The evening of his return was one of the happiest of Lord Earle's life. He was charmed with his daughters. Lady Helena thought, with a smile, that it was difficult to realize the relationship between them. Although her son looked sad and care-worn, he seemed more like an elder brother than the father of the two young girls.
There was some little restraint between them at first. Lord Earle seemed at a loss what to talk about; then Lady Helena's gracious tact came into play. She would not have dinner in the large dining room, she ordered it to be served in the pretty morning room, where the fire burned cheerfully and the lamps gave a flow of mellow light. It was a picture of warm, cozy English comfort, and Lord Earle looked pleased when he saw it.
Then, when dinner was over, she asked Beatrice to sing, and she, only pleased to show Lord Earle the extent of her accomplishments, obeyed. Her superb voice, with its clear, ringing tones, amazed him. Beatrice sang song after song with a passion and fire that told how deep the music lay in her soul.
Then Lady Helena bade Lillian bring out her folio of drawings, and again Lord Earle was pleased and surprised by the skill and talent he had not looked for. He praised the drawings highly.
One especially attracted his attention--it was the pretty scene Lillian had sketched on the May day now so long passed--the sun shining upon the distant white sails, and the broad, beautiful sweep of sea at Knutsford.
"That is an excellent picture," he said; "it ought to be framed.
It is too good to be hidden in a folio. You have just caught the right coloring, Lillian; one can almost see the sun sparkling on the water. Where is this sea-view taken from?"
"Do you not know it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her eyes. "It is from Knutsford--mamma's home."
Ronald looked up in sudden, pained surprise.
"Mamma's home!" The words smote him like a blow. He remembered Dora's offense--her cold letter, her hurried flight, his own firm resolve never to receive her in his home again--but he had not remembered that the children must love her--that she was part of their lives. He could not drive her memory from their minds. There before him lay the pretty picture of "mamma's home."
"This," said Lillian, "is the Elms. See those grand old trees, papa! This is the window of Mamma's room, and this was our study."
He looked with wonder. This, then, was Dora's home--the pretty, quaint homestead standing in the midst of the green meadows. As he gazed, he half wondered what the Dora who for fifteen years had lived there could be like. Did the curling rings of black hair fall as gracefully as ever? Had the blushing dimpled face grown pale and still? And then, chasing away all softened thought, came the remembrance of that hateful garden scene. Ah, no, he could never forgive--he could not speak of her even to these, her children! The two pictures were laid aside, and no more was said of framing them.
Lord Earle said to himself, after his daughters had retired, that both were charming; but, though he hardly owned it to himself, if he had a preference, it was for brilliant, beautiful Beatrice.
He had never seen any one to surpass her. After Lady Helena had left him, he sat by the fire dreaming, as his father long years ago had done before him.
It was not too late yet, he thought, to retrieve the fatal mistake of his life. He would begin at once. He would first give all his attention to his estate; it should be a model for all others. He would interest himself in social duties; people who lamented his foolish, wasted youth should speak with warm admiration of his manhood; above all matters he dreamed of great things for his daughters, especially Beatrice. With her beauty and grace, her magnificent voice, her frank, fearless spirit, and piquant, charming wit, she would be a queen of society; through his daughter his early error would be redeemed. Beatrice was sure to marry well; she would bring fresh honors to the grand old race ha had shamed. When the annals of the family told, in years to come, the story of his mistaken marriage, it would be amply redeemed by the grand alliance Beatrice would be sure to contract.
His hopes rested upon her and centered in her. As he sat watching the glowing embers, there came to him the thought that what Beatrice was to him he had once been to the father he was never more to see. Ah! If his daughter should be like himself if she should ruin his hopes, throw down the air castle he had built--should love unworthily, marry beneath her, deceive and disappoint him! But no, it should not be--he would watch over her. Lord Earle shuddered at the thought.
During breakfast on the morning following his return Lady Helena asked what his plans were for the day--whether he intended driving the girls over to Holte.
"No," said Lord Earle. "I wish to have a long conversation with my daughters. We shall be engaged during the morning. After luncheon we will go to Holte."
Ronald, Lord Earle, had made up his mind. In the place where his father had warned him, and made the strongest impression upon him, he would warn his children, and in the same way; so he took them to the picture gallery, where he had last stood with his father.
With gentle firmness he said: "I have brought you here as I have something to say to you which is best said here. Years ago, children, my father brought me, as I bring you, to warn and advise me--I warn and advise you. We are, though so closely related, almost strangers. I am ready to love you and do love you. I intend to make your happiness my chief study. But there is one thing I must have--that is, perfect openness, one thing I must forbid--that is, deceit of any kind, on any subject. If either of you have in your short lives a secret, tell it to me now; if either of you love any one, even though it be one unworthy, tell me now. I will pardon any imprudence, any folly, any want of caution--everything save deceit. Trust me, and I will be gentle as a tender woman; deceive me, and I will never forgive you."
