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Page 18
Now, Doreen was by no means so sanguine as she pretended to be. She was
one of those high-spirited, lively girls who find it easy to hide from
others any troubles which may be gnawing at their heart. Such a nature
has an elasticity which enables it to throw off its cares for a time,
when in the society of others, only to brood over them in hours of
loneliness.
Nobody in the house knew--what, however, shrewd Queenie half guessed
that Doreen had many an anxious hour, many a secret fit of crying, on
account of the change in Dudley's manner toward her. The brilliant,
proud-hearted girl was more deeply attached to him than anybody
suspected. If any remark was made by outsiders as to the comparative
rarity of the young barrister's visits during the past two months, it
was always accompanied by the comment that Miss Wedmore would not be
long in consoling herself.
And everybody knew that the curate, the Rev. Lisle Lindsay, was
hungering to step into Dudley's shoes.
He was not quite to be despised as a rival, this "snowy-banded,
dilettant, delicate-handed priest." In the first place, he was a really
nice, honorable young fellow, with no much worse faults than a
pedantically correct pronunciation of the unaccented vowels; in the
second place, he was considerably taller than the race of curates
usually runs; and in the third place, he had a handsome allowance from
his mother, and "expectations" on a very grand scale indeed. Miss
Wedmore, if she were to decide in his favor, might well aspire to be the
wife of a bishop some day. And what could woman wish for more?
He was no laggard in love either. On the very morning after the arrival
of Max and Dudley, Mr. Lindsay called soon after breakfast to make
inquiries about the amount of holly and evergreens which would be
available for the decoration of the church, and was shown into the
morning-room, where most of the great work of preparation for Christmas
was taking place.
Mrs. Wedmore and all the young people were there, Max and Dudley having
been pressed into the service of filling cardboard drums with sweets for
what Max called "the everlasting tree." The tree itself stood in a
corner of the room, a colossal but lop-sided plant with a lamentable
tendency to straggle about the lower branches, and an inclination to run
to weedy and unnecessary length about the top.
Max was a hopeless failure as an assistant. He was always possessed with
a passionate desire to do something different from what he was asked to
do; and when they gave way and indulged his fancy, the fancy
disappeared, and he found that he wanted to do something else.
"It's always the way with a man!" was Queenie's scornful comment on her
brother's failing.
Queenie herself looked upon the whole business of the tree as a piece of
useless frivolity unworthy the time and attention of grown-up people.
And she went about the share in it which she had been persuaded to
undertake with a stolid and supercilious manner which went far to spoil
the enjoyment of the rest.
Dudley entered, into the affair with some zest, but it was noticeable
that he devoted himself to Queenie, and exchanged very few remarks with
Doreen. There was a certain barrier of constraint springing up between
him and Doreen which had risen to an uncomfortable height by the time
the curate entered.
Doreen, whose cheeks were much flushed and whose eyes were unusually
bright, was extremely gracious. She offered to take Mr. Lindsay into the
grounds to interview the gardener, so that they might come to an
understanding about the evergreens to be used. She glanced at Dudley as
she made this proposal. He glanced back at her; and in his black eyes
she fancied for a moment that she saw a mute protest, a plea.
For a moment she hesitated. Standing still in the middle of the room,
not far from where he was busy helping Queenie to tie up a particularly
limp and fragile box of chocolates, she seemed to wait for a single
word, or even for another look, to turn her from her purpose.
But Dudley turned away, and either did not see or did not choose to
notice the pause. Then the tears sprang to the girl's eyes, and she ran
quickly to the door.
"Come, Mr. Lindsay," said she, "we must make haste. At this stage of
things, every minute has to be weighed out like gold, I assure you."
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