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diff --git a/15116-h/15116-h.htm b/15116-h/15116-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3226a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/15116-h/15116-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7731 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Mac OS X (vers 1st December 2004), see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="content-type" content= +"text/html; charset=us-ascii" /> +<title>The Jervaise Comedy, by J. D. Beresford.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body {font-family:Georgia,serif;margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;font-variant:small-caps;} + pre {font-family:Courier,monospaced;font-size: 0.8em;} + hr {width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + hr.short {width:25%;} + h3.title {padding-top:1.5em;} + h2.title {padding-top:1.5em;padding-bottom:1.5em;} + ol {list-style-type:upper-roman;margin-left:20%;font-variant:small-caps;} + .returnTOC {text-align:right;font-size:.7em;} + .cen {text-align:center;} + .rgt {text-align:right;} + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jervaise Comedy, by J. D. Beresford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Jervaise Comedy + +Author: J. D. Beresford + +Release Date: February 20, 2005 [EBook #15116] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JERVAISE COMEDY *** + + + + +Produced by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>The Jervaise Comedy</h1> +<h4>by</h4> +<h2>J. D. Beresford</h2> +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>New York</h4> +<h3>The Macmillan Company</h3> +<h3>1919</h3> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="Contents" name="Contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER</h3> +<ol> +<li><a href="#Ch_I">The First Hour</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_II">Anne</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_III">Frank Jervaise</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_IV">In the Hall</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_V">Daybreak</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_VI">Morning</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_VII">Notes and Queries</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_VIII">The Outcast</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_IX">Banks</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_X">The Home Farm</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_XI">The Story</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_XII">Conversion</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_XIII">Farmer Banks</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_XIV">Mrs. Banks</a></li> +<li><a href="#Ch_XV">Remembrance</a></li> +<li style="list-style:none;"><a href="#Ch_PS">Postscript—The +True Story</a></li> +</ol> +<hr /> +<h2 class="title">The Jervaise Comedy</h2> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_I" id="Ch_I"></a>I</h3> +<h2>The First Hour</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>When I was actually experiencing the thrill, it came +delightfully, however, blended with a threat that proclaimed the +imminent consequence of dismay. I appreciated the coming of the +thrill, as a rare and unexpected “dramatic moment.” I +savoured and enjoyed it as a real adventure suddenly presented in +the midst of the common business of life. I imaginatively +transplanted the scene from the Hall of Thorp-Jervaise to a +West-End theatre; and in my instant part of unoccupied spectator I +admired the art with which the affair had been staged. It is so +seldom that we are given an opportunity to witness one of these +“high moments,” and naturally enough I began +instinctively to turn the scene into literature; admitting without +hesitation, as I am often forced to admit, that the detail of +reality is so much better and more typical than any I can +invent.</p> +<p>But, having said that, I wonder how far one does invent in such +an experience? The same night I hinted something of my appreciation +of the dramatic quality of the stir at the Hall door to Frank +Jervaise, Brenda’s brother, and he, quite obviously, had +altogether missed that aspect of the affair. He scowled with that +forensic, bullying air he is so successfully practising at the +Junior Bar, as he said, “I suppose you realise just what this +may <em>mean</em>, to all of us?”</p> +<p>Jervaise evidently had failed to appreciate the detail that I +had relished with such delight. He had certainly not savoured the +quality of it. And in one sense I may claim to have invented the +business of the scene. I may have added to it by my imaginative +participation. In any case my understanding as interpreter was the +prime essential—a fact that shows how absurd it is to speak +of “photographic detail” in literature, or indeed to +attempt a proper differentiation between realism and romance.</p> +<p>We were all of us in the Hall, an inattentive, chattering +audience of between twenty and thirty people. The last dance had +been stopped at ten minutes to twelve, in order that the local +parson and his wife—their name was Sturton—might be out +of the house of entertainment before the first stroke of Sunday +morning. Every one was wound up to a pitch of satisfied excitement. +The Cinderella had been a success. The floor and the music and the +supper had been good, Mrs. Jervaise had thrown off her air of +pre-occupation with some distasteful suspicion, and we had all been +entertained and happy. And yet these causes for satisfaction had +been nothing more than a setting for Brenda Jervaise. It was she +who had stimulated us, given us a lead and kept us dancing to the +tune of her exciting personality. She had made all the difference +between an ordinarily successful dance and what Mrs. Sturton at the +open door continually described as “a really delightful +evening.”</p> +<p>She had to repeat the phrase, because with the first stroke of +midnight ringing out from the big clock over the stables, came also +the first intimation of the new movement. Mrs. Sturton’s fly +was mysteriously delayed; and I had a premonition even then, that +the delay promised some diversion. The tone of the stable clock had +its influence, perhaps. It was so precisely the tone of a stage +clock—high and pretentious, and with a disturbing suggestion +of being unmelodiously flawed.</p> +<p>Miss Tattersall, Olive Jervaise’s friend, a rather +abundant fair young woman, warmed by excitement to the realisation +that she must flirt with some one, also noticed the theatrical +sound of that announcement of midnight. She giggled a little +nervously as stroke succeeded stroke in an apparently unending +succession.