CHAPTER SEVEN.

Despite her growing indifference towards neighbouring festivities, Katrine could not resist a thrill of excitement in preparing for the Barfield Garden Party, which was in truth no ordinary local function, but an important, almost a national, fete. Among the guests royalty itself might appear; foreign potentates, ambassadors, distinguished politicians, disciples of the arts and sciences would be on show on the wide lawns, and within the splendid rooms of the old Castle. It would be, as Katrine herself had said, a very Zoological Garden of lions, among whom an insignificant spinster from a country town must of necessity appear the smallest of small fry.

Martin, of course, owned a roar of his own, a minor roar, but still distinguishable among the rest, but his sister had no claim to celebrity. Her aim was theoretically to see, not to be seen, but the theory did not prevent a lengthy and painstaking toilette.

It was only a simple ninon dress, it was only a home-made hat, she owned neither jewels nor laces, nor valuable accessories of any sort to give a _cachet_ to the whole, but considering these deficiencies there was the more reason for being thankful for a graceful figure, for a face with well-cut features, and deep, level eyes.

Surveying the completed toilette in her glass Katrine first smirked and then sighed. "Very praiseworthy considering, but when I see Grizel, she will knock the conceit out of me!" she said to herself as she put the dressing-table in order with a few swift touches, and crossed the passage to tap at the door of the guest chamber.

"May I come in?"

"What ho!" sounded cheerily from within, and Katrine entered to behold a Romney picture in grey chiffon pirouetting before the glass, a ridiculous buckram bandeau pressed turban-like on her head, to which she was endeavouring to anchor a vast hat, encircled by sweeping white feathers. The feathers swept, they did not soar, a Grizel-like distinction between beauty and fashion; there was not a touch of colour about her, except for the coral brightness of her lips. Katrine felt an instant conviction that ninon was heavy, that colour was vulgar, that every item of her own toilette was detestable and ill-chosen. She stood staring in the doorway, and even as she stood the door of Martin's room opened, at the opposite side of the passage.

He would have passed on without a glance towards the opened room; Katrine in her friend's place would have dodged hastily into a corner rather than have been discovered in the unbecoming stage of bandeau _sans_ hat, but Grizel hailed him with a cheerful cry:

"Halloa, you man thing! Look upon me, and thank your stars you are not a woman. I've _got_ to balance this tent upon my head, and nothing short of clamps will do it. And there's one hairpin, a fiendish anarchist of a hairpin, simply stacking into my scalp! ... Which would you rather,--keep the car waiting while I take it down and do it again, or have me scratching at my head all the afternoon, at the most compromising moments? Put your fingers in, Katrine! Prod about! Can you feel it? Not that one, no! For the land's sake don't scatter my curls on the floor. That's him! That's him! Good girl! ... What a mussiful relief... Now for the skewers... Deadly, ain't they? But I have screws for the ends, so you can be aisey... The question of the hour is, Martin--_do_ you love me better in a veil, or without?"

She faced him, holding before her face lengths of filmy white, no disfiguring scrolls, no shadows, such as the fashion of the day forces on an unoffending public, but a gossamer tulle, invisible at a few yards' distance, yet lending a becoming softness to the features. Martin, however, gallantly refused to see the improvement, and gave the verdict "Without!" in unhesitating accents, whereupon Grizel beamed upon him, and deliberately proceeded to swathe the folds round the wide brim of the hat.

"Sweet pusson! But you wouldn't, after a long drive, when the ends were flying! No woman can look distinguished with tousley hair. I'm ready, my loved ones! If you've any remarks to make, make 'em now, or else for ever hold your peace. As for Katrine--she's quite unnecessarily good-looking--no objections to make there. My hobject is--if you can understand,--to appear as if I were `Somebody,' and have a train of admirers following wherever I go!--If you didn't know any better, do you think you could mistake me for `Some one in Particular,' and hang around to stare?"

The brother and sister smiled indulgently.

"Isn't Grizel Dundas Somebody?" Martin enquired.

