Beggars May Sing Page 4

  "Of course not. It doesn't mean anything," she said lightly.

  "No, of course not," he said in relieved tones. "Well, so long. I'll be over for tennis on Thursday."

  She watched him walk away through the corn, his coat slung over his shoulder, his hair and skin gleaming in the sun, and began slowly to walk in the opposite direction. She was filled with an inexplicable desire to sit down in the grass and cry. She knew that had she been Nancy Pratt, he would not have kissed her like that, and she was bitterly disappointed in an experience which had held no delight for either of them.

  Julie was cutting roses in front of the house when Gina got back, and she paused to ask sharply, "Where's Sebastian?"

  Gina stopped and looked 'at her stepmother in surprise. "Isn't he here?" she said.

  "You know very well he isn't," Julie replied. "He went off in the middle of the morning and hasn't been seen since-. Gone on his precious picnic, I suppose. What's the point in you coming back without him?"

  "Oh, Julie, I'm sorry. I quite thought he meant to stop in and work today," Gina said, distressed. "I didn't go to the Neills at all. I've been at the Hunters all this time. I haven't seen Sebastian."

  "Well, Mark's been hanging about all day for him," said Julie, determined to get her irritation off her mind. "Really, Gina, it's a bit too much! Mark's given up a holiday abroad to remain here and coach Sebastian, and this is all the thanks he gets. You neither of you have any knowledge of the meaning of the word gratitude." Her handsome eyes brightened angrily, and she snipped off a dead bloom with a vicious gesture.

  "Well, I'm terribly sorry, Julie," Gina said again, "but it really isn't my fault. I gave up the picnic myself, so as not to go without Sebastian."

  "Well, you needn't make a martyr of yourself over it. Sebastian isn't the only offender by any means," snapped Julie, and Gina, with a slight shrug of her thin shoulders, turned away and went into the house. She felt tired and dispirited, and she was furious with Sebastian for having let her down after all.

  She met Mark on the stairs and began to explain all over again.

  "I didn't know—we neither of us knew you had given up going abroad in order to coach Sebastian," she finished up. "That makes me feel perfectly frightful about everything. I wish I was Sebastian. I'd work so that there'd never be an obligation on one side only."

  He stood looking down at her a little gravely. "I think you have the Irish difficulty in accepting favours gracefully," he said. "Why do you always think of anything I do for you in such a concrete form?" She was silent. "Is it the fact that I help you materially which makes you dislike me?"

  "I don't dislike you," said Gina in low tones.

  He smiled. "I'm afraid you do," he said, then gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Never mind. Perhaps you won't always feel like this. Let me talk to the boy when he comes in, will you?"

  CHAPTER IV

  AT the beginning of September, Mark went up to Scotland for three weeks shooting before term began again, and Julie announced unexpectedly that she was taking Gina up to town for a night to buy clothes.

  "You're really a disgrace," she said to Gina quite graciously. "I want to have you properly fitted out, and I shall take you to a decent hairdresser too."

  If Gina suspected Mark's hand in this, she said nothing except, "Where's all the cash coming from, Julie?"

  "It's my job to clothe you," Julie said, thinking again of her brother's words before he went north.

  "I'm making over another hundred a year to you for Gina's specific use," he had said. "See that she has the sort of things girls of her age want, give her some pocket-money, and for heaven's sake don't let her find out it's my money. Let her think you've been keeping her tight for an allowance and have changed your mind, or something."

  This was near enough to the truth to make Julie blush slightly, and she agreed, thinking that the girl would probably be a good deal more bearable if she was presentable than if she was not.

  Even sworn enemies can become temporary friends over the subject of clothes, if they are women, and Julie and her stepdaughter were almost united during their brief to London. Gina took a keen interest in shopping, and was perfectly willing to accept advice from Julie on all matters of her personal appearance. Thus she made no objection when Julie decreed she must wear thin shoes with high heels, and small flowery hats; nor when Julie's hairdresser cut off most of her hair to suit the hat. The supercilious milliner had declared that the hat became modom's piquant style, while the hairdresser admired the colour of her hair.

