THE FLOWERS OF ST. DAVID'S

Otago Witness, Issue 2949, 21 September 1910, Page 90

THE FLOWERS OF ST. DAVID'S

(All Rights Reserved.)

By Douglas Sladen, author of "The Japs at Home," "The Tragedy of the Pyramids," "A Japanese Marriage," etc. Their father had died suddenly, and •the Flowers of St. David's—Violet, Ivy, Marguerite, May, and Rose, —the five beautiful daughters of the late Canon Meredith, of Tenby, found themselves left with just thirty pounds a year each. People- were kind. While it was vacant, they were allowed the use, rent free, of the barrack of a house on the cliff in front of the Rectory, which no one would take because it was so windy. Honest John. Lloyd—a Cardiff Whitcley—moved their furniture from the Rectory free of charge, and made them a present of the handsomest mourning he could provide on the plea that it was an advertisement for bis shop. The fact which could not be got over was that less than three pounds a week leaves so little margin after the food for five wom«[tL has been bought, even if they avoid the extravagances of rent and a servant's food and wages. They earned, it is true, a few additional guineas, Violet, by taking in type-writing for the machine cm which she used to type her father's jsermons, and her two sisters, by giving * lessons in dancing, for which it was not difficult to get pupils, as Ivy, with her pensive blue eyes, and lively Marguerite, with her hazel colouring, had eclipsed oven Violet as stars of Tenby dances. Violet was twenty-three, Ivy twenty-one, Marguerite twenty. The two youngest— May, who was seventeen, and had just put her hair .up; and Rose, who was sixteen—were both very fair, and promised to grow up even lovelier than their older sisters. Violet was the only dark one; she had brown hair and eyes, but glowing cheeks, and her bright colouring was the index to her intelligence and her disposition. She was the most popular of all and the best at games. Yet from the time that she was seventeen she had mothered her orphan sisters. If she did not enjoy so many triumphs at dances she had' her special distinction, for was she not the favourite partner of the fastidious Eden? Arthur Eden, the son of a retired Indian colonel, was an extraordinary product for a Welsh village. His father, a dear old Colonel Newcome. had sacrificed fifty pounds a year of his income to spend the principal upon giving Arthur every chance at Oxford, and Arthur had {riven him good value, for he had done brilliantly in examinations, and had given promise of his future bv becoming President and Chief Orator of the Union, while he had been champion of the 'Varoity at golf, and not only one of the Oxford three-quarters, hut a Welsh International nil the time he was at Oxford. He was now at the bar, with the eyes of CardiTT solicitors upon him, but not yet receiving much money, texcept the two or three hundred a year, the balance of his father's private income, which Colonel Eden had made over to him now instead of at his death, contenting himself with his pension. : Arthur was almost as good at tennis as

he was at golf—and Violet was always his partner in mixed doubles. She was tall and graceful, as well as very pretty, and Arthur, by nature unsympathetic and fastidious, was, perhaps, attracted by her unselfishness and sympathy, though he always allowed it to be understood that heonly thought of her as a good partner at games. His fair, haughty face went well with his comniandii; ; figure, but it would have left him few friends in Wales if he had not been a football International, to whom all things are forgiven. The typewriting Violet had to do was chiefly given her by his friends in Cardiff, and he sat up with her far into the night dictating the manuscripts to her and seeing that she made no mistakes. At his request Ivy and Marguerite were in the room with them —they did the household ing.

He lived at Cardiff now, but he was always over at Tenby for week-ends and for the long months of the Vacations, and the fact that his father lived -nearly half an hour's walk from them did not prevent him being round at their house at 9 in the morning—or prevent him leaving them long ;ifter midnight, if there was typing to do. In the daytime he and Violet still had their tennis or their golf, or went their old long walks over the cliffs and through the woods and marshes. They must be lovers the people thought, but in reality Eden, who was in the pursuit of knowledge, was busy all the time observing the biological, geological, and botanical phenomena which met their eyes, or the remains of prehistoric buildings which strewed the downs. He talked so well about them that Violet was interested, but she would have liked something a little more human. Once he approached the subject of marriage directly. " I don't think a man at the Bar ought to marry till he is making a thousand a year." "Will you soon be making that?" simple Violet had asked.