"She's a goose anyway!" corrected Katrine, but she said it with a laugh, and in a voice which held no trace of the ordinary snap. Martin's eyes turned upon her quickly; he also seemed to be infected with an unusual gentleness and amenity of manner.

"How nice you look, dear--how very nice!" he said genially. In the way of definite approval it was more than he had said to Grizel herself. Katrine flushed with pleasure, and brushed his arm with a caressing touch. Each was conscious of a longing to make up for the growing disloyalty of the past months. The position remained unchanged, but there was a different attitude towards it; they had grown suddenly softer, kindlier; in each mind was a conviction of personal responsibility, a disinclination to blame the other. "I haven't considered her enough. She's had a desperately dull time." ... "I've been so narrow-minded--so blind. I didn't understand!" Each heart made its own confession of shortcomings, and felt lightened of a load. It was in the happiest of moods that the trio started on their ten-mile drive through the wooded country which stretched between Cumly and Barfield Castle.

In the matter of rural scenery England stands unsurpassed in the kingdoms of the world, and a stranger to our isle could not have had a better introduction to its beauties than the drive through that southern county. Long avenues of beeches gave entrance to the most picturesque of villages, with the traditional duck-pond and green; thatched cottages showed a blaze of flowers in their trim gardens; the smooth white road curved through the heart of a great forest, dived through the precipitous High Street of a quaint old town, and climbed steeply to a breezy down. Everywhere there was a wealth of greenery, a universal air of prosperity, of order, of well-being, good to behold on this brilliant summer morning.

Within a few miles of Barfield Castle, however, all peacefulness vanished from the scene. The converging roads were filled with an unending stream of vehicles, and the dust rose in clouds above the hedgerows. The women wrapped themselves closely in dust cloaks and motor-veils, the pace slackened to a crawl, and at frequent intervals ceased altogether as the congested lines merged together near the castle gates. When once that point had been passed, progress was sure though slow, and the dust of the high roads was replaced by refreshing shade from the great avenue of trees. The wrappings were thrown aside, to display the brave toilettes of men and women; and the pedestrians who, having travelled by train, had been disappointed of finding conveyances at the station, gazed enviously, curiously, at the occupants of the various carriages and cars, and were in their turn as mercilessly scrutinised.

"Everybody is dying to know who everybody else is!" whispered Grizel gleefully. "Buck up, Katrine, and look haughty. You may be mistaken for a Duchess, or a variety actress,--you never know your luck! When we pass the next group, watch me heave, to show off the effect of my massed gems!"

The "massed gems" consisted of a diamond brooch and a small heart-shaped pendant to match, which nestled together in the folds of chiffon at Grizel's breast. It was a charming and ludicrous sight to behold her inflate her slight form at the prescribed moment, but sure enough, the stones flashed in response, catching a passing sunbeam and blazing with a brilliance altogether out of proportion to their size.

"There!" cried Grizel triumphantly, achieving a double chin in her effort to admire her own splendour. "Never say again that I don't do you credit!"

The first part of the afternoon was spent pleasantly enough in strolling about the gardens, or in sitting down to watch the kaleidoscopic brilliance of the scene. At intervals Martin was hailed by a fellow-writer or club acquaintance, or Grizel by a friend from town, but Katrine was never so addressed. Other girls less attractive than herself flitted about with attendant cavaliers, or formed the centres of merry groups. What was the use of being "unnecessarily good-looking," if no one were influenced thereby?

Across the sunshine of the scene shot grey shadows of depression. In the midst of a crowd one could be so horribly alone! Among the hundreds of guests crowding the green lawn, not one cared to pause by her side. Even Martin and Grizel.--It was a hateful thought, Katrine fought against it, but her heart acknowledged its truth,--they would be happier without her! It was inevitable that the mind should leap to the remembrance of the one man who _would_ have cared; who, entering by those great gates, would have come swiftly forward, unsatisfied, unseeing, till he had gained her side!

Across the intervening miles went out a warm, glad thought: "_He would have cared_!" said Katrine's heart, and at the thought the sun shone again.