</p> +<p>“It seems as if it were going on all night,” she +said to me, in a self-conscious voice, as if the sound of the bell +had some emotional effect upon her.</p> +<p>“It’s because it’s out of place,” I said +for the sake of saying something; “theatrical and artificial, +you know. It ought to be…” I did not know quite what +it ought to be and stopped in the middle of the sentence. I was +aware of the wide open door, of the darkness beyond, and of the +timid visiting of the brilliant, chattering crowd by the fragrance +of scented night-stock—a delicate, wayward incursion that +drifted past me like the spirit of some sweet, shabby fairy. What +possible bell could be appropriate to that air? I began, stupidly, +to recall the names of such flowers as bluebell, hare-bell, +Canterbury-bell. In imagination I heard their chime as the distant +tinkling of a fairy musical-box.</p> +<p>Miss Tattersall, however, took no notice of my failure to find +the ideal. “Yes, isn’t it?” she said, and then +the horrible striking ceased, and we heard little Nora Bailey +across the Hall excitedly claiming that the clock had struck +thirteen.</p> +<p>“I counted most carefully,” she was insisting.</p> +<p>“I can’t think why that man doesn’t +come,” Mrs. Sturton repeated in a raised voice, as if she +wanted to still the superstitious qualms that Miss Bailey had +started. “I told him to come round at a quarter to twelve, so +that there shouldn’t be any mistake. It’s very +tiresome.” She paused on that and Jervaise was inspired to +the statement that the fly came from the Royal Oak, didn’t +it, a fact that Mrs. Sturton had already affirmed more than +once.</p> +<p>“What makes it rather embarrassing for the dear +Jervaises,” Miss Tattersall confided to me, “is that +the other things aren’t ordered till one—the +Atkinsons’ ’bus, you know, and the rest of ’em. +Brenda persuaded Mrs. Jervaise that we might go on for a bit after +the vicar had gone.”</p> +<p>I wished that I could get away from Miss Tattersall; she +intruded on my thoughts. I was trying to listen to a little piece +that was unfolding in my mind, a piece that began with the coming +of the spirit of the night-stock into this material atmosphere of +heated, excited men and women. I realised that invasion as the +first effort of the wild romantic night to enter the house; after +that…. After that I only knew that the consequences were +intensely interesting and that if I could but let my thoughts guide +me, they would finish the story and make it exquisite.</p> +<p>“Oh! did she?” I commented automatically, and cursed +myself for having conveyed a warmth of interest I certainly did not +feel.</p> +<p>“She’s so enthusiastic, isn’t she? Brenda, I +mean,” Miss Tattersall went on, and as I listened I compared +her to the stable-clock. She, too, was a persistent outrage, a +hindrance to whatever it was that I was waiting for.</p> +<p>Mrs. Sturton and her husband were coming back, with an +appearance of unwillingness, into the warmth and light of the Hall. +The dear lady was still at her congratulations on the +delightfulness of the evening, but they were tempered, now, by a +hint of apology for “spoiling it—to a certain +extent—I hope I haven’t—by this unfortunate +contretemps.”</p> +<p>The Jervaises were uncomfortably warm in their reassurances. +They felt, no doubt, the growing impatience of all their other +visitors pressing forward with the reminder that if the +Sturtons’ cab did not come at once, there would be no more +dancing.</p> +<p>Half-way up the stairs little Nora Bailey’s high laughing +voice was embroidering her statement with regard to the extra +stroke of the stable-clock.</p> +<p>“I had a kind of premonition that it was going to, as soon +as it began,” she was saying.</p> +<p>Gordon Hughes was telling the old story of the sentry who had +saved his life by a similar counting of the strokes of +midnight.</p> +<p>And at the back of my mind my dæmon was still thrusting +out little spurts of enthralling allegory. The Sturtons and +Jervaises had been driven in from the open. They were taking refuge +in their house. Presently…</p> +<p>“Given it up?” I remarked with stupid politeness to +Miss Tattersall.</p> +<p>“They’ve sent John round to the stables to +inquire,” she told me.</p> +<p>I do not know how she knew. “John” was the only +man-servant that the Jervaises employed in the house; butler, +footman, valet and goodness knows what else.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Sturton seems to be afraid of the night-air,” +Miss Tattersall remarked with a complacent giggle of +self-congratulation on being too modern for such prejudices. +“I simply love the night-air, don’t you?” she +continued. “I often go out for a stroll in the garden the +last thing.”</p> +<p>I guessed her intention, but I was not going to compromise +myself by strolling about the Jervaise domain at midnight with +Grace Tattersall.</p> +<p>“Do you? Yes,” I agreed, as if I were bound to +admire her originality.</p> +<p>They are afraid of the night-air, my allegory went on, and +having begun their retreat, they are now sending out their servant +for help. I began to wonder if I were composing the plot of a grand +opera?</p> +<p>John’s return convinced me that I was not to be +disappointed in my expectation of drama.</p> +<p>He came out from under the staircase through the red baize door +which discreetly warned the stranger that beyond this danger signal +lay the sacred mysteries of the Hall’s service. And he came +down to the central cluster of faintly irritated Sturtons and +Jervaises, with an evident hesitation that marked the gravity of +his message. Every one was watching that group under the +electric-lighted chandelier—it was posed to hold the +stage—but I fancy that most of the audience were solely +interested in getting rid of the unhappy Sturtons.</p> +<p>We could not hear what John said, but we inferred the general +nature of the disaster from the response accorded to his news. The +vicar merely clicked his tongue with a frown of grave disapproval, +but his wife advertised the disaster for us by saying,—</p> +<p>“It’s that man Carter, from the Oak, you know; not +our own man. I’ve never liked Carter.”</p> +<p>“Quite hopelessly, eh?” Jervaise asked John, and +John’s perturbed shake of the head answered that question +beyond any doubt.</p> +<p>“In any case,” Mrs. Sturton began, and I hazarded a +guess that she was going to refuse to drive behind Carter in any +stage of intoxication; but she decided to abandon that line and +went on with a splendid imitation of cheerfulness, “However, +there’s nothing to be done, now, but walk. It’s quite a +fine night, fortunately.” She looked at her husband for +approval.</p> +<p>“Oh! quite, quite,” he said. “A beautiful +night. Let us walk by all means.”