

She sat down to the table and made light conversation; for she did not want any sparring matches just now. Gentian relapsed into rather a pensive mood, but after tea she wandered up to the bookshelves.

"Would you like to borrow a book?" asked Thorold. "I have all sorts and conditions as you see. Some of them are the best friends I have."

Gentian's eyes glistened as she took one and another out of their shelves to look at. With a little nod of approval she said:

"Ah yes, when I am very miserable, very lonely; when I have made Waddy weep, and feel it's an empty world I live in, I creep inside a book, and stay there till I'm happy again. I would like this life of a hunter in the Himalayas; may I take it?"

"Yes, do, only don't wait till you are miserable to read it. And now I want to show you my garden, and then I'm going to take you into the small church close by. It's a little gem of the fifteenth century and has a most wonderful screen."

They wandered out into an old-fashioned sunk garden laid out in rather the Dutch style. Gentian did not like it, and frankly said so.

"Poor little bulbs, what freedom and individuality have they? All in rows and circles, the red together and then the yellows and then the blues! How sick they must get of each other! How they must long to get away alone and grow their own lives as they like. When I get rich—and I mean to one day—I shall have a garden where each flower will feel it is an individual personality. I won't have masses of the same sort all together—so monotonous and tame it must be for them! Ah! This is better."

She was standing in the rock garden, and in every cleft of the rocks different plants were blooming.

"You're a rebel by nature," said Thorold pleasantly; "that's the way with a good many nowadays. Every one wants to grow as he likes."

"No, no. But we can have a corner to ourselves and not have every idea quenched."

They walked across the old lawn under some ancient cedars, and then went down a path in a shrubbery until they reached the road by a private gate. Only a few steps down the road brought them to the little church. It lay in the midst of trees, the churchyard was beautifully kept and borders of spring flowers were on each side of the path, which led up to the church door. The door was not locked, and they went in quietly.

Gentian caught her breath as she looked about her, and Mrs. Wharnecliffe saw her blue eyes get soft and dreamy. All her quick independent bearing seemed to forsake her; and she listened to Thorold's account of the old carved screen, and the beautiful mellow coloured windows, with quiet, pensive face.

"Would you like to try the organ?" he asked her. "I will blow for you."

For a moment she hesitated.

"It's a very beautiful one, though small," he said; "your cousin Charles had a great affection for this little church; he spent a good bit of money on it. Everything is of the best in it, as you see."

She moved towards the organ without another word. Mrs. Wharnecliffe sat down just inside the porch and waited. She knew she was going to have a treat, and when once Gentian's hands were upon the keys, she was not in a hurry to take them off. Her music absorbed her; she played without notes, and Thorold heard in wonder; he did not know she was such a musician. She played from memory; a medley; bits of Mozart, Chopin, and Bach. Then very softly and sweetly she began to improvise, and time and surroundings faded right away from her. She started when at last Mrs. Wharnecliffe touched her elbow.

"Your blower will be getting tired. You have been playing for over half an hour."

"Oh, it has been heavenly."

Her cheeks were flushed and eyes bright, but she slipped off the organ stool at once, and thanked Thorold very prettily when he joined them again.

"It's a good instrument," he said.

"Yes, almost as good as the convent one."

"And now I want you to come along the road a little farther," Thorold said.

He and Mrs. Wharnecliffe walked out of the church together, but Gentian lingered behind, and when he turned he saw her kneeling in the aisle, her head buried in her hands.

She caught them up a few minutes later. Her face was perfectly radiant.

"I like your organ and your church better than your house and your books," she said.

He smiled at her.

"It's safer," he said.

She hardly heard him.

"What a darling sweet little house," she said, stopping suddenly before a small green wooden gate, and looking up a tiled path edged by box borders, to a quaint low grey stone house with broad windows, red japonica and yellow jasmine climbing up its walls.

"This used to be the Vicarage," he said, "and was in your cousin's gift; but since his death, Crowhurst has been joined to the next parish where our rector lives, and I let this furnished. We lost our tenants a couple of months ago. Would you like to come inside? I have the key."

"I think it's one of the cosiest houses I've ever seen," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe enthusiastically; "and it has an oak staircase nearly two hundred years old, Gentian. Come along in. I always envy the inmates of this house."