"Excuse me one moment!" cried Martin hurriedly. "That man over there.-- I've been wanting to catch him for months..."

He darted across the lawn, and the two girls subsided into chairs, afraid to leave the spot, lest in the crowd he might not be able to find them on his return. Already Grizel was looking tired and spent; the little face beneath the sweeping hat was white as a tired rose, but the whimsical light shone bright as ever in the golden eyes as she turned them on the passing throng, and from her lips bubbled an endless stream of nonsense. It was difficult for a listener to preserve a due decorum of manner as each group passed by, heralded by biographical sketches in those low, rich tones.

"--Aunt Hepsibah and her niece Jane... County family. Redooced, but proud. `A lace shawl,' says Auntie, `is _always_ le mode! And Jane shall wear my bertha.' ... Mrs Ponsonby de Tompkins. Left cards regularly for years past, angling for an invitation, and at long last one arrived. A handsome new dress for the occasion! The very _best_ satin, and everything to match, Husband excepted! Ponsonby wishes to goodness he'd never come! ... Rich Mr Stock-broker on the point of proposing to Emily Maud. Emily'll have him. Observe the smirk! I _always_ refuse men who propose to me at garden parties... Ha! whom have we here? Looks like a Duchess, but probably is _not_. Old lady in puce probably _is_, and has no right to be... Long-haired pus-son probably an Anabaptist, or a Poet, or something of that ilk."

"It's all very well, but I want to _know_!" objected Katrine in tones of strong disapproval. "It's the dullest thing in the world to be surrounded by celebrities, and not to recognise a single one. Martin goes about so little that he is no use as a guide. The dozens and dozens of interesting invitations which he has refused these last years! I think he might introduce us to some of his friends who _do_ know! It's the literary people who interest me most. And the artists. It's too tiresome!"

"Keep calm, Sweet One! We'll ask him when he comes back, and," Grizel smiled, a slow, sweet smile, "_I_ might know one or two myself! If we sit here patiently, some one is sure to pass. I'll keep a bright look-out."

"Oh, do! Yes, of course, you meet all kinds of people. I've lived in a rut. Grizel, do you know, I'm getting _tired_!"

The words were used in their deeper sense, and Grizel's long glance proclaimed her understanding. Grizel always _did_ understand, Katrine acknowledged ungrudgingly, but the deep, contemplative glance aroused a remembrance of the parting of the night before, and to her annoyance she felt the blood once more stain her cheeks. Now if Grizel proceeded to joke, question, insinuate, she felt she could _not_ endure it, but Grizel was silent, and spoke no word. They sat together for a long five minutes without exchanging a remark, then suddenly strolling towards them came a strikingly handsome woman followed at a few yards' distance by a man and a girl, evidently members of the same party, whom for the moment she chose to ignore. She wore a trailing gown of a deep rose pink, and over it a cloak of chiffon, elaborately embroidered in silks. Her head was swathed in turban-like folds, on the front of which a diamond bosque held the end of a rampant plume. Her expression was as unusual as her appearance, the blankness on most of the passing faces being replaced in her case by a radiant audacity which proved her to be no ordinary character. So striking and queenly a figure attracted instant attention, and Katrine's melancholy reflection that this _must_ be one of the many unrecognised celebrities, was followed by a thrill of joy, as Grizel rushed forward with friendly _empressement_.

"Grizel Dundas, by all that is charming! And who brought _you_ here, dear person?" enquired the tall lady warmly, at which question Grizel's eyes turned upon Katrine, with a twinkling gleam. One hand still rested on her friend's arm, pressing upon it as with a special significance; with the other she made a sweeping gesture of introduction.

"I drove over from Cumly. I am staying with my friends, the Martin Beverleys. Let me introduce you... This is Miss Beverley, and she has been lamenting all afternoon that she does not know Who's Who, and is surrounded by celebrities, whom she can't recognise. Now she's going to have a treat. Providence has been kind in sending you to our aid, for you are one of her special heroines. Prepare yourself, Katrine! You _are_ a lucky girl! If you've had to wait, you've got a big catch at the end... Guess what is the name of this fine, this very fine, this superfine lady whom you now behold before you."