  Julie, doing the thing properly, bought creams and powder and lipstick, more pairs of stockings than Gina had ever owned in her life, and a new handbag which smelt like a prayer-book.

  "But can we afford all this?" Gina asked several times.

  "Of course, my dear. I told you I haven't been spending nearly enough on your clothes up to date, and the money's just lain there," Julie said Vaguely, wondering with a flash of interest what Mark would think of the results of his expenditure. Probably he wouldn't even notice. Men were so hopeless about clothes. She thought of Gina's father, who had lived in old tweeds himself and had never noticed, year in or year out, what she had worn. Victor, now, knew a great deal about women's dress. She glanced at Gina trying on her new things in front of the long mirror in their hotel bedroom, and wondered a little dubiously if Victor would notice Gina.

  Sebastian at any rate had something to say. "I approve," he affirmed upon their return. "You have style now, Ginny. You don't look so much like the English idea of an Irish colleen now. Julie has taste."

  "Och! Miss Gina, ye look the elegant lady entirely!" was Sweeny's contribution.

  Julie was pleased. Gina seemed much quieter of late, and Sebastian had worked well during Mark's absence.

  Sebastian, however, was then in no hurry to think of work. He had managed to sell Paupers' Parade for ten pounds outright, and his old interest in his music was revived with a burning fervour.

  "How did you do it?" demanded Gina excitedly, disturbing the precision of her newly-arranged hair by thrusting her fingers through it agitatedly.

  "Well, you remember Fred Doyle whom we met over there at Easter?" Sebastian said. "He told me then to send him anything I did and he'd try and get it placed. He's over here now, playing in some London band, and I sent him Paupers’ Parade about a fortnight ago, only I didn't say anything to you in case nothing came of it. Doyle's boss has bought it for the band and it's going to be broadcast!"

  "Oh, Sebastian! But to sell it outright for ten pounds!" cried Gina. "I do think that was silly. You ought to be getting royalties and things. It might be a huge success."

  "Yes, I thought of that afterwards," Sebastian admitted. "But what do I care? If they want anything else they'll have to pay for it. What's that, anyway, to the fun of getting it placed?"

  "I always thought Fred Doyle had a jolly good business instinct," Gina said significantly.

  "You're not going to neglect your exam, I hope, Sebastian," said Julie anxiously. "After all Mark's done—"

  "Oh, it's all right, Julie. You needn't tell me all Mark's done—I've had it all from Gina," he said reluctantly. "But you must admit that a thing of this kind does inspire one with a sense of one's own ability."

  "What I like about you, Sebastian, is your charming modesty," Julie observed a little tartly, but she smiled all the same as she said it.

  Mark wrote that he was coming south by night, on the 29th, and would come down to Sussex for a few days before starting work again. The day before he was to arrive, Gina received a telegram which said: "Come to town 30th meet me lunch Quaglino's 1.15. Return together evening. Proctor."

  "He must be loopy!" was Gina's comment, as in genuine bewilderment she handed the message to Julie. Julie compressed her lips and crumpled the telegram up rather suddenly. What on earth had possessed Mark?

  "You'd better go up by the 11.5," she said shortly. "And for heaven's sake, Gina, don't go wandering off somewhere in Londo
n and lose yourself before you ever find Mark."

  "But why should he pick on me?" said Gina, still puzzled, and Julie was irritated.

  "I expect he simply wants to take you to a matinee," she said. "It's quite a usual thing to do. You needn't make a song about it."

  Gina coloured a little at her tone, and Sebastian said with frank disappointment, "Why on earth didn't he include me? Then we might have had a day!"

  Gina arrived in London feeling rather lost. She didn't know her way about very well, and was at a loss to know what to do with herself for the three-quarters of an hour left to her before going to meet Mark. A kindly policeman pointed out the National Gallery, and since it was free and she hadn't much money, she went in and looked about.

  "Of all the places!" she confided afterwards to Sebastian. "I don't wonder it's free. I shouldn't think they'd have the nerve to charge for what you see there!"

  Later, however, she discovered that the pictures which boasted both glass and dark backgrounds proved to be admirable mirrors, and she amused herself for some time by viewing herself at different and unexpected angles, and wondering what impression she would make upon Mark.