</p> +<p>A general rustle of relief spread up the gallery of the +staircase, and was followed at once by a fresh outburst of chatter. +The waiting audience of would-be dancers had responded like one +individual. It was as if their single over-soul had sighed its +thankfulness and had then tried to cover the solecism. Their relief +was short-lived. Mrs. Jervaise “couldn’t think” +of the Sturtons walking. They must have the motor. She insisted. +Really nothing at all. Their chauffeur was sure to be up, +still.</p> +<p>“Of course, certainly, by all means,” Jervaise +agreed warmly, and then, to John, “He hasn’t gone to +bed yet, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“I saw him not half an hour ago, sir,” was +John’s response.</p> +<p>“Tell him to bring the motor round,” Jervaise +ordered, and added something in a lower voice, which, near as I was +to them, I could not catch. I imagined that it might be an +instruction to have the chauffeur out again if he had by any chance +slunk off to bed within the last half-hour.</p> +<p>I think Miss Tattersall said “Damn!” Certainly the +over-soul of the staircase group thought it.</p> +<p>“They’ll be here all night, at this rate,” was +my companion’s translation of the general feeling.</p> +<p>“If they have to wake up the chauffeur,” I +admitted.</p> +<p>“He’s a new man they’ve got,” Miss +Tattersall replied. “They’ve only had him three +months…” It seemed as if she were about to add some +further comment, but nothing came.</p> +<p>“Oh!” was all that I found appropriate.</p> +<p>I felt that the action of my opera was hanging fire. Indeed, +every one was beginning to feel it. The Hall door had been shut +against the bane of the night-air. The stimulus of the fragrant +night-stock had been excluded. Miss Tattersall pretended not to +yawn. We all pretended that we did not feel a craving to yawn. The +chatter rose and fell spasmodically in short devitalised bursts of +polite effort.</p> +<p>I looked round for Brenda, but could not see her anywhere.</p> +<p>“Won’t you come back into the drawing-room?” +Mrs. Jervaise was saying to the Sturtons.</p> +<p>“Oh! thank you, it’s <em>hardly</em> worth while, is +it?” Mrs. Sturton answered effusively, but she loosened the +shawl that muffled her throat as if she were preparing for a longer +wait. “I’m <em>so</em> sorry,” she apologised for +the seventh time. “So very unfortunate after such a really +delightful evening.”</p> +<p>They kept up that kind of conversation for quite a long time, +while we listened eagerly for the sound of the motor-horn.</p> +<p>And no motor-horn came; instead, after endlessly tedious +minutes, John returned bearing himself like a portent of +disaster.</p> +<p>The confounded fellow whispered again.</p> +<p>“What, not anywhere?” Jervaise asked irritably. +“Sure he hasn’t gone to bed?”</p> +<p>John said something in that too discreet voice of his, and then +Jervaise scowled and looked round at the ascending humanity of the +staircase. His son Frank detached himself from the swarm, politely +picked his way down into the Hall, and began to put John under a +severe cross-examination.</p> +<p>“What’s up now, do you suppose?” Miss +Tattersall asked, with the least tremor of excitement sounding in +her voice.</p> +<p>“Perhaps the chauffeur has followed the example of Carter, +and afterwards hidden his shame,” I suggested.</p> +<p>I was surprised by the warmth of her contradiction. “Oh, +no” she said. “He isn’t the least that sort of +man.” She said it as if I had aspersed the character of one +of her friends.</p> +<p>“He seems to have gone, disappeared, any-way,” I +replied.</p> +<p>“It’s getting frightfully mysterious,” Miss +Tattersall agreed, and added inconsequently, “He’s got +a strong face, you know; keen—looks as if he’d get his +own way about things, though, of course, he isn’t a +gentleman.”</p> +<p>I had a suspicion that she had been flirting with the romantic +chauffeur. She was the sort of young woman who would flirt with any +one.</p> +<p>I wished they would open that Hall door again. The action of my +play had become dispersed and confused. Frank Jervaise had gone off +through the baize door with John, and the Sturtons and their host +and hostess were moving reluctantly towards the drawing-room.</p> +<p>“We might almost as well go and sit down somewhere,” +I suggested to Miss Tattersall, and noted three or four accessible +blanks on the staircase.</p> +<p>“Almost,” she agreed after a glance at the closed +door that shut out the night.</p> +<p>In the re-arrangement I managed to leave her on a lower step, +and climbed to the throne of the gods, at present occupied only by +Gordon Hughes, one of Frank Jervaise’s barrister friends from +the Temple. Hughes was reputed “brilliantly clever.” He +was a tallish fellow with ginger red hair and a long nose—the +foxy type.</p> +<p>“Rum start!” I cried, by way of testing his +intellectual quality, but before I could get on terms with him, the +stage was taken by a dark, curly-haired, handsome boy of +twenty-four or so, generally addressed as “Ronnie.” I +had thought him very like a well-intentioned retriever pup. I could +imagine him worrying an intellectual slipper to pieces with great +gusto.</p> +<p>“I say, it’s all U.P. now,” he said, in a +dominating voice. “What’s the time?” He was +obviously too well turned out to wear a watch with evening +dress.</p> +<p>Some one said it was “twenty-five to one.”</p> +<p>“Fifty to one against another dance, then,” Ronnie +barked joyously.</p> +<p>“Unless you’ll offer yourself up as a martyr in a +good cause,” suggested Nora Bailey.</p> +<p>“Offer myself up? How?” Ronnie asked.</p> +<p>“Take ’em home in your car,” Nora said in a +penetrating whisper.</p> +<p>“Dead the other way,” was Ronnie’s too patent +excuse.</p> +<p>“It’s only a couple of miles through the Park, you +know,” Olive Jervaise put in. “You might easily run +them over to the vicarage and be back again in twenty +minutes.”</p> +<p>“By Jove; yes. So I might,” Ronnie acknowledged. +“That is, if I may really come back, Miss Jervaise. Awfully +good of you to suggest it. I didn’t bring my man with me, +though. I’ll have to go and wind up the old buzz-wagon +myself, if your fellow can’t be found. Do you think … +could any one…”</p> +<p>He was looking round, searching for some one who was not +there.</p> +<p>“Want any help?” Hughes asked.</p> +<p>“No, thanks. That’s all right. I know where the car +is, I mean,” Ronnie said, and still hesitated as if he were +going to finish the question he had begun in his previous +speech.</p> +<p>Olive Jervaise anticipated, I think wrongly, his remark. +“They’re in the drawing-room,” she said. +“Will you tell them?”</p> +<p>“Better get the car round first, hadn’t I?” +Ronnie asked.