Katrine smiled, blushed, waited, agape with curiosity; so--it would have appeared to the eye of a beholder--did the superfine lady also. Grizel gave another sweep of the small gloved hand, and pronounced a name in a tone of triumph:

"Mrs--Humphrey Ward!"

"Oh-h!" an irresistible exclamation burst from Katrine's lips, her attitude became on the moment instinct with deference, with the most transparent and whole-hearted adulation. The lady on her part cast a rapid glance at Grizel, from Grizel to Katrine, simpered, attitudinised, and gently coughed.

"So pleased!" she murmured softly. "So happy; so _braced_! In the midst of this alien throng to meet a Kindred Soul,--that is refreshment indeed!" She held Katrine's hand between both of her own, gazing at her with a fond affection. "Tell me, dear; I am so pining to know,--_which_ of my books do you cherish most?"

That "cherish" struck a jarring note, but Katrine's answer came none the less promptly. She had no hesitation in pronouncing her preference for _Eleanor_; it was her hearer who for a moment looked blank and vague.

"Ah-h!" she said thoughtfully, then with a sudden radiant smile, "I call her Nellie! We mothers have pet names for our children. Dear little Nell! She was a sweet thing. Hard on her, wasn't it, while still so young? So dear of you to love her... Well, dear, I shall always remember you, and love you for your sweet sympathy. And you want my autograph, of course? Don't mind asking--I shall be only _too_ pleased!"

Katrine's flush deepened to rose. Bewilderment, embarrassment, and a chilling disillusion seemed for the moment to have deprived her of speech. The gorgeous figure towered over her, the brilliant eyes blazed relentlessly upon her face. Grizel stood meekly in the background, her face all infantile sweetness.

"I,--thank you! I don't collect autographs, but I shall be--honoured to have yours. Miss Dundas can give you my address."

"That's quite all right. I'll send it soon, with an appropriate quotation for your dear little album. `Be good, sweet maid, All lame dogs aid,' With best wishes from Nellie's Mother..."

She smirked once more. Katrine was breathlessly demanding of herself if this could indeed be the woman who had written such masterly books, when the girl who had been standing at a discreet distance during the short interview, came forward and spoke in an apologetic voice:--

"Mrs Singleton! I'm sorry, but father has an appointment to meet a friend in the rose garden, I'm afraid we must really move on."

"Singleton... Incognito! The name she travels by, don't you know," naughty Grizel mumbled in explanation, as the little party turned away, but the truth burst upon Katrine in an all-illuminating flash, and she was not to be caught again.

"Grizel, you horror! To make me a laughing stock... What a fool she must have thought me, standing gaping with admiration! `Nellie's Mother' indeed! An idol toppled at that moment. I _was_ disillusioned, but living in the same house with an author prepares one for so many eccentricities, that I still believed... Well! it came off very well that time, but don't try it again!"

Grizel continued to chuckle in soft, retrospective enjoyment.

"Oh, it was grand! Mrs Singleton is a capital actress, and she played up like a man. It _was_ delicious to see you standing there, all humility and adulation, such a douce, modest, young woman, burning incense to a master mind. If only that tiresome girl had not come up at the wrong moment, I might have faked all the wig bigs in turn, and had the time of my life!"

Katrine's lips twisted in an enigmatical smile. She was feeling gay and young; the prickly dignity which had made her resent any approach to a joke at her own expense, had given place to a humorous enjoyment. Mentally she stood beside Grizel, looking on at the little scene which had just been enacted, appreciating the alertness of Mrs Singleton, and enjoying the spectacle of her own credulity.

Meantime each passing moment brought with it a fresh picture. Now it was a group of Chinamen, attired in the gorgeous colourings of the East, conversing with friendly cordiality with their black-coated friends; again it was a slender, dark-skinned woman, moving to the jingle of innumerable bangles, her timid eyes alight with childlike curiosity; anon, it was an ecclesiastic of the Church, or a group of court officials. The kaleidoscopic groups streamed in and out of the great house, passing each other on the marble staircase of the terrace, while the strains of massed bands sounded from a discreetly-arranged distance.

