CHAPTER VII

A PRIVATE CHAUFFEUR

"MRS. WHARNECLIFFE and Miss Brendon," announced an elderly maidservant, opening the door of the big drawing-room at the Mount.

The two occupants of the room looked at Gentian rather critically as she approached them. She wore her close-fitting motor-cap, and a long white linen coat fell down to her slim ankles. She might have been a stripling of a boy, so neat, and taut, and severe was her attire.

The eldest Miss Buchan spoke to her first, and Gentian's expressive face kindled under her friendly look. Miss Anne Buchan was a handsome old woman with dark eyes and white hair, and an extreme air of fragility. She looked like some hothouse flower that had never been exposed to any fresh breezes or pure air. She was slight in build and rather tall, and stooped as she walked. Miss Horatia was younger, with a rugged tanned face and big blue eyes, and a humorous mouth. She was standing in the window mending a hunting crop and whistling as she did so. Whilst Miss Anne was clothed in rich satin gown with priceless lace about her neck, Miss Horatia was in a white shirt and rough tweed skirt, with two big pockets, which held contents that schoolboys would have envied.

"And so this is my lady chauffeur," said Miss Anne pleasantly, as she shook hands with Gentian. "You seem very young for the post, but youth is to the fore now. It is we old people who are needed no longer."

"Not to give us advice, and remind us of the good old days which have gone for ever?" said Gentian with her mischievous smile.

"Ah, I wonder if you will take advice from anyone!" Miss Anne responded.

Miss Horatia looked sharply up from her employment.

"How d'ye do?" she said brusquely. "What's your name?"

"Gentian Brendon."

"Oh, these new-fangled names; who chose that for you?"

"Do you mean Gentian? My mother. When I was a baby. I had eyes that reminded her of the flower."

"And they're the same now," said gentle Miss Anne. "Sit down, child. Now, Lallie, how are you?"

For the next few minutes Gentian sat and listened to the conversation which followed, and in which she felt she had no part. Miss Horatia said very little; occasionally she put in a word. Presently she turned to Gentian and said suddenly:

"Do you realize that you and I are representatives of two centuries?"

"But you are not very old?"

"I am old in my habits, in my love for God's creatures instead of men's. Don't expect me to set foot in your snorting bit of machinery. When my horse and I part company, my life will be done. And when I'm too old to sit in a saddle, I shall go straight to bed and stop there—"

"I should like to ride," said Gentian a little wistfully; "but cars are cheaper than horses, and swifter."

Miss Horatia said no more. Mrs. Wharnecliffe did not make a long stay. Miss Anne discussed everything with Gentian. She told her she would like her to come every afternoon and take her out, Sundays excepted, and the salary she mentioned more than satisfied Gentian. She came away in the highest spirits and thanked Mrs. Wharnecliffe very warmly for having obtained the post for her.

"I shall be enjoying myself hugely every afternoon, and earning my living, and be doing quite the proper thing. Nobody, not even Cousin Thorold, can say it is not nice for me to be driving an old lady out every day! Why!—Now I come to think of it, Cousin Thorold said he expected a Miss Horatia Buchan to a tea-party at his house to-morrow. Can it be the same? She's very sporting looking; not at all his style."

"Horatia and Thorold have been friends for a long time," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "Once upon a time I hoped they would marry."

"Oh, but they'd never suit each other," said Gentian in a startled tone. "They're both so managing and masterful, and she must be years older than he is."

"They're just the same age, I believe—"

"Miss Horatia looks as if she could be a great-grandmother—"

"When you come to her age, you won't feel so ancient as that."

Gentian laughed, and said no more.

She drove Miss Anne out the next afternoon from two to four, but came home to Miss Ward with a very doleful face.

"She won't let me go faster than a horse. Says she likes quiet motion, so that she can enjoy the air without being blown about. Isn't it a humiliation and degradation for my dear Mousie! We got no distance, and when I left her, I scorched along the road for all I was worth. Mousie and I were panting to do it. It's too horrible for words! I shall never have the patience to keep the job. Aren't you sorry for me, Waddy? Say you are!"

