CHAPTER VIII

FORTUNE SMILES ON JULIET

IN the days that followed, Hannah's prophecy respecting Juliet seemed to find its fulfilment. She certainly did win her own way in everything, and with as little effort as possible. If her uncle were not a rich man he was a very generous one.

Juliet had but to express a fancy for anything, and, if it were in his power to obtain it, he got it for her directly. He literally showered gifts upon her. Juliet had charmed him at the moment of their first meeting, and the fascination increased as he saw more of her. It was delightful to think that she was his nearest relative, and that he had a better right to care for her and protect her than anyone else except her mother. Naturally a man of warm and affectionate disposition, his years of solitary, self-centred life had left him with a heart still so tender that it found exquisite delight in ministering to the pleasure of "the child," as he constantly called her, forgetting, as so many did in regard to Juliet, that in years she was no longer a child.

Mr. Tracy had named so liberal a sum as the extent of his provision for the child's frocks and personal expenses; that Juliet could now indulge freely her taste for pretty dress. She spent most of the early days of her freedom as a young lady who had "left school" in visits to the West End shops, accompanied by her mother, to whom the business of choosing gowns, millinery, and various of the latest dainty trifles designed for girls' summer wear, afforded scarcely less pleasure than to Juliet. It gratified Mrs. Tracy intensely to see how pretty her darling looked when arrayed in these; but Salome's face was very grave when she saw the parcels opened and the dainty clothes displayed. Such an outlay on finery appeared to her most extravagant, whilst it must tend to foster Juliet's vanity. Mrs. Tracy was driven to defend herself, in response to the accusation she read in her daughter's looks.

"There is surely no sin in wearing pretty clothes, Salome?" she said. "At Juliet's age it is but natural to take delight in them. One can be young but once. You might sympathise with her a little."

"I can't help seeing what these things may lead to," said Salome. "Don't ask me to encourage her vanity."

Juliet's shopping was by no means entirely for self. She was anxious to purchase for her mother more things than she was willing to accept. One day a charming little bibbed apron struck her as just the thing for Salome to wear when engaged in domestic duties, and she bought it for her.

But when she gave it to her, Salome looked doubtfully at the cream lace and crimson bows, and said, after a moment's hesitation, "It is very kind of you, I am sure, Juliet, but—I should not know myself in that be-ribboned thing. You had better give it to mother."

And Juliet, sorely stung, vowed that she would never give Salome a present again.

On the following Sunday morning, Juliet stood at the dining-room window waiting till her mother was ready to accompany her to church. Hannah and Salome had already started. It was the first Sunday in August, and oppressively hot. On Tuesday, Salome was to travel north with the Hayeses; Hannah would start for Cambridge on the following day, and Juliet and her mother hoped to leave for North Devon two days later. Through Mr. Tracy's liberality they were to have a more enjoyable change than they had anticipated. He was taking the greatest interest in their plans, and even talked of joining them at Lynton a little later.

Juliet had arrayed herself all in white, and was looking delightfully fresh and cool. She was enjoying the inward satisfaction produced by her consciousness that every adjunct of her attire was in faultless taste. It is to be feared she was not indifferent as to the effect her appearance was likely to have on those who saw her in church. As she stood at the window, she observed with some curiosity the church-goers who were passing.

"Mother," she said, as Mrs. Tracy came into the room, slowly putting on her gloves, "come and look at Dora Felgate. She has a new pink gown. It is very smart, and it suits her because she is so dark. She and her sister have done their hair in the new way. I don't think it suits Dora; but she always likes to be in the latest fashion. Ah! There is Mr. Ainger coming out of his house and hurrying to overtake them. Yes, now he is speaking to them. Oh, how he is smiling at Dora! Ha! Ha! How foolish it is of Salome to think she can attract him by dressing in that dowdy fashion! He does not admire plain gowns and deaconess bonnets. He likes girls who dress à la mode."

"You naughty child! You shall not talk in that way," protested Mrs. Tracy. "Salome does not dress to attract Mr. Ainger."

"Oh, does she not?" said Juliet, with mischief in her eyes. "Then I should like to know why she persistently makes such a guy of herself."

"It is not fair to call Salome a guy," said her mother; "those small, close-fitting bonnets are very becoming, I think. And you know that your sister spends as little as possible on dress, in order that she may have more to give away."

"And yet when I offered her an apron for nothing she would not take it," said Juliet.

"It was too smart for her taste."