"At the Bar? Good Lord! I hope soon to be making & hundred!" He seemed to take a pleasure in making it clear that he had no intention of marrying. But at the same time it was clear that he enjoyed coming to the house, for when he was in Tenby he was always with them except at meal times. , As meals approached he went to the club. He and his father generally lunched and dined there. And he dreaded seeing the kind of lunches and dinners to which poverty would have reduced them. They had left off having afternoon tea. Violet was unhappy about him. She dreaded that their poverty might have made a difference to his feelings. And it was impossible to tell, because he was so entirely impersonal. He was as polite as he could be without making a bore of little domestic attentions like Honest John Lloyd, but, if he was dancing, he thought of nothing but the dance; if he was playing golf he thought of nothing but the igame; and if they were out for a walk he was giving a natural history lecture all the time. Violet on her part was desperately in love with him. He was an Admirable Cri'chton. He seemed to know everything: he did things better than anybody Violet had met; he had an eagle face, which she considered as perfectly chiselled as the Belvedere Apollo. He was as defiant of opinion as he was of physical fear: Nature had cast him in a very rejgal mould. This superb person was often with her from morning to night. She was his chosen companion and partner, the witness of the triumphs he achieved at every step. Only she knew that he showed her no more feeling than lie, showed to other friends—less, in fact, than he showed to her sisters, merry creatures that he had known from their _ childhood, to whom he could not be suspected of offering attentions.

She thought of him whenever she was not with him; she analysed every action of hi« when he was with her, in the hope that she anight discover one grain of feeling.

And now she had a new worry, for she could not be unaware of the feelings of Honest John. Honest John was a friend of their father's, of whom the girls had never approved. He was a rich Cardiff draper, who had taken the grand house overlooking the North Sands which was too grand for Tenby requirements. Like Eden, he came over from Cardiff for week-ends and holidays, and being by some accident a Churchman, he had become a churchwarden. He was a plain man, as well as liberal with his money. No one was so popular with the townspeople. He' was a jovial, red-faced person, rather sporting in his dress, with a nod and a smile and a handshake for everyone, and told Welsh stories so dramatically that Tenbyites for public speaking put him beside their demi-god, Eden, whose oratory was of a cold, convincing kind. The puns and anecdotes which usurped his conversation had become an institution. When he dropped in, which was very often during their father's lifetime, the three elder sisters endured him politely, and if anything extra was necessary the iiinselfish Violet allowed herself to be the victim. The young ones enjoyed his chaff as well as his chocolates. Even Ivy and Maiguerite liked him when he was not present, hut when he came his fussy politeness bored even more than his conversation. They called him "Old Allowme," though, as a matter of fact, he was onl'v 43. His liberality at their father's death showed them what a true- friend he was. so their demeanour relented a Jittle, and he used tc call on Sunday afternoons, about the time that Violet |got back from her Sabbath walks with Eden, who was seized by the sisters and carried off to the other end of the great drawing room, whick showed the nakedness of the land so painfully. Coming regularly, John Lloyd noticed the growinig naked-

