For his years General Boldero was a young man; he was hale, hearty, and selfish. He took good care of his health, and prognosticated for himself a green old age--anyhow _his_ tenure of the good things of life was secure; and though unable to alter the law of entail, which permitted no female heirs in the Boldero line of descent, he foresaw in his mind's eye all his daughters married and settled, with the exception of Sue, who had her mother's fortune, and was of course to stick to him to the last.

Consequently the provision he had made for the rest was slight, and there was no doubt that the sooner they now quitted the stately mansion and broke up its large establishment, the better.

But the wedding, Maud's wedding, that was to have been so gay and splendid, what was to be done about that? The invitations were already out, and everything in such readiness that even Sue inwardly sighed. If only it could have been all happily over!

It was terrible to her that an event so momentous should take place anywhere but in the halls of her forefathers--or to speak more strictly, in the village church where Eustace Custance officiated. To him had been confided the great satisfaction afforded by the match; and when consenting to tie the knot, he had spoken warmly of Paul Foster. Paul had often sought him out, and had--but he must not say more. The general, overhearing, had warranted Paul "mulcted ".

To other sources of distress, therefore, it was added in the breast of poor Sue that Maud must seek her nuptial benediction elsewhere,--since Mr. Anthony Boldero, through his lawyer, had intimated that he would be glad to have matters arranged as soon as might be.

To each sister privately Sue had addressed herself on the point of remaining in the neighbourhood, and each had protested against the idea.

No one of them could endure it.

But they had still a month's grace, and if Maud would consent to be married very, very privately, with absolutely no one present but their five selves--"Ridiculous! what are you thinking of?" cried Maud, angrily.

Her sluggish nature was roused to positive wrath by such an insulting proposition, but reading reproach in the colour which mounted to her sister's cheek, she made haste to subjoin:--

"Don't you see how very undignified it would appear to be in such a frantic hurry to secure a husband? It would almost seem as if I were afraid of losing Paul! Of course I shall wait till things can be done properly. I would not show any disrespect--I wonder that you should suggest it, Sue."

But the speaker was not perhaps as truthful as she might have been. In communing with herself, she had decided that the next best thing to being married in state from Boldero Abbey, would be a wedding in a fashionable London church. She had been a bridesmaid once at such, and to it her thoughts now reverted favourably. There need be but a short delay, and she was willing to wait. To wait would be infinitely preferable to a hole-and-corner business, with no prestige, no spectators, no one even to see her bridal array and Paul's necklace. Sue had even hinted at her not wearing the dress: "You could just go down in your travelling things, and no one need know anything about it till it was over".

"I should not degrade myself by doing anything of the kind;" said Maud, throwing up her head.

No, she would not consult Paul, Paul would of course let her decide for him,--and she did beg that no one would interfere with what after all was _her_ affair.

Presently it was, "Paul will stay on here with us at present. He has no real claims upon him elsewhere, for as we are not to be married just yet, he can postpone making his arrangements. Perhaps we shall now be able to get a house first."

To this end she ordered down agents' lists, and ill.u.s.trated magazines; also Leo came upon her in odd places posing meditatively before various articles of furniture with a paper and pencil in her hand. Leo guessed what she was doing.

She took no notice; but she wondered if any one could help noticing that, whereas Paul when he first appeared on the scene had been eager and animated over the home he hoped to form, and the life he meant to lead, he was listless and indifferent now. He a.s.sented to everything, initiated nothing. Sometimes he barely glanced at the attractive domain whose allurements were so cunningly set forth--sometimes he hung over the page so long that Leo could not help suspecting it was but a screen to hide his face.

He had lost altogether his pleasant habit of following each speaker with his eyes as the talk went round. The eyes would be glued to the floor, or fixed vacantly on some object. He would start when called to order for inattention, and thereafter be abjectly attentive.

But whatever Maud said was right, and her wishes were law. She could not make a suggestion which he was not ready to carry out; when she withdrew from it herself he as readily withdrew. To Leo, watching from the background, there was something unnatural, incomprehensible about it all--something which baffled her closest scrutiny--and yet at times made her feel as though the scrutiny itself were but foolishness, emanating from her own disordered imagination.

She would think so for a whole day, and school herself to believe that it was a happy day--and then something, some trifle, would occur which made her heart leap and her hands tremble, and she found herself talking for dear life in a meaningless jumble of words.

She would not, must not, dared not hope that Paul repented of his choice, unless it might be that repentance were mutual, in which case?