</p> +<p>The sandy Atkinson youth found an answer for that. He cleared +his long, thin throat huskily and said, “Might save time to +tell ’em first. They’d be ready, then, when you came +round.” His two equally sandy sisters clucked their +approval.</p> +<p>“All serene,” Ronnie agreed.</p> +<p>He was on the bottom step of the stairs when the Hall door was +thrown wide open and Frank Jervaise returned.</p> +<p>He stood there a moment, posed for us, searching the ladder of +our gallery; and the spirit of the night-stock drifted past him and +lightly touched us all as it fled up the stairs. Then he came +across the Hall, and addressing his sister, asked, in a voice that +overstressed the effect of being casual, “I say, Olive, you +don’t happen to know where Brenda is, do you?”</p> +<p>I suppose our over-soul knew everything in that minute. A tremor +of dismay ran up our ranks like the sudden passing of a cold wind. +Every one was looking at Ronnie.</p> +<p>Olive Jervaise’s reply furnished an almost superfluous +corroboration. She could not control her voice. She tried to be as +casual as her brother, and failed lamentably. “Brenda was +here just now,” she said. “She—she must be +somewhere about.”</p> +<p>Ronnie, still the cynosure of the swarm, turned himself about +and stared at Frank Jervaise. But it was Gordon Hughes who +demonstrated his power of quick inference and response, although in +doing it he overstepped the bounds of decency by giving a voice to +our suspicions.</p> +<p>“Is the car in the garage? Your own car?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“Yes. Rather. Of course,” Jervaise replied +uneasily.</p> +<p>“You’ve just looked?” Hughes insisted.</p> +<p>“I know the car’s there,” was Jervaise’s +huffy evasion, and he took Ronnie by the arm and led him off into +the drawing-room.</p> +<p>The Hall door stood wide open, and the tragedy of the night +flowed unimpeded through the house.</p> +<p>Although the horror had not been named we all recognised its +finality. We began to break up our formation immediately, gabbling +tactful irrelevancies about the delightful evening, the delinquent +Carter, and the foolishness of Sabbatarianism. Mrs. Atkinson +appeared in the Hall, cloaked and muffled, and beckoned to her +three replicas. She announced that their omnibus was “just +coming round.”</p> +<p>In the general downward drift of dispersion I saw Grace +Tattersall looking up at me with an expression that suggested a +desire for the confidential discussion of scandal, and I hastily +whispered to Hughes that we might go to the extemporised buffet in +the supper-room and get a whisky and seltzer or something. He +agreed with an alacrity that I welcomed at the time, but regret, +now, because our retirement into duologue took us out of the +important movement, and I missed one or two essentials of the +development.</p> +<p>The truth is that we were all overcome at the moment by an +irresistible desire to appear tactful. We wanted to show the +Jervaises that we had not suspected anything, or that if we had, we +didn’t mind in the least, and it certainly wasn’t their +fault. Nevertheless, I saw no reason why in the privacy of the +supper-room—we had the place to ourselves—I should not +talk to Hughes. I had never before that afternoon met any of the +Jervaise family except Frank, and on one or two occasions his +younger brother who was in the army and, now, in India; and I +thought that this was an appropriate occasion to improve my +knowledge. I understood that Hughes was an old friend of the +family.</p> +<p>He may have been, although the fact did not appear in his +conversation; for I discovered almost immediately that he was, +either by nature or by reason of his legal training, cursed with a +procrastinating gift of diplomacy.</p> +<p>“Awkward affair!” I began as soon as we had got our +whiskies and lighted cigarettes.</p> +<p>Hughes drank with a careful slowness, put his glass down with +superfluous accuracy, and then after another instant of tremendous +deliberation, said, “What is?”</p> +<p>“Well, this,” I returned gravely.</p> +<p>“Meaning?” he asked judicially.</p> +<p>“Of course it may be too soon to draw an inference,” +I said.</p> +<p>“Especially with no facts to draw them from,” he +added.</p> +<p>“All the same,” I went on boldly, “it looks +horribly suspicious.”</p> +<p>“What does?”</p> +<p>I began to lose patience with him. “I’m not +suggesting that the Sturtons’ man from the Royal Oak has been +murdered,” I said.</p> +<p>He weighed that remark as if it might cover a snare, before he +scored a triumph of allusiveness by replying, “Fellow called +Carter. He’s got a blue nose.”</p> +<p>Despite my exasperation I tried once more on a note of forced +geniality, “What sort of man is this chauffeur of the +Jervaises? Do you know him at all?”</p> +<p>“Wears brown leather gaiters,” Hughes answered after +another solemn deliberation.</p> +<p>I could have kicked him with all the pleasure in life. His awful +guardedness made me feel as if I were an inquisitive little +journalist trying to ferret out some unsavoury scandal. And he had +been the first person to point the general suspicion a few minutes +earlier, by his inquiry about the motor. I decided to turn the +tables on him, if I could manage it.</p> +<p>“I asked because you seemed to suggest just now that he +had gone off with the Jervaises’ motor,” I +remarked.</p> +<p>Hughes stroked his long thin nose with his thumb and forefinger. +It seemed to take him about a minute from bridge to nostril. Then +he inhaled a long draught of smoke from his cigarette, closed one +eye as if it hurt him, and threw back his head to blow out the +smoke again with a slow gasp of relief.</p> +<p>“One never knows,” was all the explanation he +vouchsafed after this tedious performance.</p> +<p>“Whether a chauffeur will steal his master’s +motor?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Incidentally,” he said.</p> +<p>“But, good heavens, if he’s that sort of +man…” I suggested.</p> +<p>“I’m not saying that he is,” Hughes +replied.</p> +<p>I realised then that his idea of our conversation was nothing +more nor less than that of a game to be played as expertly as +possible. He had all the makings of a cabinet minister, but as a +companion he was, on this occasion, merely annoying. I felt that I +could stand no more of him, and I was trying to frame a sentence +that would convey my opinion of him without actual insult, when +Frank Jervaise looked in at the door.</p> +<p>He stared at us suspiciously, but his expression commonly +conveyed some aspect of threat or suspicion. “Been looking +all over the place for you,” he said.</p> +<p>“For me?” Hughes asked.</p> +<p>Jervaise shook his head. “No, I want Melhuish,” he +said, and stood scowling.