"No, I won't, but you can put on speed now, and change your dress, for we are going to Mr. Holt's to tea. I can't think why the present generation want such rapid motion. It's very bad for their brains!"

Thorold's tea-party and meeting were a great success. Miss Horatia was there, and looked on at Gentian tea-making with an amused eye.

"What do you think of that child?" she asked Thorold bluntly. "Does she think our old world, revolves on its axis entirely and wholly for her?"

"She's very young," said Thorold apologetically. "But life will teach her what it has taught us."

"We don't all learn the same lessons. Some can't be taught, and some won't be. I don't think I'm at all an apt learner. But when I was her age, I was more malleable, I fancy—"

Thorold shook his head at her.

"Never!" he said, and then he went off to talk to some one else.

Gentian chattered away to all the farmers' wives as if she had known them all her life. When the meeting was over, and they were dispersing, one of them, a Mrs. Homer, said to Gentian pleasantly:

"Come along one afternoon, miss, and have a cup of tea with me. I've always held up for you, though there be many which say you be too light-fingered on the organ for 'em on Sundays. There be almost a merriment in your pieces afore and after church; they say it be not seemly in church—"

"Don't you feel happy on Sundays? I always do," returned Gentian. "Why shouldn't we be bright and cheerful in church?"

"Mrs. Crake—but I'll allow she's had a chapel bringin' up—she's only conformed to church of late—she said las' Sunday her girl Ada passed the remark that 'twould be easy to dance to your pieces."

"What a dreadful thing to say!" said Gentian with sparkling eyes. "I'll give you the creeps next Sunday if I can—a proper solemn dirge. Thank you for asking me to tea. I shall love to come."

Miss Horatia, was the last one to leave, and then Thorold walked home with Miss Ward and Gentian.

"I haven't had time to hear how you like this last venture of yours," he said.

Gentian laughed.

"Oh, I shan't give myself away. I have only had one day. It is oppressively slow, but when I think of how many people I have pleased by taking the job, I feel I shan't live in vain! Miss Anne is an old dear. I love old ladies. I am so tired—so disgusted—so out of friends with men."

"Are we such a bad lot?" asked Thorold quietly.

Gentian looked at him with a pretty shake of her head.

"I don't know about you. I'm in and out of friends with you so often! Waddy is always singing your praises, so of course I do the opposite. If you took me more seriously, I would like you better. Sir Gilbert is the only man about here who speaks naturally and earnestly to me—"

"My dear Gentian, your tongue runs away with you—" Miss Ward's tone was shocked.

"Oh Waddy, I never choose my words with Cousin Thorold. And I'm only speaking the truth."

They had reached the Cottage. Miss Ward went indoors, but Gentian lingered at the gate with Thorold.

"I'm sorry I don't take you seriously," Thorold said; "we'll have some grave talks whenever you like."

"Then we'll have one now," said Gentian impetuously; "come to the bottom of the garden and sit on the seat with me, where I watch the sun setting."

Thorold followed her without a word. He sat down on one end of the seat, she took the other.

She was looking distractingly pretty, in a white embroidered linen gown, and a shady white hat with a wreath of periwinkles round it which matched the colour of her eyes. Now she leant forward, elbow on knees, and her chin in the palm of her hand.

"I want to do something with my life," she said with earnest solemnity. "I am doing absolutely nothing now. I have been stuck down in this dear little corner of England, and all of you are drawing fences round me to keep me in. They are getting nearer and nearer, and my space is getting smaller and smaller. Waddy and you and Mrs. Wharnecliffe think I ought to be quite happy in my little cottage, watering the garden, and helping Waddy to housekeep and then driving out an old lady at a snail's pace every day. You say,—

"'Now she's protected—now she's safe!'

"And then you ask me out to tea to keep me from feeling dull, and Waddy says what a pleasant thing it is to have my organ and choir practice as a recreation. And you quite expect me to go on living like this for years! It's just stagnation of soul and body, that's what it is. And God in heaven looks down, and wonders when I'm going to begin to live!"

Thorold was not shocked at this outburst. He was surprised, but he concealed that, and said in his slow voice:

"And what is your idea of life? You have mentioned God Almighty's name, and I know you have not used it in mockery. Is it your idea to carry out His will or your own?"

