Read Ebook: The Turnpike House by Hume Fergus

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Ebook has 1899 lines and 71843 words, and 38 pages

"But you never said that my father paid for your studies," persisted Ruth.

"No, that is quite true. But I kept silent on that point because he asked me to. He is a man who likes to do good by stealth, but he did not ask me to be silent on any other point, so I might have told you all that I have said to-night long ago. I tell you now about your father in spite of his prohibition, as I want you to know everything concerning me. Should we be fortunate enough to gain his consent, I don't want you to remain in ignorance of his kindness. But shall we ever marry?" he sighed.

"Of course we shall," said Ruth, imperiously. "I have made up my mind."

"Don't get excited, Neil. If I did not love you I should tell you so. But I do love you, how, dearly you will never know."

"But it may be--my music you love," he urged.

"Conceited boy," laughed Miss Cass. "Of course I love your music, but I love you for yourself as well. Speak to my father. We will not keep our engagement secret any longer."

"I feel that we should not have kept it secret at all," murmured the young man. "After your father's kindness to me I feel somewhat of a traitor."

"You can lay the blame on me," announced the girl, calmly. "I wished it to be kept quiet on account of Aunt Inez. You know what she is--a jealous woman always putting her finger into everyone's pie. I'm sure she has quite enough to do in looking after her own husband. He is a wicked, gay old man, is uncle Marshall."

"I don't think Mrs. Marshall likes me."

"That is why I kept our secret. She does not like you; why, I do not know. And had she discovered our engagement she would have told my father and put an end to it long ago."

"Well, perhaps Mr. Cass will put an end to it even now."

Ruth looked round to see that no one was &bout, and then dropped a butterfly kiss on his forehead.

"Darling, nothing shall part us. I love you, and you only, you foolish fellow."

"And are you sure, quite sure, you care nothing about Heron?"

"No, no, of course I don't. But I will if you insist on putting your arm round my waist. Gracious! Here is Aunt Inez!"

And at this moment an elderly double of Ruth sailed into the winter garden.

Mrs. Marshall had reached the mature age of forty-five, but she was still beautiful. Dark women with hard natures always wear well, and Ruth's aunt was no exception to the rule. She need not be described here, for she resembled her niece in all particulars save those of youth and the exuberant spirits, which rendered the younger woman so charming. Tall and dignified in her black velvet dress, she advanced to greet Neil, and her greeting was that of the Ice Queen.

"You must have had an unpleasant journey," she said, in freezing tones.

"Thank you," said Webster, with a certain reserve. "I had not a very pleasant time. But this makes amends," and his eyes wandered to Ruth.

Mrs. Marshall drew her thick eyebrows together, for she had long suspected that the two young people were more to each other than ordinary friends. But at that moment Ruth was equal to the occasion. Her attitude towards Neil was one of genial hospitality.

Neither of the young people attempted to carry on the conversation, and Mrs. Marshall was somewhat at a loss. Turning at last to Ruth, she asked sharply where the remainder of the guests were.

"Dinner will be ready in a quarter of an hour," she went on, consulting a jewelled watch that hung at her girdle. "I hope we shall sit down punctually, for I detest waiting."

"So do I," assented her niece, cheerfully. "I am hungry."

The elder lady took no notice of the flippant reply. "Have you been giving any concerts lately?" she asked, with the supercilious patronage of a rich society woman.

"No, madam," replied the young man. His frequent contact with foreign artists had accustomed him to this form of address. "The season in London is hardly propitious just now. I am resting."

"When do you begin again?"

"After the new year. It is possible I may give some concerts in Paris."

"It might be advisable for you to leave England for a time," the lady said, drily, looking at Ruth.

"My aunt is thinking of your delicate appearance, Mr. Webster," interposed the girl, trying to parry the stroke. "This foggy climate does not suit you in her opinion. Is that not so, Aunt Inez?"