Presently Martin returned, and was duly regaled with an account of the Singleton episode, which being done Grizel laid upon him her own commands.

"Let's go into the house and be fed! Eating is my one solace on these occasions," she said, yawning. "One sees so many better-looking women than oneself.--I rather believe I am going to faint!"

The threat brought her companions to their feet. Martin offered his arm, and Grizel hung upon it with an air of exhaustion, her reed-like form and misty draperies investing her with an almost ghostly air of fragility. She made her way towards the house, followed by eyes of commiserating admiration, but once seated in the great hall she displayed an appetite for, and appreciation of the dainties provided, which put her more robust friends in the shade. Martin hovered around her with a solicitude which provoked Katrine to the bluntness of truth.

"There's not much wrong with her when she can eat those cakes! She's not half so bad as she pretends. I wish I had half her appetite."

"Do you grudge me my humble board!" Grizel grimaced with the air of a cheeky schoolboy, oblivious of the stare of a haughty flunky who was at the moment supplying her with cream. She sipped luxuriously at the delicious coffee, and proceeded reflectively:--

"Last time I was here was at the Ball of the Creases. Such a tragic occasion, Katrine! It was the hour of wool-satins; no other material had a look in, and every mortal woman had clothed herself therein. Most of them had a railway journey, or a long drive across country, and oh, the shock when they alighted, and took off their wraps in the cloak room!!! Creases, creases, nothing but creases! It was a pitiful scene; mothers afume, daughters in tears, rows of dowagers turning themselves before the fire, like turkeys on a spit; plaintive pleadings for flat-irons. When we got upstairs to the ballroom, it was worse than ever, with the great electric chandelier blazing down, and showing up every deficiency. And we revolved beneath them looking like so many rag-bags. I have never seen so many badly-dressed women in my life."

"Serve you right," was Martin's comment. "Sheep! Sheep! Why _will_ you all dress alike? I can never see the fascination of being a replica of a hundred other women, when one might be a woman by oneself."

Certainly the female portion of the crowd which continually surged in and out of the great door formed an admirable illustration of Martin's indictment. Old and young, tall and small, fat and thin, all hobbled within the same tight folds, and hid their hair beneath enormous hats which descended on the shoulder, entirely concealing both hair and neck. Viewed from the front the costume achieved on occasions a not unbecoming effect, but the back!

"Oh would some power the giftie gie them, To see their backs as others see them!" chanted Grizel softly, as a distinguished party crossed the floor at a few yards' distance. She laughed as she spoke, her deep, gurgling laugh, at the sound of which the colour rose in Martin's cheek. He looked at her and said quickly:

"Grizel! didn't you want to see the picture gallery? Shall I take you now?" As he spoke, his expression seemed to take a significance apart from the words; delicately but unmistakably his eyebrows rose, asking a secret question, and as delicately Grizel's eyes met his, and signalled a reply.

Katrine saw, guessed, was in the act of defiantly fighting against the suggestion, but Grizel was before her.

"Presently. There's plenty of time. Katrine was wishing, Martin, that you could introduce her to some one who could act as guide, and point out the celebrities. It's dull for her dragging about with us."

"Of course. Certainly! I saw old Deeds a minute ago. There could be no one better. I'll bring him along."

Martin dashed off with a haste seldom characteristic of altruistic enterprises, while Katrine sat rigid on her seat, consumed with anger.

"Us!" That word was the crux of the offence. "Us!" having for its meaning Martin and Grizel, leaving herself coldly outside the pale. Katrine hardly realised it at the time, but in reality another word had cut almost as deep. "_Old_!" Old Mr Deeds. "No one could be better!" The first old man who came within reach appeared a fitting companion for her, the while her companions went their unhindered way.

She sat rigid, her lips pressed in a hard, straight line. By her side Grizel cast sorrowful glances. On occasions it is almost as disagreeable to do good, as to be the object of benevolent designs!