CHAPTER XXII.

FROM THE WIFE'S POINT OF VIEW.

"What is the purest love on earth? A maiden's love for summer mirth? A lover's worship of his idol When bells ring out his happy bridal? A patriot's when on foreign strand He suffers for his native land? A poet's or musician's love For thoughts inspired from above? Ah, no, the love most undefiled Is that the mother gives the child."

Lady Errington was as usual in the nursery, sitting in a low chair near the window, watching "Sammy" playing on the floor. "Sammy," otherwise Henry Gerald Guy Errington, was now a year old, and looked what he was, a remarkably fine child, of which any mother might be proud. "Proud," however, is too weak a word to use in connection with Alizon's love for her child, seeing that this small scrap of humanity rolling about at her feet was worshipped by her with an affection absolutely idolatrous. All her ideas, her thoughts, her affections, were bound up in Sammy, and had it been a question of death for mother or child, there is no doubt that Alizon would have cheerfully yielded up her own life to save that of her baby.

Nor was Sammy undeserving of worship, for he was really a beautiful boy, with the frank expression of his father's handsome face, and a healthy, sturdy little frame, which seemed to defy disease. During his twelve months of existence he had been very healthy, and even in the delicate matter of cutting his teeth had been more successful than the generality of infants. With his rosy little face, his big, blue eyes and soft yellow curls of hair, he looked as an obsequious nurse expressed it, "a perfect picter." That worthy lady, Mrs. Tasker by name, and fat, plethoric and red-faced by nature, was at the end of the nursery attending to some articles of the young gentleman's toilet, and Alizon had her child all to herself, for which privilege she was profoundly grateful, as Mrs. Tasker was a terrible autocrat.

A wonderful change had come over her since she had become a mother, for the statue had become a woman, the iceberg had melted, and in all her life she never looked so womanly as she did at this moment. Her face, flushed a delicate rose-colour, was sparkling with animation, her lips were parted in a merry laugh, and her eyes, soft and tender, absolutely seemed to devour the child as she bent forward to play with him.

Sammy was sitting like an infant Marius among the ruins of a Carthage of toys, for around him on all sides lay the evidences of his destructive capabilities. A woolly quadruped, something between a dog and a cow, dignified with the name of "Ba-lamb," lay on its back, piteously extending one mangled leg, the other three having been bitten off, and an indecent india-rubber doll, with no clothes and a squeak, was being dragged about by a string. There were several other things, such as a drum (broken), a toy soldier (head missing), a wooden Noah (paint sucked off), and last, but not least, a hunting crop of his father's, which was Sammy's special delight, because it wasn't supposed to be proper for him to have it.

Sammy at present was hammering "Eliza" (the doll aforesaid) with the whip, when suddenly discovering that one shoe had come off in his exertions, he rendered things equal by pulling off the other shoe, and then chuckled with delight at his success.

"Naughty Sammy," reproved his mother, bending down to pick up the shoes. "Mustn't do that--ah, bad child!"

The bad child, attracted by the fact that both shoes were out of his reach, made a snatch at them, with the result that he over-balanced himself, and came down heavily on his head. He was undecided whether to howl or not, when his mother settled the question by picking him up with a cry of pity, whereat, knowing the right thing to do, he howled vigorously.

"Mother's own precious! mother's own darling!" lamented Alizon, rocking him to and fro on her breast; upon which Sammy, finding the rocking pleasant, roared louder than ever, whereupon Mrs. Tasker hurried forward to give her opinion.

"Why, whatever's the matter, my lady?" she asked anxiously. "He hasn't swallowed anything has he?"

This was Mrs. Tasker's constant nightmare, for Sammy had an ostrich-like capacity for swallowing anything that came handy, and disposed of all sorts of things in this manner, to the great detriment of his stomach.

"He's hurt his head, Nurse," explained Lady Errington, anxiously, while Sammy, satisfied at being the centre of attraction, stopped roaring. "His poor head. He fell over on the floor."

"He's allay's doin' that," said Nurse in despair. "I nivir did see sich a topply child. Feathers is lead to his upsettings."

The comparison was not a particularly happy one, but it served Mrs. Tasker, who thereupon wanted to take Sammy from his mother, a proceeding to which Lady Errington strongly objected.

"No, don't Nurse please! let me hold him a little time! See he's quite good now."

And indeed, Sammy was now behaving like an angel, for being attracted by a small gold brooch his mother wore, he was standing up on his sturdy legs, plucking at it with chubby fingers, and gurgling to himself in a most satisfied manner.