But after a night of fitful sleep and miserable awakenings, Leo would come down heavy-eyed and feverish, to find a prosaic, business-like dialogue being carried on by the very individuals who had figured so differently in the phantasms of the small hours, and her entrance would hardly be noticed by either, so engrossed were they by each other.

Once indeed she wondered whether Paul were not a trifle too ostentatiously engrossed? Whether it were the case that he really did not see her slip into the vacant chair, the only vacant chair at the table? His head was steadily turned the other way, but her sisters addressed her and still he perceived, or affected to perceive, no addition to the party. Was he, could he be afraid of her penetration?

Did he suspect that it went further than was convenient?

Maud was unusually animated that morning. "It really fits in wonderfully, this plan of Aunt Charlotte's; and I must say I little expected her to be the one to come to the rescue."

"What is the plan?" inquired Leo aside of Sybil.

"Aunt Charlotte offers us her house for the winter." Sybil also looked excited and jubilant. "She is going abroad, and says she will leave us everything as it stands."

"But a house in Eaton Place, and it is one of the larger houses too,"

demurred Sue, "would it not be rather expensive----?"

"Not in the least, seeing that we are to have Aunt Charlotte's servants.

It is really _most_ kind," averred Maud, with the warmest approval; "I should not think of refusing, not for a moment. And St. Peter's close by--" with a meaning smile to Paul--"what could be better?"

"Hi, Lion, Lion?" said he, looking under the table.

"You will close with the offer at once, Sue?" proceeded Maud, too much elated and gratified to observe the lack of response; "don't lose a post, in case the good lady changes her mind. How soon can we go, do you think?"

But even the gentle Sue kindled a little beneath a note which jarred on all, and she looked a mute reproach.

"Well? How soon?" impatiently reiterated her sister.

How soon? To leave for evermore the old familiar scenes, the peaceful glades--every spot hallowed by memories and a.s.sociations? To take a last farewell of the only life she had ever known, to fling it aside like a worn-out garment? Was it possible that any one, even with a bright new existence opening before her, could be so eager to turn the page that all she could say or think of was "How soon?"

It wounded Sue to her heart's core to hear the peremptory tone and meet the unabashed gaze. She could not speak,--and the next minute she felt an arm steal round her waist, and a cheek was laid on hers. It was only Leo, but Sue never said "only Leo" from that moment. She took the little hand and fondled it; she used it to wipe her own tears away.

"Hi, Lion, Lion?" said Paul, looking under the table again.

"Is it settled? Is it decided?" Later on in the day Leo, finding Sybil by herself, returned to the mooted point.

"About London? Why, of course. When our sovereign lady gives the word of command, don't you know there is nothing for it but to obey? Sue wrote by the first post."

"And when are we to go? When?"

"You are as keen as Maud, I declare. Well, _I_ am rather sorry to leave the old place----"

"When? I only ask, when?"--cried Leo shrilly.

"Do you really not care at all, Leo? I thought at breakfast you and Sue----"

"What's the use of caring? Will caring alter things? If it would----"

but Leo caught her breath, and her hands gripped each other; "I think you might answer a plain question without rambling on about other things;" she subjoined as steadily as she could. "Is the time of our departure fixed?"

"For this day week, if we can be ready in time. Sue says we can't, but Maud says we can. Ten to one on Maud."

"This day week!"

"After all, there's nothing more to be done here;" Sybil recovered herself, for in reality she was like Maud, bitten with the idea of change; "and it's doleful enough, Heaven knows. Day after day the same howling wind and rain, and nothing to talk about but Maud's houses. Maud doesn't care two straws what becomes of the rest of us, as long as she gets a fine place for herself. She won't even listen if a word's said about our affairs. Paul is too good for her, I think,"--abruptly.

Leo, who had begun to turn away, stopped short, startled.

"Oh, you don't care for him, I know," ran on Sybil at random; "but you are the only one of us who doesn't. I often think," she lowered her voice to caution, "I tell you what, Leo, if Paul had not fluked upon Maud as he did, and the other Fosters had not puffed her up and prodded him on, he never would have thought of her. She's not his style at all, with her grandiose notions, and fondness of big people, and all that.

Just what Paul hates. Did you not see him wince when she made that remark about Lady St. Emeraud? Maud is awfully obtuse," continued Sybil, glad of a listener; "she never saw. But you know, Leo, even father used to laugh at her love of swagger--though she got it from him."

"You never said this before;" muttered Leo, surprised. She had no inclination to go away now.