"Too smart for her lack of taste, you mean!" retorted Juliet.

And her mother allowed her to have the last word on the subject.

Among those who cast admiring glances at Juliet's pretty, fresh attire as she followed her mother up the aisle of the church was Flossie Chalcombe. She had come to church indeed chiefly for the sake of seeing Juliet. They had hardly met since their school term ended. There had just been one brief opportunity, of which Juliet had availed herself to tell Flossie the wonderful news that the rich uncle had indeed appeared, and her life was delightfully changed in consequence.

Flossie was longing to know more. Now, as she observed Juliet's graceful, distinguished appearance, she noted that new clothes were among the agreeable results of the uncle's coming. There was envy as well as admiration in Flossie's eyes as she scanned every detail of Juliet's neat, perfectly fitting costume. Flossie's own gown was far gayer, but, as she knew well, it was not in such good style as Juliet's. Flossie loved fine clothes. She regarded with absolute reverence everything that could be described by her favourite adjective, stylish. She could seldom gratify as she would her own taste in this respect. Her father was at once lavish and mean. Money was often scarce in their extravagant, ill-ordered household.

Flossie had no regular allowance for dress, but had to coax and cajole her father into giving her money as she wanted it. If he were in a good humour, he would perhaps give her more than she expected; but more often, he gave her less than she wanted, so that she was driven to run up bills unknown to him, reckless of the storm she must face when they had to be settled. As she had no idea how to lay out money to the best advantage, and generally bought the first thing that struck her fancy, her wardrobe was full of sharp contrasts, and her appearance seldom presented a harmonious whole. The effect of a good gown would be marred by shabby boots, or that of a fashionable and expensive hat by a cheap and ill-cut jacket. In spite of all her efforts, poor Flossie did not, as Juliet's sisters were so keenly aware, look like a lady. There were times when she was dimly conscious of this herself. Such a twinge of painful consciousness visited her now, as she watched Juliet looking so cool and at her ease in the gown which became her so well.

"Enter not into judgment with Thy servant, O Lord." The voice of the clergyman, who was commencing the service, broke in upon her thoughts. Oh, if God were to judge us according to the vain imaginings, the petty cares we suffer to absorb our minds when we profess to worship Him, where should we stand?

At the close of the service, Flossie watched for her opportunity, and as Juliet stood alone at a little distance from the church waiting for her mother, who had lingered to speak to an acquaintance, she approached her.

"How awfully nice you look to-day, Juliet! I never saw you in a more becoming frock. If Algernon could see you now, all in white, he might well call you an angel."

Juliet started, coloured, and looked round in some alarm, for Flossie had not thought it necessary to lower her voice.

"Hush, Flossie! I wish you would not speak in that way. I am not an angel, or anything like one."

"Now you need not be cross. I meant no harm. You do look charming, and I think a poor unlucky creature like me might be allowed to admire the way in which you act the role of the rich heiress."

"Heiress indeed! What nonsense you are talking! I am no more an heiress that I am an angel."

"Rubbish, Juliet! You need not try that on with me. Of course your uncle means to leave you all his money."

"If he does, I am quite unaware of his intention; nor has such an idea even occurred to me before," said Juliet disdainfully, whilst the colour deepened in her cheek.

Flossie saw she had made a mistake.

"Well, I am sure your friends would be only too glad if he did. Algernon was saying yesterday how fitted you were to grace any position. He says he is glad for your sake; but he can't help feeling that he shall never see you now. You will forget your old friends."

"You do not know me, Flossie, if you say that," replied Juliet, with flashing eyes; "I never forget friends—I am faithful, whatever else I may be."

"Of course you are. That is what I told him. You are a darling, Juliet. There is no one like you. You are not to be tried by ordinary rules."

Juliet felt impatient of this flow of adulation. She looked back, and saw her mother coming alone.

"I must go back and meet mother," she said; "I cannot let her walk home alone. Good-bye, Flossie; I shall see you again, I hope, when we return from North Devon."

So they parted. On the opposite side of the road Hannah and Salome were walking with Mrs. Hayes. Juliet met them as she turned back. Her eyes flashed defiance at her sisters. Mrs. Hayes looked at the girl with hard scrutiny as she bowed to her. She was of opinion that Juliet was not a nice girl.