"I nivir did see such a dear child," remarked Mrs. Tasker admiringly. "'Is 'owls is hoff as soon as on. Why the last as I nussed, my lady, were that givin' to hollerin' as you might 'ave thought I'd put 'im to bed with a pin-cushing. But as for Master Sammy, well----" and casting up her little eyes to the ceiling, Mrs. Tasker expressed in pantomime, with a pair of dumpy red hands, that words failed her.

"He's an angel! an angel!" murmured Alizon fondly, covering the rosy little face with kisses. "Oh, nurse, isn't he perfect?"

Nurse expressed her firm conviction that there never was nor never would be such a perfectly angelic child, and then the two women indulged in a lavish display of grovelling affection, with many inarticulated words, tender fondlings and indistinct kisses, all of which Sammy accepted with the greatest calmness as his just due.

At this moment a servant entered the nursery to inform Lady Errington that Sir Guy and Mr. Eustace Gartney were waiting for her in the Dutch room, at which Alizon was in despair, for it was now the time when Sammy took his airing, and therefore one of the most interesting events of the day. However, much as she disliked leaving the child, she could hardly refuse to see Eustace without appearing pointedly rude, so sent the servant away with the information that she would be down immediately.

"I won't be longer than I can help, Nurse," she said dolefully, delivering Sammy into the extended arms of Mrs. Tasker. "Be sure you take the greatest care in dressing him."

"Well, my lady," said Mrs. Tasker, with scathing irony, "I 'opes as I've dressed a child afore."

"Yes! Yes! of course," replied Lady Errington hastily, for she had a wholesome fear of the autocrat's temper, "but you know how anxious I am! and his bottle, Nurse! take care it's warm, and Nurse! please don't go out until I send up a message."

"Will it be long?" demanded Mrs. Tasker determinedly, "because there ain't much sun, and this blessed child must git as much as he can. It makes 'im grow."

"No! only a few minutes," said Alizon quickly. "You see, Nurse, I'll want to show him to Mr. Gartney. Take the greatest care--the very greatest care--goodbye, mother's angel--kiss mother, dearest."

Sammy opened his button of a mouth and bestowed a damp caress on his mother, which was his idea of kissing, and then Lady Errington, yielding to stern necessity, withdrew slowly, with her eyes fixed on the child to the last, and even when she closed the nursery door, she strained her ears to hear him crowing.

Both gentlemen were waiting in the Dutch room, which received its name from the fact that it looked out on to the prim garden, with the rows of box-wood, the beds of gaudy tulips and the fantastically clipped yew trees. Guy was in a much more cheerful mood than usual, as he thought that the panacea prescribed by Eustace would make an end of all his troubles, and Gartney himself experienced a wonderful feeling of exhilaration at the near prospect of seeing his visionary lady of Como once more.

The soft sweep of a robe, the turning of the handle of the door, and in another moment she stood before him, a fair, gracious woman, who advanced slowly with outstretched hand and a kindly smile.

"How do you do, Mr. Gartney, after all this time?" she said sweetly, clasping his extended hand. "I thought we were never going to see you again."

Was this the pale, cold Undine he had last seen at Como, more ethereal than the visioned spirits of romance? Was this the perfect, bloodless statue of whom Guy complained? This lovely breathing woman, aflush with all the tender grace of motherhood, with delicately pink cheeks, eyes brilliant with animation, and a voice rich and mellow as the sound of a silver bell. Yes! his prophecy had come true; the haunting, hungry look had departed from her eyes, for in the full satisfaction of the strong maternal instinct the thin, unsubstantial ghost of maidenhood had disappeared; and in this beautiful woman, aglow with exuberant vitality, he recognized the reality of the visionary creation of his dreaming brain.

"Did you think I was lost in Arabian solitudes?" he said, recovering from his momentary fit of abstraction. "I'm afraid I'm not the sort of man to be lost. I always come back again, like a modern Prodigal Son."

Alizon laughed when he spoke thus, but months afterwards she recollected those careless words. At present, however, she sat down near him, and began to talk, while Guy, who had uttered no word since she entered the room, stood silently at the window, staring out at the quaint Dutch garden.

"Now I suppose you are going to stay at home, and tell your tales from your own chimney corner?" said Lady Errington, clasping her hands loosely on her knees.

Eustace shook his head.

"I thought so the other day, but now--I'm going on an exploring expedition up the Nile."

"You must have the blood of the Wandering Jew in your veins."

"Or Cain!--he was rather fond of travelling, wasn't he?"

"Don't be profane, Mr. Gartney," said Alizon, trying to look serious. "But really you ought to settle down and marry."

"Yes, shouldn't he?" observed Guy caustically, turning round. "Go in for the delights of the family circle."