"Oh, I don't know, but He has made me, I do believe, for something better than this. What a big world it is! And how much there is to do. Sir Gilbert talks to me about Heaven's purposes, and the earth's failures. I have brains, and strength, and leisure, and I can't sit about in armchairs and just be comfortable—I'm too young for it. And I have an uncomfortable feeling that I'm living on Waddy's savings. She always tells me there's plenty of money for our needs. But where does it come from? I don't earn enough to keep the house going. Miss Anne is very generous, and I shall be able to support myself on what she gives me, but I shan't be able to save much. And my life is too easy, and empty, and narrow. There now! That's the gist of the matter! I shall break away soon—I must. It's the Bubble's efforts to soar, before it bursts!"

"But you have had one effort to break away, haven't you? And it wasn't altogether a success."

"I knew that would come. I have failed. I own it. It is your nasty English people that have made me fail. But there are other vocations besides driving motors."

"I fear you are tired of it by now."

Laughter came into her eyes.

"Oh, I'm an awful creature, I know I am. Two days ago I was enchanted with this fresh job. I am cross to-day because I must make my car's speed match a horse's. But, all the same, deep down, I know my soul is meant to do something bigger. And I want to find out the biggest and best thing to do, and then DO it!"

"There are different estimates of size, I fancy," said Thorold. "We are like the children who think an orange in their hand much bigger than the brightest planet in the heavens. Our big things are so infinitesimal in God's eyes, and His big things are paltry and small in our estimation."

"That doesn't comfort or guide me in the least," said Gentian, looking at him thoughtfully.

"If you want to fulfil God's purpose for you, it will be shown you. Pray, and the answer will come."

Gentian drew in a long breath.

"I never thought that you were quite so good, Cousin Thorold," she said in a light and airy voice. "Thank you so much for having taken me seriously for once. I've had enough—"

He smiled at her.

"I'll say no more then—"

He got up from the seat. Gentian accompanied him as far as the gate.

"I have one of my young brothers coming home on leave," Thorold said as he wished her good-bye. "He's in the navy; he comes to me next Thursday. I think you'll like him. Godwin is a sunny-hearted youngster."

Gentian rounded her lips into a small ball.

"Boys are so boring," she said; "they always think such a lot of themselves."

"I have known girls who do the same," said Thorold, and with this parting shot, he left her.

Gentian went indoors to Miss Ward.

"Do you know I was within an ace of liking Cousin Thorold," she said; "and then he lapsed into his annoying way of talking, and I feel as if I never want to see him again!"

"My dear Gentian, you are never of the same mind about anything or anybody for two minutes together. I often wonder why you put up with me as you do."

"Waddy dear, you knew and loved my little mother. I have no one in the wide world left to love me but you, and I think you do just a little—"

Miss Ward looked at her affectionately, but she was not a demonstrative woman, and it wasn't till Gentian stole up softly to her and put her arms round her neck, looking into her eyes with such wistful longing, that she gave her the warm kiss she was expecting.

"Plenty of people will come along and love you, child, if you let them. I am getting an old woman, and my life will soon be over, but yours is all in front of you—and you'll never have to complain of being unloved, I am sure!"

"Do I think a lot of myself, Waddy?"

"Yes, I think you do."

Gentian hugged her.

"You are a dear old truth-teller. You see, I really have no one to think about but myself. And it is astonishing how fond all people are of themselves. I believe you are, but you don't show it. Of course I have to think about myself, because my future is in my own hands, I suppose. I can make or mar it, can't I? And I want to get the best out of life. I must—I will. And it's my will that must be kept up to the mark—

"'The souls of women are so small That some believe they've none at all. Or if they have, like cripples still, They've but one faculty, the WILL!'

"Some nasty man wrote that. Oh, Waddy dear, you're quite right. I'm one thing one day, and another the next. My small soul is like a bag of scraps, crammed full of rubbish, bits of good material mixed with the bad, and never properly sorted out. Now I'm going to water the garden. Good-bye."

She flashed out of the room and into the garden.

Miss Ward heard her breaking into song as she wielded her watering-pot, and she sighed heavily.