The following Sunday found Mrs. Tracy and Juliet at Ilfracombe, delighting in the grandeur of that rocky coast and the magnificent sea that beats against it. They had not had such a holiday together for years, and they enjoyed it most thoroughly. Mrs. Tracy was still young at heart; she was, in many respects indeed, far younger than either Hannah or Salome, and she quite enjoyed the novelty of wandering about, taking irregular alfresco repasts, driving in a donkey-carriage when the distance was beyond her walking powers, and almost living out of doors during the glorious August weather. From Ilfracombe they went to Lynton, and there Juliet's uncle joined them.

In spite of his thin, cadaverous appearance Mr. Tracy seemed strong and wiry. He was ready to accompany them on any excursion they liked to plan. He had no objection to picnics, as long as he was not urged to forsake his own regimen. When Juliet and her mother ate sandwiches with the relish imparted by strong, pure air, he would allow himself only the refreshment of two Abernethy biscuits and an acid drop, the latter item being, as he would gravely assure Juliet, safer and better as a thirst-quencher than a draught of water, when one could not be sure that that was absolutely uncontaminated.

Juliet was greatly amused by his fads, which happily he did not try to persuade her to follow. But Mrs. Tracy was rendered quite uneasy by them.

"I cannot think how he sustains life on so little," she would say. "He need be thin. It is a wonder he is as well as he is. What a profit they must make out of him at the hotel!"

Juliet was content to leave her uncle's health to his own care. He must please himself. But she liked him exceedingly, since he showed himself more and more charmed by her pretty ways, and more and more desirous of gratifying her every fancy. With him, she was never wayward and petulant, but only sweet and winsome and mischievous. Instinctively she showed him the best side of her character; and, as her sisters were wont to remark, Juliet could be very nice to people when she chose.

One lovely evening, the three were walking along the romantic cliff path at Lynton, which commands such a glorious view of sea and sky, and terminates at the Castle Rock. Juliet's quick steps had carried her a little in advance of the others. She was singing little snatches of song to herself, and was only half conscious of the beauty about her, for her mind was busy weaving golden visions of the future, when round a bend of the narrow path, she came face to face with a stranger so suddenly that she started and uttered a nervous cry.

"Oh, I am so sorry I frightened you!" said the gentleman in concern; and he put forth a hand to steady her, for the cliff was very precipitous at that point, and she seemed perilously near the edge.

"Oh, it was silly of me; I was not thinking," Juliet explained confusedly.

Then as she looked at the grave, kind face bent upon her she had a puzzling sense of recognition. Where had she seen before that broad, overhanging brow, those deep-set grey eyes,—gleaming now with a kind of pleased surprise, as if he too saw a face not unknown,—and those strong, rugged features?

Her uncle's voice gave her enlightenment. "Why, Mainprice!" he exclaimed, hurrying forward. "Who would have thought of seeing you here?"

Of course. This was Mr. Mainprice, the curate, who through his chance meeting with her on the green near Flossie's home had been able to direct her uncle where to seek her. She had often heard Mr. Tracy speak of him since, and knew that he held this young clergyman in high esteem.

"I might reply in similar fashion," said Mr. Mainprice, as they shook hands. "I have come down from town on my bicycle. I like touring in that fashion, as you know."

"To be sure. Well, it is healthy exercise. But now let me introduce you to Mrs. Tracy and my niece, whom you were the means of my finding. We feel that we owe you a debt of gratitude for that, do we not, Juliet?"

"I most certainly do," said Juliet gravely.

"Oh, I do not feel that I deserve any gratitude. You would have found each other sooner or later in any case."

"I am very glad it was not later," said Juliet significantly.

"Then I am happy that I was the cause of your meeting when you did," he said with a smile, which Juliet decided made him look quite handsome.

Mr. Mainprice was easily persuaded to turn back with them, and they all walked on together towards the Castle Rock. Juliet did not talk much at first. She was occupied in observing Mr. Mainprice and listening to what he said. She liked the frank, easy manner in which he talked and the sound of his deep, strong voice.

"I am going to the top of the rock," cried Juliet, as they approached the tall, rugged mass of rock, which like a castle surmounts the crag and fronts the sea.

"Oh, do be careful, my dear child!" cried Mrs. Tracy anxiously, as Juliet started to clamber up.

"I will see that she comes to no harm," said Mr. Mainprice, as he hastened after her.

With an air of relief, Mrs. Tracy seated herself on a rock to await Juliet's return, and Mr. Tracy remained with her.

To step from rock to rock by a kind of rude stairway to the top of the pile was a matter of little difficulty, and Juliet would have none of Mr. Mainprice's help.