"That all depends whether he would appreciate them or not," replied Lady Errington coldly, flashing an indignant look at her husband, upon which Eustace to avoid unpleasantness made a hasty observation.

"By the way, talking of the family circle, I have to congratulate you, Lady Errington, on the birth of a son."

Alizon's eyes, which had hardened while looking at Guy, grew wondrous soft and tender.

"Yes!--he is the dearest child in the world--everyone loves him except his father."

"What nonsense Alizon!" said Guy, hastily turning towards his wife. "I'm very fond of him indeed, but one gets tired of babies."

"I daresay, but not of their own children," answered Lady Errington indignantly. "You must see him, Mr. Gartney, and I'm sure you'll say you never saw such a lovely child."

She arose from her seat and left the room quickly, while Eustace looked reproachfully at Guy.

"You shouldn't talk like that," he said quietly, "I don't wonder you find things disagreeable if you sneer at the child."

"I don't sneer at the child," retorted Guy sullenly, "but I'm tired of hearing nothing but baby chatter all day long."

"Perhaps, if you were as attentive to the baby as your wife, it would be advisable."

"Nonsense! I can't be on my knees before a cradle all day, and besides Alizon won't let me come near it. One would think I was going to murder the child the way she looks at me when I lay a finger on it."

"Mr. Gartney," said Lady Errington's voice at the door. "Come upstairs with me to the nursery."

"Can't I come to Paradise also?" observed Guy wistfully as his cousin was leaving the room.

"Certainly, come if you care to," replied Alizon coldly.

"No, thank you," replied Errington abruptly, his brow growing black with rage at the coldness of the invitation.

"I'll stay here till you return."

Lady Errington went upstairs slowly with Eustace, with a look of anger on her face.

"You see," she said bitterly, pausing at the nursery door, "he does not care a bit about his child."

"Oh, I think he does," answered Eustace discreetly, "but he thought you did not want him to come."

"I am always glad for him to come," remarked Alizon coldly, "but when he does he only makes disagreeable remarks about the boy, so his visits are never very pleasant."

Things were decidedly wrong between this young couple, and they so thoroughly misunderstood one another that Eustace was at a loss how to set them right. He was saved the trouble of further thought, however, by Lady Errington opening the door and preceding him into the nursery.

"There he is, Mr. Gartney," said the young mother, "look at my precious."

"My precious," in all the glory of white hat, white cape and woolly gloves and shoes, was seated in his perambulator ready to go out for his airing, and Mrs. Tasker, with the under-nurse, were both attached to the wheels of his chariot. At the sight of Gartney's bronzed face, he set up a howl, and was only pacified by being taken out of his carriage into the protecting arms of his mother.

"The complete Madonna now," thought Eustace, as he looked at the flushed face of the young mother bending over the rosy one of the child.

"Did he cry then! sweetest! What do you think of him, Mr. Gartney?"

"There can be but one opinion," replied that gentleman solemnly, "he's a very beautiful child, and you may well be proud of him, Lady Errington."

"Did you ever see a finer child?" demanded Alizon, insatiable for praise.

"No, never," answered Eustace, which was true enough, as he hated babies and never looked at them unless forced to. "Hi, baby, chuck! chuck!"

"Goo! goo! goo!" gurgled Master Errington, and stretched out his chubby arms to Gartney, intimating thereby a desire to improve his acquaintance with that gentleman.

"Oh, he's quite taken to you," said Lady Errington gaily. "Just feel what a weight he is."

So Eustace was forced to take the child in his arms, and looked as awkward as a man usually does when burdened with a baby. Ultimately Sammy was returned to his mother's arms, and she took him down the stairs, while the footman and Mrs. Tasker between them carried down the light wickerwork perambulator.

"Wheel him up and down the terrace for a time, Nurse," said Alizon, when the child was once more replaced in his little carriage. "I'll be out soon."

They were standing at the door, and Lady Errington waited there until Mrs. Tasker vanished with the baby round the corner on to the wide terrace, when she turned to Eustace with a sigh.

"Does that mean that you are anxious to get to the baby?" asked Eustace, raising his eyebrows, as they walked back to the Dutch room.

"Oh no, really," replied Lady Errington, with polite mendacity, "do you think I am never happy away from Sammy?"

"Are you?" he asked, eyeing her keenly.

Alizon flushed a bright crimson, laughed in an uneasy manner and fidgeted nervously.

"What a shame to push me into a corner!" she said at length, raising her clear eyes to his face. "No!--I am never happy away from my child. I am so afraid of any accident happening! Dear me, what has become of Guy?"