  She took a taxi to Quaglino's, having very little idea where it was, and entered a little timidly. She was much too early, and sat down rather nervously to wait, trying not to appear so terribly conscious of the waiters and the people drinking cocktails as she felt.

  When Mark came in, she had to hail him, since he had only given her a cursory glance and had obviously not recognized her.

  "Good lord, you're here!" he exclaimed, and shook hands with her. "Come and have a cocktail, then we'll go in." He gave his order, then sat down beside her, and she suddenly felt a little shy of him. While they sipped their drinks, she was conscious of his eyes continually upon her, and when, in the dining-room, they were seated opposite each other at a corner table, she said: "I've let Julie take me in hand. Do you think I'm an improvement now?"

  He smiled at her way of putting it. "I've told you before that you were attractive," he said. "Now you've simply emphasized the fact instead of hiding it up. Incidentally you're one of the few people I like in those ludicrous hats."

  "Oh, Mark, you are nice," she said impulsively. "I will say the hat gives me an illusion of charm, anyway."

  He leaned forward and studied her face, then he laughed. "Oh, Gina! Lipstick too!" he said, and that seemed to amuse him more than anything.

  He took her to a matinee after lunch, and when they emerged from the theatre at five o'clock, he said suddenly, "I think I must add something to all this magnificence. Come 'along."

  They went to a jeweller's in Jermyn Street, and he bought her a necklace of small, perfectly matched, polished jade beads, which she insisted upon wearing straight away.

  "Oh, thank you, Mark. How perfectly heavenly of you," she said gratefully when they got outside. "I've always longed to possess jade, and never thought I should. It was terribly extravagant of you."

  "Never mind, Green-Eyes, your green beads are very suitable," he laughed, as he hailed a taxi.

  They 'arrived home in time for dinner, and both Julie and Sebastian noticed the necklace, but while Sebastian commented on it freely, Julie said nothing. She watched her brother carefully all through dinner, and snubbed Gina when she became excited.

  Mark saw Gina now without 'a hat, and looked on several occasions at her small head, whose excellent shape was now revealed for the first time.

  "Do you like Ginny's new style of coiffure?" asked Sebastian interestedly. "She hasn't been left very much, has she?"

  "They were 'a bit ruthless!" Mark agreed. "Very becoming, all the same."

  Sebastian grinned, but Julie frowned. "If you've quite finished, Gina, shall we leave them?" she said in her precise tones.

  The evenings were very cold now, and they sat round a fire in the drawing room listening to Mark's account of Scotland. Later Sebastian went into the hall to turn on the wireless, and presently he came rushing in, crying: "Ginny, they're playing my tune! Now! Come quick, and listen."

  She jumped up and ran into the hall. It was thrilling to hear Sebastian's work coming over the ether, played by a first-class dance-band. She listened with rapt attention, her feet in their new high-heeled slippers moving to the rhythm. A young man with a wailing nasal voice and a pronounced brogue whined out the chorus, and at the end a voice announced pleasantly:

  "You are listening to Bud Brown and his boys playing from the Grand Hotel, Mayfair. We have just played you a number, Paupers' Parade. Now Fred Doyle is going to sing to you a little comedy number entitled—"

  "Oh, Sebastian!" Gina cried as her brother switched off the instrument. "It's good. I knew it was. You might have made a lot of money over it. You were a fool!"

  "It is a good tune," said Mark from the doorway, where he had been standing and listening. "Did somebody do you, Sebastian?"

  Gina explained indignantly, and Mark laughed. "I'm afraid Gina's right," he admitted. "I fear you've not much business sense."

  "Oh, well, what do I care?" returned Sebastian as usual, and he sat down at the piano and plunged into his latest composition.

  CHAPTER V

  OCTOBER was a lovely month. A real St. Luke's summer lay over the country, a last tardy reparation for the cold wet months of July and August. The cubbing season was well advanced, and Gina enjoyed the early misty mornings before breakfast, having a few long canters on the Southern Belle still a little blown out from grass, and doing very little in the way of actual hunting, as is the way with Sussex packs. Sebastian, preferring his bed any day to getting up early and bestriding a horse, gladly gave his share of the mare to his sister, and slept until the gong rang. He was working very spasmodically in these days, always more 'anxious to sit at the piano than at his desk. The house echoed with syncopation, and, one Sunday, Fred Doyle was invited down to Sussex to spend the day at the Barn House.