ness. That girls should not be having a bountiful afternoon tea appalled him. They had not found expenses so difficult at first, because they had .supplies in hand of this or the other, but as things got used up there was no money to replace them, and the Merediths began the economy of doing -without: nothing was replaced. They were just out of mourning, and had gone back to their clothes of two years ago, they who had set the fashions to gay little Tenby. The climax came one day when they were caught in a violent storm as he was walking up from the links with them. Honest John was fond of his golf, though he could not get below an eighteen handicap. Violet made him come in, and when lunch time arrived without any abatement of the rain, insisted on his sitting down with them. They had no false pride, and he had a motive for swallowing the intense shyness he felt at Violet's leaving only a bare bone and a little gravy for herself when she helped the hash, and the rindiness of the cheese which was the only other coutsc. And the girls showed healthy young appetites over the abundant bread and water. They could still give him a good bottle of wine. They seldom touched it, and their father had left a well-stocked cellar. Honest John knew that they were not putting out money for the wine—Le had personally superintended the moving of the Rev. Owen Meredith's cellar. So after lunch he made, in the big drawing room, an odd proposal. Before them all he asked Violet to marry him. "You're not having enough to eat," he said. "You've no soles left to your boots; it's wicked being in a room like this without a fire on a winter's day. Did you hear that?" A picture had flapped on the wall. It was impossible to Keep the wind out of this room. "If the doctor came into the house when you're run down like this, you'd never get him out." Violet laughed it off. "You get accustomed to draughts in this house. We don't notice them a bit, and we're all of us enjoying the picnicking." Honest John took his rebuke, and joined in the laugh cheerily. But he went home with a sad heart, which grew sadder as time went on, and they would accept no help from him except the typing out of the diary which he had kept from . boyhood. He took a fancy to having it . done on paper the right size for binding i into octavo volumes, when he discovered accidentally that Violet eked out her I income with a "Williams." He could ireckon, though Violet could not, that there would be fifteen hundred thousand of words for her to charge for, and he cheated horribly against himself. He wanted it done with special care, so she must charge double, and' it had to be done on special paper, which he pro- . vided, and the machine must be sent to London to be put in Al order—at his expense, of course, —and he lent her his own (bought for the occasion) while he was away. Violet took it for granted that he wanted tlie diary kept very private, and always typed it in her bedroom. Every week she gave him all she had done, and was paid for it. He urged haste. He was in a great hurry, he said —his hurry was to hand her over the much-needed" money which she would not accept in advance.

How long Honest John's affection for Violet had been growing did not appear, j but having once suggested marriage to her ! he proceeded to fall violently in love with | her. His love was fed by her refusing to ' accept any presents from him at the time j when they needed his help so badly. It i might have relieved his feelings if he had j been allowed to adopt the family. He did make the suggestion that they should all come and stay with him at his Tenby house till the inclemencies of winter were over. He called every day with some fresh project, which was gently negatived.

The cruellest feature in the situation

was that while so kind a friend could not be denied the house, Eden could not en-

dui'e the sight of him. His personality, his clothes, his bourgeois politeness, his puns, his anecdotes, and, above all, his friendliness, set Eden's teeth on edge. He hated him.

Violet felt miserable. Her daily inter

course with her Apollo had more than made up for the scantiness of her daily bread. If it had not been for anxiety about losing him she would have been content to worship him unrequited, and now she was on the brink of an abyss. " I won't come near you if you're going to have that bounder in the house," wrote Eden.

Violet swore Ivy and Marguerite to secrecy, and read the letter out to them. Then she- went to her room to pray for Divine aid. But the selfish and selfpossessed Marguerite broke half her word, and went to Honesit John to say that his coming to the house was making bad blood between Violet and the man she loved. The man who loved her came no more. Nor could he completely abandon her. He left his business in Cardiff to the care of his employees—fortunately, they were trained by his long summer absences —and he himself hung about the parade where the road sloped down to the golf links opposite to their house, so that he might see her come out and exchange a few words with her. And this also Marguerite urged him not to do, for fear of estranging Eden. And this, too, he gave up, and trusted to chance encounters on the links, where Violet, being with Eden, could say little to him.

To crown all Eden, who felt that there was something in the air, grew surly, and subjected Violet to the cutting. speeches for which he was proverbial, but which he had spared her up to this. Then he was seized with fits of remorse and almost forgot his aloofness, and Violet became wildly and tragically in | love with him. But still he gave no I sign.

The vacation was now at an end. Eden went back to Cardiff as if it had'been the

most ordinary thing. Honest John stayed in Tenby, but he did not come to the house. To his plain mind Eden's absence made the prohibition stronger.

His first meeting with Violet was qnite by chance. He was coming back from the links when she was going down with her youngest sister, Rose, to have a blow on the south sands before lunch. "Vi, there's Honest John!" cried Rose, darting forward to meet him. The two youngest were attached to him; they liked his lively rattle of puns and stories. Violet flew after her; she had missed her good friend. "Where on earth have you been all this time, Mr Lloyd?" she asked quite sincerely. He did not explain. The genuineness of the greeting was balm to his wounded spirit. In a few minutes Rose saw her particular friend and flew off to her. Then Violet noticed how different he looked. His cheeks had not lost their colour—he was naturally ruddy, as she was—but they looked hollow, and he had blue rings under his eyes. "You've been ill," she said impulsively. "No. I've been quite well." "Worried, then?" "Yes, a bit." "Not business, I hope?" "Not business."