They had entered the Dutch room by this time and found it empty, but on the table afternoon tea was laid out, so Alizon sat down to pour out Eustace a cup. Gartney looked at her furtively as she did this, and thought he had never seen her look so charming.

"Lucky Guy," he said at length, taking the cup she handed to him.

"Because of Sammy?" she asked, looking at him with a bright smile.

"No! because of you!" replied Eustace boldly, whereat she shook her blonde head gaily, though her lips wore a somewhat scornful look.

"I'm afraid Guy doesn't think so!"

Eustace judged this a good opening from which to lead up to his attempt at reconciliation, so spoke out at once.

"Lady Errington, don't you think you are rather hard upon Guy?"

She turned her face towards him sharply.

"Why do you ask that?" she demanded coldly.

"I am afraid it is a liberty," answered Eustace slowly, "but you see I am Guy's cousin, so the near relationship must excuse my apparent rudeness. But the fact is you don't seem perfectly happy."

"I am happy, perfectly happy I have everything in the world I desire--health, wealth and my darling child."

"I see you don't count your husband among your blessings," said Eustace.

"Oh, yes! I'm very fond of Guy. He is the father of my child!"

"Is that the only reason you are fond of him?"

"Really, Mr. Gartney, I do not see by what right you speak like this to me," she said with great hauteur.

"I beg your pardon," said Eustace, with cold politeness. "I was wrong to do so."

Lady Errington began to twist her marriage ring round and round, as if she wanted to pull it off, and a frown passed across her mobile face. Eustace, versed in the ways of her sex, knew that those signs betokened further remarks on her part, so he wisely said nothing, but waited for the outburst, which came exactly as he expected.

"I am very fond of Guy," she asserted defiantly. "I would not have married him if I had not been fond of him. What makes you think I'm not? I suppose Aunt Jelly has been saying something?"

"My dear Lady Errington," responded Gartney replacing, his cup on the table, "I had no right to speak as I did. I beg your pardon."

"Please answer my question, Mr. Gartney," she said angrily, a red spot of colour burning on either cheek. "Has Aunt Jelly been saying anything?"

Gartney was not the man to remain in any difficulty where a lie could help him out of it, so he replied to her question with the greatest deliberation.

"Aunt Jelly has been saying nothing. The only reason that makes me speak is that you seem to me to be fonder of the baby than of your own husband."

The murder was out, and he was prepared for a storm, but it did not come, as Alizon had quite as much self-control as himself.

"Well, and what is wrong in that?" she said coldly. "I do love my child more than my husband, any mother would."

"Isn't that rather hard on the husband?"

"No! I do not see it! Of course, I love Guy very much--much more than he loves his child," she finished with a burst of passion.

"I think Guy is very fond of the child," said Eustace quietly.

"He is not," she replied angrily, rising to her feet; "he grudges every hour I spend with the boy. He would have me neglect the child in order to be always with him. But there, what is the use of talking?--neither you nor Guy can understand the feelings of a mother."

This remark closed the discussion so far as Eustace was concerned, for he deemed it useless to argue with a woman who was so blind to everything except her maternal feelings, so he hastened to turn the conversation.

"You are right there, Lady Errington," he said good-humouredly, "I am a bachelor, so know absolutely nothing about these things. But Guy looks a little knocked up, so I want to take him to town with me."

"Oh, certainly," replied Alizon indifferently. "A run up to town will do him good. I want Guy to enjoy himself in every way. But now, Mr. Gartney, excuse me for a time, as I must go and see how the baby is getting on. Will you stay to dinner?"

"No, thank you," said Eustace, rising and holding out his hand. "I have some letters to write this evening, but I will come over to-morrow and see you before I go back to town."

"That's right," answered Lady Errington, smiling as she pressed his hand. "Goodbye at present. Come to-morrow, and I will show you the baby again."

She went to the door, when it suddenly opened, and Guy entered.

"Oh, here you are, Guy," she said sweetly, as he stood holding the door open for her to pass through, "I was just going to send for you. Mr. Gartney is going away."

"And where are you going?" asked Guy, with a half-smile on his stern face.

"Can you ask?" she said archly. "To the baby, of course." And with a laugh she vanished through the doorway, while Guy, with a scowl, pushed the door roughly to, and strode across the room to Eustace.

"Well?" he demanded curtly.

"Well," answered Eustace coolly, "I did what I could--but of course, my dear fellow, it's a very delicate matter, and really I had no right to interfere in any way."

"What did she say?" demanded Guy roughly, turning as white as a sheet.

"She said you had better go to Town with me," answered Gartney reluctantly.

Guy burst out with a harsh laugh, and turned towards the window with a gesture of despair.

"Good God! and I'm breaking my heart for that statue."