  Doyle was a freckled, sandy-haired individual of twenty-two or so, with the disturbing eyes of his race. But his brogue was rich, his manners vile, and his nails wanted cleaning. He treated Sebastian with an easy air of condescension, and spent most of the day at the piano, playing his own compositions, which he obviously greatly admired.

  Julie was frankly disgusted, but Mark derived much amusement from watching Gina's flank attacks in defence of her brother. Each time the conversation swung round to Doyle's achievements, she dragged it back again to Sebastian. When he played something of his own and paused for commendation, she said: "Now play Paupers' Parade." She remarked pointedly on several occasions that Sebastian should never have sold the thing outright, and that he should be getting royalties on each broadcast performance.

  "Not at all," Doyle said. "We just bought it for the band. The boys'll play it till they're tired of it, then they'll drop it. You must write us something else, Gale."

  "It ought to be published properly and put on sale," said Gina, bristling with indignation.

  "Oh, it wouldn't be worth your while. It's nothing at all, really, and wouldn't make any money," he replied airily, saying almost in the same breath, "What do you want to be working at buks for, Gale, when you might be making hundthreds writing dance stuff? It isn't right at all, and I think you're a fool."

  "It is very necessary for my brother to get through his exams, Mr. Doyle," Gina said fiercely. "So it's no use talking to him 'about the hundreds he'll make till he's done it."

  "Examinations! And what should he want with them?" Doyle exclaimed, opening his thickly lashed eyes widely. "Divil a penny will they put in his pocket, and him with a taste for the jazz. You've changed, Miss Gina, since we met in the ould counthry."

  "I can't stand that young man," Gina said to Mark, having left Doyle and her brother to their own devices. "He's all over the house at once, and hasn't the manners of a louse."

  "He's not exactly prepossessing, I agree," laughed Mark. "Come for a walk, Gina. That'll give us breathing-space till tea-time."

  They walk
ed briskly along the country roads in the warm October sun, Dogsbody following happily at their heels. Mark smoked a pipe as he limped along contentedly, and Gina strode out beside him, her hands thrust into the pockets of a new tweed jacket, and felt more at peace.

  "I'm so afraid he'll unsettle Sebastian again," she said, referring to Doyle. "Sebastian's been a bit restless ever since he sold Paupers' Parade, and he'll be ten times worse after today, with Doyle telling him one minute his stuff's worth nothing, and the next that he'll make a fortune. He dithers enough as it is."

  Mark glanced down at her in amusement. "You've changed your views since we first discussed Sebastian's future," he remarked.

  She nodded. "Well, I do see your side of the thing, and I'm not sure you aren't perhaps right about Sebastian not knowing his own mind yet," she said, adding quickly and a little fiercely, "Not that I don't think he wouldn't be better working at the thing he really likes, and I do believe he has a future if he sticks to it. But sometimes I'm awfully afraid Sebastian will throw chances away just when they're under his hand."

  "Well, he'll have time to think things well over at Oxford," Mark said. "And he can still go on composing and selling his stuff if it's marketable."

  "Yes, I suppose you're right. I only hope he'll be able to stick it out till December. Sebastian's so unaccountable. He might throw everything up at the last minute." Gina sighed.

  "Nonsense! Having got as far as this, there'd be no point in not going through with it," said Mark. "Besides I rely on you to keep him going, Gina."

  "Well, I do my best," she said, calling to Dogsbody. "But you can't make an ass lep that won't. Oh, lord! How we suffer! Doyle this week-end, the Swann the next."

  She scarcely ever mentioned Victor's visits to the house, since he was Julie's guest, and Mark said quickly, "You don't like him?"

  "Well, do you?"

  "I confess he's not much in my line."

  "Nor mine. Anyhow, you can stay away. I can't. Are you coming down next week-end?"