"Well, it is not quite what I meant, Ruth." And she turned to Neil. "Have you any relatives in England. Mr. Webster?" she asked.

The suddenness of the question took away the young man's breath. It was evident that her brother had not confided in Mrs. Marshall.

"I have no relatives in the world, madam," he said.

"You remind me of someone," she went on, fixing her black eyes on him somewhat fiercely. "Do you sing?"

"Not at all," he answered, wondering more than ever at the oddity of this second question. "I have no voice."

"Humph!" muttered the lady, and turned away. "I must be mistaken."

"And a great violinist," finished Ruth, glancing defiantly at her aunt. "That surely ought to cover all deficiencies, Mr. Webster."

"No doubt it does--to musical people," said the elder lady, coldly.

The young man felt nettled, and more puzzled than ever at her manner, and he was about to ask a leading question when Miss Jennie Brawn, accompanied by Mr. Heron, entered.

"Oh, here you are," cried Ruth, including both in one gay greeting. "You are late."

"The sacred mysteries of the toilet have taken up Miss Brawn's time," laughed Heron, looking mischievously at the homely face of the girl beside him.

"One must do honour to the season," replied Jennie. She was dumpy and sandy and wore a pince-nez on her turned-up nose. "How are you, Master?" For she always spoke to Neil Webster in that style. "I am glad to see you. Your lovely and exquisite music never fails to inspire my muse."

Put into plain prose this speech meant that Miss Brawn wrote poems for drawing-room ballad composers, and that she trusted to music for inspiration. Miss Brawn further occupied herself with writing short stories for children's Christmas books, and she figured in a popular magazine as "Aunt Dilly." She had come to regard herself as a literary personage.

"I hope I may be able to inspire you to some I purpose to-night," Webster said, quietly.

Young Heron turned away in disdain. He was a handsome country squire, possessed of no nerves, and no artistic cravings. He came of an old family, and had an income of four thousand a year. His time was spent in hunting, polo, shooting, fishing, and tearing round the country in a motor-car: and he had not much opinion of the "fiddler-fellow," as he called Webster. But this was due to the fact that he had noticed Ruth's predilection for him, not to any fault in the man himself. For Geoffrey loved the girl. He treated Webster with a coldness almost equal to that of Mrs. Marshall. That lady was his firm friend, and was most anxious that he should marry her niece. Seeing now his look of disdain, she was about to speak, when a cheerful voice was heard above the others.

"Oh, here is my husband," Mrs. Marshall cried, her dark face lighting up. "I was wondering where he had got to."

"I am here, my dear Inez, here," and a brisk, stout man darted forward. "Ruth, my dear, you look charming! Miss Brawn, allow me to congratulate you upon your toilet. Mr. Webster, good evening." His manner was colder but with renewed geniality he shook hands with Geoffrey Heron. "Ha, ha, my boy! a merry Christmas to you!"

The voluble, active little man rattled on, cutting jokes, laughing at his own wit, and paying compliments all round, while his tall, dark wife stood near him listening with a smile on her face. Why Mrs. Marshall should love her husband so much remained ever a mystery to her friends. For he was a fat, beer-barrel of a creature, and possessed neither the looks nor the brains which would be likely to attract as refined and clever a woman as his wife undoubtedly was. Yet Inez adored him, although Mr. Robert Marshall was an elderly Don Juan, fond of the society of pretty girls, and he prided himself no little on his conquests. There was undoubtedly some charm about him which raptured the hearts of women. And Mrs. Marshall, as the lawful proprietor of this universal heart-breaker, took a pride in her proprietorship.

"I hope you will give us some music to-night," Mr. Marshall said, turning to the musician, and again his manner was freezing. "Your playing is delightful--delightful!"

"I am glad you like it," Neil said, quietly. "Of course, I am always ready to play here, although, as a rule, I never do so in private houses."

"Ha! The exclusiveness of a musician."

"Or the dignity of an artist, Uncle Robert."

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