Chapter 43

It was not until he had been absent more than a year that Mrs. Purling appeared to relent. She began to yearn after her son; she missed him and was disposed to be reconciled, provided he would but meet her half-way. At first she sent olive-branches in the shape of munificent letters of credit over and above his liberal allowance; then came more distinct overtures in lengthy epistles, which grew daily warmer in tone and plainly showed that her resentment was passing rapidly away. These letters of hers were her chief pleasure in life; she prided herself on her ability to wield the pen. When, instead of a few curt sentences in brief acknowledgment of his letters, his mother resumed her old custom of filling several sheets of post with advice, gossip, odds and ends of news, mixed with stray scraps of wisdom culled from Martin Tupper, Harold began to hope that the worst was over and that he would soon be forgiven in set form.

And he was right. Pardon was soon extended to him, not quite unconditional, but weighted merely with terms which--Mrs. Purling thought--no sensible man could hesitate to accept.

She only asked him to settle in life. He must marry some day--why not soon? Not to anybody, of course,--he must be on his guard against foreign intriguing sirens, who would entangle him if they could,--but to some lady of rank and fashion, fitted by birth and breeding to be the mother of generations of Purlings yet to be. This was the condition she annexed to forgiveness of the past; this the text upon which she preached in her letters week after week. The doctrine of judicious marriage appeared in all she wrote with the unfailing regularity of the red thread that runs through all the strands of Admiralty rope.

Harold smiled at the reiteration of these sentiments; smiled, but he had misgivings. Herein might be another source of disagreement between his mother and himself. Would their respective opinions agree as to the style of girl most likely to suit him? Then he began to consider what style of girl his mother would choose; and while he was thus musing there came a missive which plainly showed Mrs. Purling's hand.

"I have been at Compton Revel for a week--"

"I wonder," thought Harold, when he had read thus far, "why they asked her there? My dear old mother must have been in the seventh heaven of delight. She always longed to be on more intimate terms with Lady Calverly."

"I have been at Compton Revel for a week," his mother said, "and met there a Miss Fanshawe, one of Lord Fanshawe's daughters, who seemed to me quite the nicest girl I have ever known. I took to her directly; and without conceit I may be permitted to say that I think she took quite as readily to me. We became immense friends. She was at such pains to be agreeable to an uninteresting old woman like myself that I feel convinced she has a good heart. I confess I was charmed with her. It is not only that she is strikingly handsome, but her whole bearing and her style are so distinguished that she might be descended from a long line of kings--as I make no doubt she is.

"Of course she has moved only in the best circles; her mother being dead, she has been introduced by the Countess of Gayfeather, and goes with her ladyship everywhere. Just imagine, she has been to State-balls at the Palace; the Prince has danced with her, and she has been spoken to by the Princess! You know how I enjoy hearing all the news of the great world, and Miss Fanshawe has been so obliging as to amuse me for hours with descriptions of all she has seen and heard--not a little, I assure you; she is not one of those flighty girls who have no ears but for flattery, no eyes but for young men; she is observant, critical perhaps, but strikingly just in her strictures on what goes on around. I find she has thought out several of the complex problems of our modern high-pressure life; and really she gave me very valuable ideas upon my favourite theory of 'lady-helps,' to which I am devoting now so much of my spare time.

"Miss Fanshawe has promised to pay me a long visit at Purlington some day soon--a real act of kindness which I fully appreciate. It will indeed be a treat to a lonely old woman to find so entertaining a guest and companion.

"When do you think of returning? Gollop tells me there are plenty of pheasants this year. Surely, you have had enough of those dry German _savants_ and that dull university-town?"

The hook was rather coarsely baited; it would hardly have deceived the most guileless and unsuspecting. Harold Purling at a glance could read between the lines; he could trace effect to cause, and readily understood why his mother was so anxious for his return.

"One of Lady Gayfeather's girls, is she? I never thought much of that lot. However--but why on earth should Lady Calverly take my dear mother up in this way, at the eleventh hour?"

He would have wondered yet more if he had seen how cordially Mrs. Purling had been welcomed to Compton Revel.

"It is so good of you to come to us," Lady Calverly said, with effusion. "We are so glad to have you here, and have looked forward to it for so long."

For about seventeen years, in fact, during which time Lord and Lady Calverly had completely ignored the existence of their near neighbour, Mrs. Purling. Compton Revel might have been a paradise, and the heiress an exiled peri waiting at the gates.

The party assembled was after Mrs. Purling's own heart. They were all great people, at least in name; and the heiress of the Purlings was heard to murmur that she did like to be in such good society--she felt so perfectly at home. And they all made much of her. One night she was handed in to dinner by a Duke, another by an ex-Cabinet Minister. The latter made her feel proud, for the first time in her life, of her son, and the line he had adopted so sorely against her will.

"Mr. Purling's paper on toxicology," he said, "is quite the cleverest thing that has appeared on the subject. My friend, Sir William--," he mentioned a physician of world-wide repute, "considers that Mr. Purling will go far."

Lady Calverly followed suit by declaring that Mr. Purling was a pattern young man, everyone gave him so good a character. They _did_ hope to see him at Compton Revel directly he got back to England.

Then Miss Fanshawe metaphorically prostrated herself before Mrs. Purling, and by judicious phrases and ready sympathy completely won her good-will.

"You certainly made an impression upon her, Phillipa," said Lady Calverly afterwards.

"She is a vain and rather silly old woman," Miss Fanshawe replied. Language that might have opened Mrs. Purling's eyes.

"But I am very glad you became such good friends. Purlington is a very desirable place."

Here, then, was a faint clue to the mystery of Mrs. Purling's tardy reception at Compton Revel. Intrigue--not necessarily base, but covered by the harmless phrase, "It would be so very nice"--was at work to bring about a match between Miss Fanshawe and Harold Purling. She was one of a large family of girls and her father was an impoverished peer. Besides, her career so far had not been an unmixed success. Lady Gayfeather's young ladies had the reputation of being the "quickest" in the town.

"I have met the son," went on Lady Calverly.

"Yes?" Phillipa's tone was one of absolute indifference.

"He is a gentleman."

"I have always heard of him as a solemn prig--'Old Steady' he was named at college. I confess I have no special leaning to these very proper and decorous youths."

"Do not say that you are harping still on that old affair. I assure you Gilly Jillingham is unworthy of you. You are not thinking still of each other, I sincerely hope?"

"I may be of him," said Phillipa bitterly. "He is not likely to think of any one--but himself."

"I shall never forgive myself for surrendering you to Lady Gayfeather. Nothing but misery seems to hang about her and her house. This last affair--"

There had been a terrible scandal, not many months old, and hardly forgotten yet, which had roused Lady Calverly to remove her cousin, Phillipa Fanshawe, from the evil influences of Lady Gayfeather's set. Whether or not the rescue had come in time it would be difficult to say. Miss Fanshawe could hardly escape scot-free from her associations, nor was it to her advantage that rumour had bracketed her name with that of a successful but not popular man of fashion. There had been a talk of marriage, but he had next to nothing; no more had she.

"We must have an end to all that," said Lady Calverly decisively. "You must promise me to forget Mr. Jillingham for good and all."

"Of course," replied Phillipa; but the pale face and that sad look in her weary eyes belied her words.

It seemed as if she had shot her bolt at the target of life's happiness, and that the arrow had fallen very wide of the gold.