"I've got two or three weeks' typing for you. Will you come in and fetch it?"

"No, thanks, I'll send for it." ' 'Why on earth! Why, what's the matter? Why, haven't you been near us all this time?"

"Well, to be quite frank, your friend Eden does not approve of my coming to the house."

"Who said so? Who told you?"

"I .can't say, but I know he doesn't." "The cheek of him," cried Violet indignantly, all her causes for revolt against Eden springing to a head in a moment.

"My dear young lady, I'm not worth while quarrelling over." "If you're not, I don't know who is!" But he would not come, and, asking her how many words there were so that he might send the money when he sent for the papers, he said good-bye to her longingly, and walked slowly off." After lunch she went up and locked herself in her room and read on till dinner at the years of the diary which were not yet typed. It was like reading print, his handwriting was so round and clear. As she read the tears gathered in her eyes. The soul which had built up his great business was so transparently simple-; the business had been built up on courage, and the motto "Al at Lloyd's." As she was dressing for dinner a broke in upon her. At dinner —they had no servant, and took it in turns to cook and bring the meals in—she asked, " Which of you told Mr Lloyd about Arthur's letter?" There was no answer. Violet looked round the table. The sisters had never lied to each other, and Marguerite said: "I did not tell about the letter, but I urged him to keep away because Arthur did not like his coming here." Violet said nothing, but left the table. Presently her sisters heai'd the front door close.

Half an hour later John Lloyd, sitting over his lonely dinner, heard his front door bell ring. The servant announced Miss Meredith, and had the discretion to beat a hasty retreat. " Honest John," cried Violet, " I came to tell you that I had. no part in forbidding you the house." "I did not believe it of you." "And I beg you to com© back to it with me now to fetch those papers." "How can I?" "You might as my affianced husband."

In the watches of the night, when Violet's indignation had cooled down, the voice of self-reproach whispered to her that she had cut herself off from the man she loved, and was bound for life to a man of baser clay, with whom she would have nothing in common. She repeated it to herself again and again; life was a blank, except that Honest John had promised that her sisters should live with thorn and have no money cares. But it was a very different picture that the years unrolled. Honest John knew that he had not her heart when she promised to many him. But from the first Violet laid herself out to school her heart, and she did not find the path of duty chill.

She was married in February, and Easter was not till April. She called these two months her honeymoon, and they were to spend it in his home in Cardiff. By her desire the girls were left in Tenbv House: she meant to study her husband.

It was easy 'to love him in Cardiff, where she saw his instinct for managing vast affairs at play, and the sympathy and tact in his dealings with every one, which lay behind his jocularity. And she blest her marriage, when Rose, the flower of the flock for beauty, at the beginning of treacherous March, naid the penaltv with pneumonia for their hard life. Honest John was heart-broken. It was Rose, he felt, who had brought them together on that happy day. But wealth is the best handmaid for youth on such occasions: good doctors, skilled nurses, ideal surroundings brought her round. He and Violet stayed at Tenby for the crisis, and already, outside of the sick-room, where Rose felt that his presence, with its vitality, did her as much good as the doctor, Violet found herself seeking his society and not sisters'. When they cot back to Cardiff, in her gratitude she threw herself into his life.

"Tell me how I can be useful to you, John; I don't mind who T see or how many meetings I go to," she said, when she found how interested he was in all the educational and improving institutions of the city. I could "tell how Honest John, with his

beautiful young wife throwing her charming personality into all the municipal movements he took up, became Sir John Lloyd, Bart., and Lord Mayor of Cardiff; and: at a later date, though he was a Conservative, became its M.P., not to be ousted from his seat by any revolution in politics, and had a career in Imperial politics, when business men were called upon to be presidents of the great business departments of the State, like the Board 1 of Trade.

And I could write of the intense happiaess of Violet's married life after the years in which Arthur Eden had kept hec starving for sympathy; and of the marriages"of ber sisters, for which hers paved the way. f