"I wish I did not love her so much," she murmured; "she needs a firmer hand, and some one to teach her discipline and self-control."

It was not very long before Gentian met young Godwin Holt. He arrived like a fresh sea-breeze, and made friends at once with Miss Ward and Gentian. He was a fair, curly-haired young lieutenant, with fresh complexion and mischievous blue eyes. He was very susceptible to all women's influences, and fell headlong in love with Gentian at first sight.

She treated him as if he were a schoolboy on holiday. Thorold watched their intimacy with quiet amusement.

One morning Godwin arrived at the Cottage at breakfast time.

"Look here," he said breathlessly; "can you 'phone to your old lady, Miss Brendon, to spare you to-day? We'll take a car—not yours—because it's my affair, and go down to the New Forest. You've never been there? Thought not. We'll lunch at one of the inns in the Forest. I'm going to drag Thor away from his books and writing. Miss Ward, you'll come too. Must have an even number. It's a shame to let this topping weather go by without doing something. I see so little green at sea that I revel in forests. And you ought to know what England produces in that way!"

"I can't spring it on Miss Buchan so late in the day," said Gentian, her eyes sparkling at the thought of such an outing. "Won't to-morrow do? I'm rather afraid she won't like it."

"You can easily get a substitute to take your place. I'll find one for you in an hour—"

"I'll try," said Gentian, "but we've no 'phone—"

"Thor has. Come on over."

He dragged her off with him.

The 'phone was in Thorold's study.

Gentian looked at him pleadingly.

"Don't tell me I'm a shirker. I've driven her for ten days now at a snail's pace. And she might give me one day off."

"You'd better ask for Miss Horatia. The old lady will never use the 'phone."

So Miss Horatia was called up.

She received Gentian's suggestion with great coldness.

"My sister does not like to be deprived of her afternoon drive, and I know she won't hear of a substitute. That is out of the question. She is far too nervous of cars at present to have a strange driver. Besides, she has arranged to go and see an old friend of hers this afternoon."

"Could I have to-morrow off then?"

"I will see—"

"Oh, chuck them," cried Godwin. "You aren't a slavey."

"I'm earning my daily bread," said Gentian in a dignified tone; "and I'm in her employ."

They waited rather impatiently. Miss Horatia returned in about ten minutes' time.

"My sister has agreed to forgo her drive to-morrow."

"A thousand thanks. I will be round at the usual time this afternoon."

"Won't to-morrow do as well?" asked Thorold, looking at his young brother's disappointed face.

"Oh, I hate to-morrows—always have—"

"So have I," said Gentian, "but we'll make the best of it. I shall love to see the New Forest. But do let us take my car, and let me drive. That will be half the fun."

"Do you want me to hire you?" asked Godwin. "For I mean to stand the treat."

"You can pay for the oil we use, if you like, nothing more."

Godwin frowned.

"I hate the independence of girls nowadays. You ought not to know how to drive!"

Gentian laughed.

"That is the style of the old-fashioned English gentlemen. Of course you take after your brother!"

"No man, if he's a decent sort, likes to see girls roughing it."

"You would like me in a white muslin gown lying back amongst the cushions of the car sighing plaintively: 'Please not quite so fast, driver, the wind is too strong upon my face, the motion shakes me—' That's what my old lady says to me, and I long to scorch for all I'm worth."

"What time shall we start?" said Godwin, wisely turning the subject. "I vote for eight o'clock. It will be a long run."

"I think," said Thorold slowly, looking at Gentian as he spoke, "that we'll have our own car, Godwin. It will give Gentian a rest. She shall lie back on comfortable cushions for once in her life, and then we shan't see those tired lines about her eyes that so often come there."

"You are very rude, Cousin Thorold."

"Miss Brendon couldn't look fitter than she does, but all the same, I'm with you, Thor. It will be my treat and my car, and I'll choose a capable driver."

Gentian laughed. Her laughter had such an infectious and delightful ripple in it, that both brothers smiled at her.

"As I'm to be your guest," she said, "I have nothing to say but a very grateful 'thank you.' And, if we rumbled along in a donkey-cart, I should enjoy myself. I love a jaunt of any sort, it reminds me of Italy. Waddy and I are too poor to take many in England."