They walked up the path, and Gentian was like a child in her ecstatic admiration over the low, quaint, old-fashioned room, with roomy cupboards in the thick walls, and oak beams across the ceilings. There were two sitting-rooms and a large kitchen downstairs and four sunny bedrooms above with a long attic in the roof.

The furniture was in keeping with the house, the walls were all coloured a pale apple green, the doors and wainscotting dark oak.

Gentian stood at one window overlooking a small garden and an apple orchard at the back.

"There are English cottages and houses left like one reads of in books," she said; "how pretty I could make this!"

"Would you like to try?" Thorold asked. He was sitting on the edge of an oak table, and looking at Mrs. Wharnecliffe, and not at Gentian as he spoke.

"What do you mean?" the girl asked quickly.

"Well, it seems waiting for some one, and Miss Ward thought it might suit you and her for a short time, until your plans were settled, or for longer if it suited you!"

"And what may be the rent?" demanded Gentian, looking at him with surprise, pleasure, but also with a little defiance in her gaze.

"We are in need of an organist," Thorold said slowly; "the present one has to ride over here every Sunday from the next parish, and he's an old man and he wants to give it up. If we could get hold of an organist, who would take the house in lieu of a salary, it would suit us down to the ground."

"I hope you'll get one," was Gentian's cheerful response; "Waddy and I would not care to take a house and make it pretty, only to be turned out for some one else shortly."

"But why shouldn't you be the organist?" said Mrs. Wharnecliffe, who had been keeping silent with some difficulty up to now.

Gentian turned to her with laughing eyes.

"And this is the plot which Cousin Thorold began to hatch with Waddy in London, and which put her in such a good temper. Do tell me the whole of it. Of course I was brought to see my gilded cage to-day. It really is a darling little cage, but I'm afraid it's too out of the way for my car. And it's—it's too near my thoughtful cousin."

"Oh, don't think about me," said Thorold dryly, "I like to live my life alone I should not expect you to be running in and out. You might borrow a book occasionally, perhaps."

"How kind!" said Gentian. "But you see I must earn money to buy clothes and food. This house won't provide that—and who would want to employ my car out here? I might drive into Winderball every day, certainly. I must think about it and let you know."

A shadow of sadness came into her eyes.

"It's strange how kindness brings one a sense of loneliness. I have to settle my life apart from you two, for your one idea is to give, and I am a bad taker; Waddy tells me I am. I will not take from you, Cousin Thorold."

"But this is not a gift. It is an exchange for your services. And remember it belonged to your cousin Charles, and do you know I am a little afraid of ghosts?"

"Are you? How interesting! I think I'm rather fond of them. At least I should be if I saw any. It would be so uplifting and mystical. Whose ghost do you fear?"

"Your cousin Charles. He might be very angry if I did not act towards you as he would have done."

"Oh, he's an unknown person to me."

Gentian was standing in the doorway as she talked.

"Hush!" she said suddenly, putting her finger on her lip.

A pert little robin hopping about the tiled path flew past her into the house. He perched himself on an oak chest in the tiny hall and lifting up his voice burst into ecstatic song.

Gentian's pathetic face was instantly illumined with sunshine.

"The darling! That settles it. I'll be your organist, Cousin Thorold, and come here to-morrow, if you like. Waddy will have to find the money to live here. I shan't want much in the way of food if I have music and robins and flowers to feed me, and I shall try to earn money at once. I shall have my car, and I'll take it to the station at Winderball every morning on the chance of picking up passengers."

"That's settled then. St. Anselm's Vicarage is to be your new home."

There was relief in Thorold's tone, and Mrs. Wharnecliffe smiled.

"You will be near enough, dear, for me to see you very often," she said affectionately.

"And I shall be still nearer Cousin Thorold," said Gentian with a doubtful look at him, "but he has assured me he never wants to see me."

"I shall be close at hand if you get into difficulties," said Thorold quickly.

They were out in the garden now. Gentian was on her knees in a moment, picking some daffodils from a bed under the window, and sticking them in her belt.

"It's a darling little sunny home," she said.

And then she relapsed into silence until they had walked up the road and reached the Manor. Here Mrs. Wharnecliffe's car was waiting for them.

"Well," said Thorold, smiling at Gentian, "you must write to Miss Ward and tell her that you like the idea of living in the Vicarage. And you can settle in as soon as you like."