To stand on that lofty summit and gaze down on the waves beating so far below would have severely tried weak nerves; but Juliet had a steady head, and enjoyed the novel sensation of being perched on the crag. Both seaward and landward a glorious prospect offered itself to their view.

"Oh, I like this!" cried Juliet gleefully, as she struggled with the breeze which threatened to carry away her hat. "What a lovely view! And what a glorious wind! If only I had wings and could soar away on it! Oh, how happy I am!"

"That's right," he said heartily; "it's good to be happy."

"Is it?" she replied, looking at him mischievously. "I should rather have expected you to say it was good to be miserable. Salome thinks so, I know."

"Who is Salome?" he asked.

"Oh, my sister," she said, without deeming it necessary to explain further. Then she added impetuously, "If I am happy, I owe it to you. I was not happy till uncle came."

"No?" he said, amused at the childlike way in which she gave him her confidence. "How was that?"

"Oh, my sisters were always trying to make me do what I did not want to do. They meant me to be a governess, and I hated the idea. But now uncle has come, there is no thought of that. He lets me have my own way in everything, and I do just as I like."

"Is that, then, your idea of happiness—to have one's own way?"

"Yes," said Juliet, giving her head a little nod, "that is my idea, and a very good idea it is too."

"I do not agree with you. You are under a delusion. What you are grasping after as happiness is not happiness, but only its empty shadow."

"Then I am content with the shadow," said Juliet. "I have tried having my own way, and I like it very much."

And her violet eyes flashed mischievous defiance at him.

"It will not satisfy you long," he said. "Nothing betrays and disappoints like self-will. There is no peace for us till we learn that God's way and not ours is the best, and learn to seek that rather than the gratification of our own desires."

"God's way!" So he wanted to talk religion to her. She had forgotten that he was a clergyman.

"But I am not sure that I care about peace," she said perversely; "to me the word has rather an insipid sound. I am afraid I enjoy strife and excitement. I dread nothing more than stagnation."

He smiled at her, much as he might have smiled at a wayward child. Then he pointed to the distant stretch of ocean shimmering in the sun's level rays.

"Look," he said, "at the sunlit sea, at that bank of cloud flushed with softest crimson, and the yellow glow where the sun is just sinking to the horizon. What an air of calm and hush there is! Does it not all breathe peace? Yet there is no stagnation there."

She did not answer him, but gazed in silence at the western sky, till slowly the colours faded and sea and clouds grew grey. Then she turned and began to scramble quickly down the rocks. She did not speak again till she was by her mother's side.

Though Juliet resented Mr. Mainprice's attempt to "talk religion" to her, his words had gone home. She could not forget them.

That night, after her uncle had gone away, she lingered alone in the little garden attached to the house in which she and her mother were lodging. It was growing dusk. Already stars were appearing in the clear sky above her head. A light breeze rustled the trees. Behind her lay the vast, mysterious moor. In front, far down beneath the trees, out of sight, but making its presence known by the low, distant moaning of its waves, was the sea.

All about her God's great, wonderful world. What a poor, insignificant atom she seemed in comparison! Did it matter so very much how she lived?

"Yes," the voice of her better self made answer, "it did matter. It must be better to take God's way, even if it seemed steep and hard, for it would lead upward."

And her own self-chosen, pleasure-seeking way, where would that lead? Juliet had a distinct sense of being called at this hour to make a choice. She could clearly see the two ways opening before her, one easy and pleasant and winding, the other straight and steep. A struggle went on within her. The yearning for goodness she had felt before awoke again. Oh, to have an inner life as pure and serene and beautiful as the summer, night! Oh, to know that all was right with her life, to feel that a Power outside herself, a Power as loving as it was mighty, was leading, guiding, controlling all!

Juliet's better self had almost gained the day, when there came to her the thought of Salome. Could she become such a one as Salome, so harsh and censorious, wearing such plain, ill-fitting clothes, denying herself all amusement, walking in so straight and narrow a way?

No, anything but that. And self-will asserted itself anew. She could not try to alter herself. She must follow her own way, whatever it might lead to. So self-will gained the day, and Juliet hurried into the house, determinedly closing her mind against serious thought.

Salome, with all her blindness and self-deception, was yet sincere in her endeavour to do her duty and lead a Christian life. How she would have grieved, could she have known that her austerity had driven Juliet at this critical moment of her life from the loving Saviour, whose image she, who called herself His disciple, had so utterly failed to reflect!