The Career of Katherine Bush. Glyn Elinor

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СКАЧАТЬ as Matilda had already indulged in – and when calm was restored, Gladys was only too pleased to show her superior knowledge.

      "I don't want to hear about any of those actresses you dress, or those ladies who look like them, I want to know what a real, quiet, well-bred countess, say, would have, Glad."

      Miss Gladys Bush smiled contemptuously.

      "Oh, a regular frump, you mean – like the ones we can't persuade to have tight skirts when they are first the fashion, or loose ones when it changes – that is easy enough – it is to get 'the look' that is difficult."

      "They probably would not engage me if I had 'the look,'" Katherine remarked cynically.

      "You'd better have something like we made for Lady Beatrice Strobridge last week, then," Gladys suggested. "One of our hands can copy it at home, but there won't be time by Saturday. You'd better wear your best blue serge and get a new hat for the first meeting."

      "Lady Beatrice Strobridge must be the Hon. Gerard Strobridge's wife, my new employer's late husband's nephew. Strobridge is the Garribardine name." Katherine had looked up diligently the whole family, and knew the details of each unit by heart.

      "She only got married two years ago," Gladys continued. "She was Thorvil, before – Lady Beatrice Thorvil."

      "Wife of the present man's younger brother," quoted Katherine, remembering Debrett. "He is about thirty-five; the present man is forty."

      "She is a regular dowdy, anyway," Gladys remarked. "One of those – we have a bunch of them – that wants the things, and yet with their own touch on them, spoiling the style. They come together generally, and do make a lot of fuss over each other – calling 'darlings' and 'precious' all the time – fit to make me and the girls die laughing with their nonsense."

      "What is she like – good-looking?" Katherine asked. She only questioned when she wanted specific information, never idly, and it was as well to know everything about her possible new employer's family.

      "She would not be bad if she did not stoop so. She hasn't got 'the walk' neither, no more than the 'look'; sometimes she's all right – at least, the things are all right when they go home, but she adds bits herself afterwards, and spoils them."

      Here Matilda interrupted.

      "Anyway, she is one of the ladies you'll see in your new place, Kitten. I'd certainly have that same dress, it will just show them you are as good as they, if you have an Ermantine model."

      But Katherine thought differently. She agreed she would have something in the same subdued style as Lady Beatrice would have chosen, but not the actual copy, and after settling details the other two sisters left her for bed.

      When they had gone, she sat by the fire and looked deeply into it, while she thought for a few moments. Then she drew a letter from her blouse and reread it. It was from Lord Algy. A sweet little love epistle. Just to tell her he could not possibly wait for the whole month before seeing her – and was coming up to town the following week – and would not she lunch with him at the old place – and perhaps stay with him again at the Great Terminus? It ended with protestations of passionate devotion.

      No – never again – she had tasted of the cup of bliss, and Fate was asking her to pay no price. She must have courage now to renounce all further pleasure. Once was an experience, twice would be weakness – which could grow into a habit – and thence lead to an abyss which she shuddered to think of.

      Katherine Bush had never read Théophile Gautier's masterpiece – but there was something in her character, as Lord Algy had remarked, which resembled Mademoiselle de Maupin's.

      She went to her little writing-case and got out a sheet of paper, and then, in her firm round hand which looked like a man's, she wrote him these few lines:

      Dear Algy,

      I want you to forget all about me – I loved our little trip, but I am never going on another. I shall have left Liv and Dev's before you get back, and you won't see me again. With best love always.

K. B.

      She folded it, put it in the envelope – addressed it and stamped it – then she put it ready to post in the morning.

      Her face was white and set. It takes a strong will to renounce tangible present happiness, however profound the beliefs in the future may be.

      CHAPTER IV

      Sarah Lady Garribardine said to her nephew, Gerard Strobridge, who had been lunching with her on that Saturday:

      "You must go now, G. I am expecting a new secretary."

      "How will you get on without Miss Arnott, Seraphim? I thought she was irreplaceable."

      "So she is – I am interviewing quite a new type – she has been a moneylender's shorthand typist."

      Mr. Strobridge raised his eyebrows – and smiled his whimsical smile. His Aunt Sarah always was original.

      "Then I'll leave you – Beatrice has at last made up her mind not to chuck the Arberrys, so we motor down at three o'clock."

      "Has Beatrice been unusually tiresome?"

      "N-no – she has been writing odes all the morning."

      "You ought never to have married, G. – You would not have if Alice Southerwood had not become a widow – a man can't always face his obvious obligations."

      Gerard Strobridge laughed.

      "Then I shall kiss your hand and say farewell until next week – wisest of aunts!"

      He suited the action to the word, and left the room just as the butler was about to open the door and announce:

      "Miss Bush, Your Ladyship."

      He glanced quickly at Katherine – this was the young person who would take the estimable Miss Arnott's place, he supposed. She was quite ordinary looking. – He went on down the stairs.

      "Come and sit here in the light, please," Lady Garribardine said, as Katherine Bush came towards her.

      It was a very well-arranged Katherine, in the best blue serge – and a new hat – not of Gladys' choosing. The mop of hair was twisted tight without the least pretension to express "the look," – some grey suede gloves – bought in Paris by Lord Algy – were on the wonderful hands which remained perfectly still in their owner's lap.

      "How old are you?" asked Lady Garribardine by way of a beginning.

      "I was twenty-two last September." There was not a trace of nervousness in Katherine Bush's deep voice – indeed she felt none.

      "And what does your family consist of – what is your status in life?" Lady Garribardine felt perhaps she ought to ascertain this before going further.

      "We are just middle class. My father was an auctioneer at Bindon's Green where we live. He and my mother are both dead. I have a sister who is a saleswoman at Madame Ermantine's, the others are at home. My eldest brother has taken father's place, the younger one is in a bank."

      "And how long have you been at this business?"

      "Since I was nineteen – before that I kept the accounts at a pork butcher's."

      "Indeed! – СКАЧАТЬ