"Yes," said Gentian, putting a hand on his coat sleeve and speaking very earnestly, "Waddy and I will be very happy here, if you will promise to leave us alone. It sounds rude, but I dread being managed by a man, and being pestered by his ideas of propriety and convention. I must live my life apart from your protection and care. I thank you with all my heart for giving Waddy and me this home. But your kindness and generosity must stop here. Let me feel that I am free in that house. Do not make it into a cage. Good-bye."

She stepped lightly into the car with a wave of the hand. Thorold went into his house shaking his head.

"All very well, my young lady. But you have dropped into my life like a thunderbolt, and I believe you have come to stay. Boys are a serious charge, but a girl is a stupendous one!"

Driving home, Gentian chattered away to Mrs. Wharnecliffe as gaily as a bird.

"I like the little house, and the organ almost next door will make life a perfect joy. But I shall have to earn my living, and the question is, will this county produce enough customers—fares—for me? I imagine most people who have big houses like you, have their own cars, and the country people in their sweet little cottages have no money to hire cars—they walk along the roads carrying their baskets like those dear old dames I took up in my car the other day. The class I want are city men going to town, and sightseers—Americans, who want to see the English country. I have a thought! Thomas Cook, who runs cars in town himself, might help me. I will tell him I am only forty minutes from town, and will take parties to do the English country."

"My dear child," interrupted Mrs. Wharnecliffe, "you are not running a char-à-banc! Your car only holds four besides the driver."

"Five. No, I will only take private parties."

She relapsed into silence, looking very pensive, for a few minutes, then her face cleared, and seemed flooded with sunshine.

"I will just live day by day, and I am going to fill myself with joy and peace, getting into that anchorage of bliss, that darling nest of a vicarage. May I give it another name, do you think?"

"No, I should not alter it, for the country round know it by that name. St. Anselm's Vicarage, Crowhurst, is a pretty address, I think."

When they arrived home, Gentian found a packet of letters awaiting her. She went off to her room with them, and Mrs. Wharnecliffe did not see her till dinner time.

She was rather silent through the meal. Afterwards, when Mr. Wharnecliffe had retired to his smoking-room for a perusal of the evening papers, she said to her hostess as they sat over the drawing-room fire:

"I heard from Mr. Paget to-day."

"Is he your English friend?"

"Yes, the only Englishman I have ever liked. Many of them came out to Italy with arrogant voices, and found fault with everything, and others seemed to be always busy making or losing money at the Casino. Jim Paget loved Italy, he does not like his country. He is in London now."

"But you are not really engaged to him, Gentian, are you?"

She gazed into the fire dreamily without speaking for a few minutes; then her blue eyes looked at Mrs. Wharnecliffe very quietly and directly.

"I am still thinking about it."

"Tell me a little more about him, dear. Describe him to me."

"He is tall and fair, but his eyes are quick and restless, not like Cousin Thorold's. His are still and steadfast, but they break up sometimes into pools of laughter. I like him then, even when I know he is quietly laughing at me—Jim would never laugh at me, never! But he is magnetic and he pulls me after him sometimes against my will. He is very quick and enthusiastic, and lives his life breathlessly, and he would drag me after him anywhere and everywhere if I married him; and mind and body are so strong, I cannot keep pace with him! I should never have repose, and though I love doing and seeing everything, I like when I have done it all to sit down and rest and think about it. Jim never rests; he can think as he's rushing on. But oh, he is so full of life, that he keeps me full too!"

"Has he any parents living?"

"Yes, in Northumberland. That is the far north of England, is it not?"

A grave look came into her eyes, then she shook her head in a pretty careless way.

"We have discussed him enough. He is in England, so you may meet him and see what he is like. Now tell me, shall we go over to-morrow to the Vicarage and open its cupboards, and get out all the curtains, and see how pretty we can make it?"

"Yes, I think we can; we will go in the morning. In the afternoon I want to take you to see my blind friend, Sir Gilbert Winnington."

"I am going to have a charming time here," said Gentian, smiling up at her hostess like a pleased child. "I feel it was a happy day when we made each other's acquaintance."

"Indeed it was," responded Mrs. Wharnecliffe warmly.

And when Gentian had gone to bed, she said to her husband: "I feel increasing responsibility over this child. She is the last sort of girl to be out in the world alone, and I don't think Miss Ward is strong enough in character to deal with her. I wish she would give up this motor business."

"Perhaps it will give her up," responded her husband cheerfully.

Mrs. Wharnecliffe shook her head doubtfully.