</p> +<p>“Well, here I am,” I prompted him.</p> +<p>“If I’m in the way…” Hughes put in, but +did not attempt to get himself out of it.</p> +<p>Jervaise ignored him. “Look here, Melhuish,” he +said. “I wonder if you’d mind coming up with me to the +Home Farm?”</p> +<p>“Oh! no; rather not,” I agreed gladly.</p> +<p>I felt that Hughes had been scored off; but I instantly forgot +such small triumphs in the delight of being able to get out into +the night. Out there was romance and the smell of night-stock, all +kinds of wonderment and adventure. I was so eager to be in the +midst of it that I never paused to consider the queerness of the +expedition.</p> +<p>As we left the Hall, the theatrical stable-clock was just +striking one.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_II" id="Ch_II"></a>II</h3> +<h2>Anne</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>The moon must have been nearly at the full, but I could not +guess its position behind the even murk of cloud that muffled the +whole face of the sky. Yet, it was not very dark. The broad masses +of the garden through which Jervaise led me, were visible as a +greater blackness superimposed on a fainter background. I believed +that we were passing through some kind of formal pleasance. I could +smell the pseudo-aromatic, slightly dirty odour of box, and made +out here and there the clipped artificialities of a yew hedge. +There were standard roses, too. One rose started up suddenly before +my face, touching me as I passed with a limp, cool caress, like the +careless, indifferent encouragement of a preoccupied courtesan.</p> +<p>At the end of the pleasance we came to a high wall, and as +Jervaise fumbled with the fastening of a, to me, invisible door, I +was expecting that now we should come out into the open, into a +paddock, perhaps, or a grass road through the Park. But beyond the +wall was a kitchen garden. It was lighter there, and I could see +dimly that we were passing down an aisle of old espaliers that +stretched sturdy, rigid arms, locked finger to finger with each +other in their solemn grotesque guardianship of the enciente they +enclosed. No doubt in front of them was some kind of herbaceous +border. I caught sight of the occasional spire of a hollyhock, and +smelt the acid insurgence of marigolds.</p> +<p>None of this was at all the mischievous, taunting fairyland that +I had anticipated, but rather the gaunt, intimidating home of +ogres, rank and more than a trifle forbidding. It had an air of age +that was not immortal, but stiffly declining into a stubborn +resistance against the slow rigidity of death. These espaliers made +me think of rheumatic veterans, obstinately faithful to ancient +duties—veterans with knobbly arthritic joints.</p> +<p>At the end of the aisle we came to a high-arched opening in the +ten-foot wall, barred by a pair of heavy iron gates.</p> +<p>“Hold on a minute, I’ve got the key,” Jervaise +said. This was the first time he had spoken since we left the +house. His tone seemed to suggest that he was afraid I should +attempt to scale the wall or force my way through the bars of the +gates.</p> +<p>He had the key but he could not in that darkness fit it into the +padlock; and he asked me if I had any matches. I had a little +silver box of wax vestas in my pocket, and struck one to help him +in his search for the keyhole which he found to have been covered +by the escutcheon. Before I threw the match away I held it up and +glanced back across the garden. The shadows leaped and stiffened to +attention, and I flung the match away, but it did not go out. It +lay there on the path throwing out its tiny challenge to the +darkness. It was still burning when I looked back after passing +through the iron gates.</p> +<p>As we came out of the park, Jervaise took my arm.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid this is a pretty rotten business,” +he said with what was for him an unusual cordiality.</p> +<hr /> +<p>Although I had never before that afternoon seen Jervaise’s +home nor any of his people with the exception of the brother now in +India, I had known Frank Jervaise for fifteen years. We had been at +Oakstone together, and had gone up the school form by form in each +other’s company. After we left Oakstone we were on the same +landing at Jesus, and he rowed “two” and I rowed +“bow” in the college boat. And since we had come down I +had met him constantly in London, often as it seemed by accident. +Yet we had never been friends. I had never really liked him.</p> +<p>Even at school he had had the beginning of the artificially +bullying manner which now seemed natural to him. He had been +unconvincingly blunt and insolent. His dominant chin, Roman nose, +and black eyebrows were chiefly responsible, I think, for his +assumption of arrogance. He must have been newly invigorated to +carry on the part every time he scowled at himself in the glass. He +could not conceivably have been anything but a barrister.</p> +<p>But, to-night, in the darkness, he seemed to have forgotten for +once the perpetual mandate of his facial angle. He was suddenly +intimate, almost humble.</p> +<p>“Of course, you don’t realise how cursedly awkward +it all is,” he said with the evident desire of opening a +confidence.</p> +<p>“Tell me as little or as much as you like,” I +responded. “You know that I…”</p> +<p>“Yes, rather,” he agreed warmly, and added, +“I’d sooner Hughes didn’t know.”</p> +<p>“He guesses a lot, though,” I put in. “I +suppose they all do.”</p> +<p>“Oh! well, they’re bound to guess something,” +he said, “but I’m hoping we’ll be able to put +that right, now.”</p> +<p>“Who are we going to see?” I asked.</p> +<p>He did not reply at once, and then snapped out, “Anne +Banks; friend er Brenda’s.”</p> +<p>My foolishly whimsical imagination translated that queer medley +of sounds into the thought of a stable-pump. I heard the clank of +the handle and then the musical rush of water into the pail.</p> +<p>“Sounds just like a pump,” I said thoughtlessly.</p> +<p>He half withdrew his arm from mine with an abrupt twitch that +indicated temper.</p> +<p>“Oh! don’t for God’s sake play the +fool,” he said brutally.</p> +<p>A spasm of resentment shook me for a moment. I felt annoyed, +remembering how at school he would await his opportunity and then +score off me with some insulting criticism. He had never had any +kind of sympathy for the whimsical, and it is a manner that is apt +to look inane and ridiculous under certain kinds of censure. I +swallowed my annoyance, on this occasion. I remembered that +Jervaise had a reasonable excuse, for once.