Leonore Stubbs. Lucy Bethia Walford

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СКАЧАТЬ herself in her clothes, which they had not,—but with it all, with her good appearance and respectable air, she belonged to the ranks of the uninteresting, and the weight she carried with her father was voted unaccountable.

      No one, however, disputed it; and when the two withdrew together no one followed.

      "Well, what does Leo say?" demanded Maud, who with Sybil had been lying in wait for their half-sister while the conversation above narrated was going on in the library. "What a time you have been! You might have known Syb and I were on thorns to hear what was in that great fat letter? Where is she going to live? Or is she going to travel? And is she going to invite one of us to go with her? If she does–"

      "It ought to be me," struck in Sybil eagerly. "I am nearest her age, and Leo and I were always pals. I shouldn't at all mind going with her."

      "Which of us would? It would be splendid. Can't you speak?" to Sue. "You are such a slow coach,—and surely you might have broken loose before, when you knew we were waiting."

      "You have been nearly an hour;" Sybil glanced at the clock.

      "We thought you might have called us in," added Maud.

      "Anyhow, do for heaven's sake let us have it out now," continued Sybil impetuously. She had been giving little tweaks at the letter in her sister's hand, and a faint apprehension crept into her accents as she found it firmly withheld; "and don't look so owl-like. There is nothing to be owl-like about, I suppose?"

      Hitherto neither had noted Sue's expression; now for the first time they simultaneously paused long enough to enable her to open her lips.

      "I am afraid you will be disappointed," she said slowly. "I am so sorry to tell you, but—but things are not as you suppose. Poor Godfrey–" she paused.

      "Poor Godfrey, well, poor Godfrey?"

      Both exclaimed at once, and each alike made a movement of impatience.

      "He had been very unfortunate of late. He had—speculated. He–"

      "We don't care twopence about him, get on."

      "He has been unable to leave Leonore–"

      "Never mind what he has been unable to do—what has he been able?"

      "He was ruined," said Sue at last, in a dull, matter-of-fact tone. "It appears he did not himself know it, for which Leonore is very thankful—but though he died in the belief that he was going to be richer than ever, when his affairs came to be looked into–"

      "Oh, how long you are in telling it. You do love to harangue;" with a sudden petulance Sybil shook her sister's shoulder and seized the letter, whose perusal was the work of a minute.

      "So that's how the cat jumps!" quoth she, suddenly as cool as she had been warm before. "Poor brat! Well, it will be nice to have her here."

      "Here?" ejaculated Maud. "Is she coming here? To live?"

      "Even so. Isn't she, Sue? Of course she is. She can't help it. Though, I say—no wonder you were ages in the library—how does he take it? Oh, you need not pretend, my dear, we can imagine the scene. Our revered parent is not given to mincing matters, and to have Godfrey Stubbs, his dear bloated son-in-law, collapse like a pricked balloon is rough on him. He was so pleased—that's to say he took poor Goff's death so very philosophically, that one knew perfectly how he felt. The money and not the man—it was an ideal consummation. He would have condoled with his poor little Leo, and petted and pampered her—and grinned whenever he was alone. She might have come to live with us then——"

      "A nice jumble you are making of it." It was Maud who interposed, with a vexed face. "It is nothing but a huge joke to you—but upon my word, I don't see a pleasant time ahead for any of us. The bare sight of Leo will be a perpetual grievance, and we shall all reap the benefit."

      By the evening's post, however, Leo was bidden to come.

      CHAPTER II.

      ON THE STATION PLATFORM

      "Is that the widow?"

      A couple of common-looking men with their hats and greatcoats on, were standing, notebooks in hand, in the centre of a handsomely appointed room, and the eye of experience would have seen at once what they were doing there. They were taking an inventory of the furniture.

      Their task had been momentarily suspended by the opening of the door, and both heads had turned to behold a slight, black-robed figure step forward, then, at the sight of themselves, stop short, turn and vanish—whereupon the one put the above question and the other nodded for reply.

      "Lor', she ain't but a girl!" muttered the speaker; then paused to rub his chin, and add sententiously: "that's the way with these rich young cock-a-doodles. They marries and lives in lugsury—gives their wives di'monds, and motor-cars, and nothin' ain't too good for them,—then pop! off they goes, and we comes in! Sich is life!"

      "Godfrey Stubbs was a very decent feller;" protested the other, biting the top of his pencil with a meditative air. "He was misfort'nate, that's all."

      "Humph? Misfort'nate? Yes, I've heard it called that before. Stubbs ain't the first by a long chalk whose sticks I've had to make a list of because of his dying—or living—misfort'nate. Who's the missus?"

      "Can't say. There she goes!"—suddenly; and with one accord both stepped to the large French window which stood open, and stared across the lawn. "Just a mere slip of a thing," murmured Joe Mills, under his breath, "'bout my Milly's age, poor lass!"

      "Lucky there's no kids," quoth his companion, bluntly; "and, 'Poor lass' or no, we've got our work to do. Where had we got to now? Look sharp, and let's clear out of this before she comes back,"—and spurred to activity by the suggestion, the interlude came to an end forthwith.

      They need not have hurried; Leonore was not going to interrupt again. She had come to take a last look round, as she was not now dwelling there; but the sight just witnessed was enough to preclude any desire for further investigation, and she almost ran across the threshold which she was never more to enter.

      It may be wondered at that none of her own people were with the hapless girl at such a moment—but a few words will explain this. A very few days before Godfrey Stubbs' sudden death, an outbreak of influenza, which was rife in the neighbourhood, had taken place at Boldero Abbey; and to the intense vexation of the general, he found himself laid by the heels, when it was above all things necessary and desirable that he should appear, clad in the full panoply of woe, at the funeral of his son-in-law.

      He would go, he was sure he could go,—and he rose from his bed and tried, only to totter, trembling, back into it again.

      Then he ordered up Sue, and sent messages to the younger ones. When it appeared that all were either sick or sickening, and that the doctor's orders were peremptory, he was made so much worse himself by wrathful impotence, that thereafter all was easy, and by the time the epidemic had abated, Leonore was no longer in her own house.

      She was still, however, to her father's view a personage, and as such to be treated. Messages of affectionate condolence and sympathetic inquiry were despatched daily. Though he did not actually write with his own hand, he composed and dictated, and every epistle had to be submitted to him before it was sent—while each and all conveyed the emphatic declaration that, the very moment he was fit to travel, General Boldero would fly to his dear girl's side, to give her the benefit of his counsel and experience.

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