</p> +<p>“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to play +the fool. But you must admit that it had a queer sound.” I +repeated the adjectival sentence under my breath. It really was a +rather remarkable piece of onomatopœia. And then I reflected +on the absurdity of our conversation. How could we achieve all this +ordinary trivial talk of everyday in the gloom of this romantic +adventure?</p> +<p>“Oh! all serene,” Jervaise returned, still with the +sound of irritation in his voice, and continued as if the need for +confidence had suddenly overborne his anger. “As a matter of +fact she’s his sister.”</p> +<p>“Whose sister?” I asked, quite at a loss.</p> +<p>“Oh! Banks’s, of course,” he said.</p> +<p>“But who in the name of goodness is Banks?” I +inquired irritably. The petulant tone was merely an artifice. I +realised that if I were meek, he would lose more time in abusing my +apparent imbecility. I know that the one way to beat a bully is by +bullying, but I hate even the pretence of that method.</p> +<p>Jervaise grunted as if the endeavour to lift the weight of my +ignorance required an almost intolerable physical effort.</p> +<p>“Why, this fellow—our chauffeur,” he said in a +voice so threateningly restrained that he seemed on the point of +bursting.</p> +<p>There was no help for it; I had to take the upper hand.</p> +<p>“Well, my good idiot,” I said, “you +can’t expect me to know these things by intuition. I’ve +never heard of the confounded fellow before. Haven’t even +seen him, now. Nor his sister—Anne Banks, +Frienderbrenda’s.”</p> +<p>Jervaise was calmed by this outburst. This was the sort of +attitude he could understand and appreciate.</p> +<p>“All right, keep your shirt on,” he replied quite +amicably.</p> +<p>“If you’d condescend to explain,” I returned +as huffily as I could.</p> +<p>“You see, this chap, Banks,” he began, +“isn’t quite the ordinary chauffeur Johnnie. He’s +the son of one of our farmers. Decent enough old fellow, too, in +his way—the father, I mean. Family’s been tenants of +the Home Farm for centuries. And this chap, Banks, the son, has +knocked about the world, no end. Been in Canada and the States and +all kinds of weird places. He’s hard as nails; and keen. His +mother was a Frenchwoman; been a governess.”</p> +<p>“Is she dead?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Lord, no. Why should she be?” Jervaise replied +peevishly.</p> +<p>I thought of explaining that he had made the implication by his +use of the past tense, but gave up the idea as involving a waste of +energy. “How old is this chap, Banks; the son?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” Jervaise said. “About +twenty-five.”</p> +<p>“And his sister?” I prodded him.</p> +<p>“Rather younger than that,” he said, after an +evident hesitation, and added: “She’s frightfully +pretty.”</p> +<p>I checked my natural desire to comment on the paradox; and tried +the stimulation of an interested “<em>Is</em> she?”</p> +<p>“Rather.” He tacked that on in the tone of one who +deplores the inevitable; and went on quickly, “You +needn’t infer that I’ve made an ass of myself or that +I’m going to. In our position…” He abandoned +that as being, perhaps, too obvious. “What I mean to say +is,” he continued, “that I can’t understand about +Brenda. And it was such an infernally silly way of going about +things. Admitted that there was no earthly chance of the pater +giving his consent or anything like it; she needn’t in any +case have made a damned spectacle of the affair. But that’s +just like her. Probably did it all because she wanted to be +dramatic or some rot.”</p> +<p>It was then that I expressed my appreciation of the dramatic +quality of the incident, and was snubbed by his saying,—</p> +<p>“I suppose you realise just what this may mean, to all of +us.”</p> +<p>I had a vivid impression, in the darkness, of that sudden scowl +which made him look so absurdly like a youthful version of Sir +Edward Carson.</p> +<p>I was wondering why it should mean so much to all of them? Frank +Jervaise had admitted, for all intents and purposes, that he was in +love with the chauffeur’s sister, so he, surely, need not +have so great an objection. And, after all, why was the family of +Jervaise so much better than the family of Banks?</p> +<p>“I suppose it would be very terrible for you all if she +married this chap?” I said.</p> +<p>“Unthinkable,” Jervaise replied curtly.</p> +<p>“It would be worse in a way than your marrying the +sister?”</p> +<p>“I should never be such an infernal fool as to do a thing +like that,” he returned.</p> +<p>“Has she … have there been any tender passages +between you and Miss Banks?” I asked.</p> +<p>“No,” he snapped viciously.</p> +<p>“You’ve been too careful?”</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact, I don’t think she likes +me,” he said.</p> +<p>“Oh!” was all my comment.</p> +<p>I needed no more explanations; and I liked Jervaise even less +than I had before. I began to wish that he had not seen fit to +confide in me. I had, thoughtlessly, been dramatising the incident +in my mind, but, now, I was aware of the unpleasant reality of it +all. Particularly Jervaise’s part in it.</p> +<p>“Can’t be absolutely certain, of course,” he +continued.</p> +<p>“But if she did like you?” I suggested.</p> +<p>“I’ve got to be very careful who I marry,” he +explained. “We aren’t particularly well off. All our +property is in land, and you know what sort of an investment that +is, these days.”</p> +<p>I tried another line. “And if you find your sister up at +the Home Farm; and Banks; what are you going to do?”</p> +<p>“Kick him and bring her home,” he said +decidedly.</p> +<p>“Nothing else for it, I suppose?” I replied.</p> +<p>“Obviously,” he snarled.</p> +<p>We had come into a wood and it was very dark under the trees. I +wondered why I should restrain the impulse to strangle him and +leave him there? He was no good, and, to me, quite peculiarly +objectionable. It seemed, in what was then my rather fantastic +state of mind, that it would be a triumph of whimsicality. I should +certainly have resisted the impulse in any case, but my attention +was diverted from it at that moment by a sudden pattering of feet +along the leaves of the great trees under which we were +walking—light, clean, sharp, little dancing feet, springing +from leaf to leaf—dozens of them chasing each other, rattling +ecstatically up and down the endless terraces of wide foliage.</p> +<p>“Damn it all, it’s beginning to rain like +blazes,” remarked the foolish Jervaise.</p> +<p>“How much farther is it?” I asked.</p> +<p>He said we were “just there.”</p> +<hr /> +<p>I saw the Home Farm first as a little square haze of yellow +light far up in the sky. I didn’t realise the sharp rise in +the ground immediately in front of us, and that rectangular beacon, +high in the air, seemed a fantastically impossible thing. I pointed +it out to Jervaise who was holding his head down as if he were +afraid the summer rain might do some serious injury to his +face.</p> +<p>“Some one up, anyway,” was his comment.</p> +<p>“Very far up,” I murmured. I could not quite +believe, even then, that it could be a window. I was disappointed +when we had climbed the hill and stood only a few feet below the +beacon, to discover that this too, was another instance of the all +too credible commonplace. I suppose men like Frank Jervaise never +long to believe in the impossible. I was, however, agreeably +surprised to find that he could be nervous.</p> +<p>He hesitated, looking up at the prism of light that splayed out +through the first floor window, and set a silver fire to the +falling rain. “Suppose we’d better knock,” he +grumbled.</p> +<p>“D’you know whose window it is?” I asked.</p> +<p>Apparently he didn’t. He made a dive into a deeper +obscurity and I lost him until I heard his knock. I was glad that +he should have knocked with such decent restraint, but all the +effect of it was instantly shattered by the response. For at his +first subdued rap, a dog with a penetratingly strident bark set up +a perfectly detestable clamour within the house. It was just as if +Jervaise’s touch on the door had liberated the spring of some +awful rattle. Every lovely impulse of the night must have fled +dismayed, back into the peace and beauty of the wood; and I was +more than half inclined to follow.</p> +<p>Until that appalling racket was set loose I had been regarding +this midnight visit to the farm as a natural and enticing +adventure, altogether in keeping with the dramatic movement +preluded by the chime of the stable-clock. That confounded terrier, +whose voice so clearly proclaimed his breed, had dragged us down to +the baldest realism. We were intruders upon the decencies of +civilisation. That dog was not to be misled by any foolish whimsies +of the imagination. He was a thorough-going realist, living in a +tangible, smellable world of reality, and he knew us for what we +were—marauders, disturbers of the proper respectable peace of +twentieth century farms. He lashed himself into ecstasies of fury +against our unconventionality; he rose to magnificent paroxysms of +protest that passionately besought High Heaven and Farmer Banks to +open the door and let him get at us.</p> +<p>But no one came. There may have been other sounds coming from +the house besides that infuriated demand for vengeance, but all +inferior noises—and surely all other noises must have been +inferior to that clamour—were absorbed and flattened out of +existence. We were in a world occupied by the bark of a single dog, +and any addition to that occupation would have been +superfluous.</p> +<p>The owner of the voice was doing his level best now to get the +door down on his own account. I hoped he might succeed. I should +have excuse then to fly to the woods and claim sanctuary. As it +was, I retreated a couple of steps, holding my breath to ease the +pain of my nerves, and some old instinct of prayer made me lift my +face to the sky. I welcomed the cold, inquisitive touch of the +silent rain.</p> +<p>Then I became aware through the torture of prolonged +exasperation that my upturned face was lit from above; that a +steady candle was now perched on the very sill of the one +illuminated window; and that behind the candle the figure of a +woman stood looking down at me.</p> +<p>She appeared to be speaking.</p> +<p>I held my hands to my ears and shook my head violently to +intimate my temporary deafness; and the figure disappeared, leaving +the placid candle to watch me as it seemed with a kind of indolent +nonchalance.</p> +<p>I decided to pass on the news to Jervaise, and discovered that +besotted fool in a little trellised porch, stimulating the +execrations of the Irish terrier by a subdued inaudible knocking. I +was beginning to scream my news into his ear when silence descended +upon us with the suddenness of a catastrophe. It was as if the +heavens had been rent and all the earth had fallen into a muffled +chaos of mute despair.</p> +<p>I had actually began my shriek of announcement when all the +world of sound about us so inexplicably ceased to be, and I shut +off instantly on the word “<em>Someone</em>…,” a +word that as I had uttered it sounded like a despairing yelp of +mortal agony.</p> +<p>Out of the unearthly stillness, Jervaise’s voice replied +in a frightened murmur, “Someone coming,” he said, as +if he, alone, had knowledge of and responsibility for that supreme +event.</p> +<p>And still no one came. The door remained steadfastly closed. +Outside the porch, the earth had recovered from the recent +disaster, and we could hear the exquisitely gentle murmur of the +rain.</p> +<p>“Damned odd,” commented Jervaise. “That cursed +dog made enough noise to wake the dead.”</p> +<p>I was inspired to go out and search the window where burned the +indigent, just perceptibly, rakish candle.</p> +<p>She was there. She had returned to her eyrie after quelling the +racket in the hall, and now she leaned a little forward so that I +could see her face.</p> +<p>“Who’s there?” she asked quietly.</p> +<p>Her voice was low and clear as the reed of a flute, but all +sounds had the quality of music at that instant of release.</p> +<p>I was nonplussed for the moment. I ought to have taken up the +key of high romance. She deserved it. Instead of that I dropped to +the awful commonplaces of a man in evening dress and a light +overcoat standing in the rain talking to a stranger.</p> +<p>“I came up with Mr. Jervaise, Mr. Frank Jervaise,” I +explained. “He—he wants to see you. Shall I tell him +you’re there?”</p> +<p>“All serene, I’m here,” whispered the voice of +Jervaise at my elbow, and then he cleared his throat and spoke up +at the window.</p> +<p>“Rather an upset down at the Hall, Miss Banks; about +Brenda,” he said. “Might we come in a +minute?”</p> +<p>“It’s rather late, isn’t it?” the vision +returned—it wasn’t only the ease of the silence, she +had a delicious voice—and added rather mischievously, +“It’s raining, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Like anything,” Jervaise said, and ducked his head +and hunched his shoulders, as if he had suddenly remembered the +possible susceptibility of his exposed face.</p> +<p>“Is it so very important?” the soft, clear voice +asked, still, I thought, with a faint undercurrent of raillery.</p> +<p>“Really, Miss Banks, it is,” Jervaise implored, +risking his delicate face again.</p> +<p>She hesitated a moment and then said, “Very well,” +and disappeared, taking this time the dissipated candle with her. I +heard her address a minatory remark within the room to +“Racket”—most excellently described, I thought; +though I discovered later that I had, in imagination, misspelt him, +since he owed his name to the fact that his mother had sought her +delivery on the bed of a stored tennis-net.</p> +<p>Jervaise and I hurried back to the front door as if we were +afraid that Miss Banks might get there first; but she kept us +waiting for something like ten minutes before she came downstairs. +The silence of that interval was only broken by such nervous +staccato comments as “Long time!” “Dressing, +presumably,” and occasional throaty sounds of impatience from +Jervaise that are beyond the representative scope of typography. I +have heard much the same noises proceed from the throat of an +unhopeful pig engaged in some minor investigation.</p> +<p>The rain was falling less heavily, and towards the west a pale +blur of light was slowly melting its way through the darkness. I +noted that spot as marking the probable position of the setting +moon. I decided that as soon as this infernal inquisition was over, +I would get rid of Jervaise and find some God-given place in which +I might wait for the dawn. I knew that there must be any number of +such places between the Farm and the Hall. I was peering westward +towards the rolling obscurity of hills and woods that were just +beginning to bulk out of the gloom, when I heard the click of the +door latch.</p> +<p>I should not like to be put in the witness-box and +cross-examined by Jervaise as to my reason for entering the house +with him that night. All that part of me with which I have any sort +of real friendship, wanted quite definitely to stay outside. That +would have been the tactful thing to do. There was no reason why I +should intrude further on the mystery of Brenda’s +disappearance; and as a matter of fact I was no longer very keenly +interested in that brilliant and fascinating young woman’s +affairs. The plan that I had in mind when the door opened was to +say politely to Jervaise, “I’ll wait for you +here”—I had a premonition that he would raise no +objection to that suggestion—and then when he and Miss Banks +were safely inside, I meant to go and find rapture in solitude. The +moon was certainly coming out; the dawn was due in three hours or +so, and before me were unknown hills and woods. I had no sort of +doubt that I should find my rapture. I may add that my plan did not +include any further sight of Jervaise, his family, or their +visitors, before breakfast next morning.</p> +<p>I had it all clear and settled. I was already thrilling with the +first ecstasies of anticipation. But when the door was opened I +turned my back on all that magical beauty of the night, and +accompanied Jervaise into the house like a scurvy little mongrel +with no will of its own.</p> +<p>I can’t account for that queer change of purpose. It was +purely spontaneous, due to something quite outside the realm of +reason. I was certainly not in love with Anne, then. My only sight +of her had left an impression as of an amateur copy of a Rembrandt +done in Indian ink with a wet brush. It is true that I had heard +her voice like the low thrilling of a nightingale—following a +full Handel chorus of corncrakes.</p> +<hr /> +<p>She had evidently spent an active ten minutes while we waited +for her. She had done her hair, and she was, so far as I could +judge from superficialities, completely dressed. Also she had +lighted the lamp in what I took to be the chief sitting-room of the +farm.</p> +<p>As a room it deserved attention, but it was not until I had been +there for ten minutes or more, that I realised all that the +furniture of that room was not. My first observations were solely +directed to Miss Banks.</p> +<p>Jervaise had grossly maligned her by saying that she was +“frightfully pretty.” No one but a fool would have +called her “pretty.” Either she was beautiful or plain. +I saw, even then, that if the light of her soul had been quenched, +she might appear plain. Her features were good, her complexion, her +colouring—she was something between dark and fair—but +she did not rely on those things for her beauty. It was the glow of +her individuality that was her surpassing charm. She had that +supremely feminine vitality which sends a man crazy with worship. +You had to adore or dislike her. There was no middle course.</p> +<p>And Jervaise quite obviously adored her. All that tactful +confession of his in the park had been a piece of artifice. It had +not, however, been framed to deceive <em>me</em>. I do not believe +that he considered me worth bothering about. No, those admissions +and denials of his had been addressed, without doubt, to a far more +important person than myself. They had been in the nature of a +remonstrance and assurance spoken to Frank Jervaise by the heir to +the estate; which heir was determined with all the force of his +ferocious nose and dominant chin to help him, that he would not +make a fool of himself for the sake of the daughter of a tenant +farmer. I had been nothing more than the register upon which he had +tentatively engraved that resolve. But he should have chosen a more +stable testament than this avowal made to a whimsically-minded +playwright with an absurd weakness for the beauties of a midnight +wood.</p> +<p>And if I had been a witness to his oath, I was, now, a witness +to his foreswearing.</p> +<p>He began well enough on the note proper to the heir of Jervaise. +He had the aplomb to carry that off. He stood on the hearthrug, +austere and self-controlled, consciously aristocrat, heir and +barrister.</p> +<p>“I’m so sorry, Miss Banks. Almost inexcusable to +disturb you at this time of night.” He stopped after that +beginning and searched his witness with a stare that ought to have +set her trembling.</p> +<p>Anne had sat down and was resting her forearms on the table. She +looked up at him with the most charming insouciance when he paused +so portentously at the very opening of his address. Her encouraging +“yes” was rather in the manner of a child waiting for +the promised story.</p> +<p>Jervaise frowned and attempted the dramatic. “My sister, +Brenda, has run away,” he said.</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>“This evening at the end of the Cinderella. You knew we +were giving a dance?”</p> +<p>“But where to?”</p> +<p>“Oh! Precisely!” Jervaise said.</p> +<p>“But how extraordinary!” replied Miss Banks.</p> +<p>“Is she here?” asked Jervaise. He ought to have +snapped that out viciously, and I believe that was his intention. +But Anne’s exquisitely innocent, absorbed gaze undid him; and +his question had rather the sound of an apology.</p> +<p>“No, certainly not! Why ever should she come here?” +Anne said with precisely the right nuance of surprise.</p> +<p>“Is your brother here?”</p> +<p>“No!”</p> +<p>It looks such an absurd little inexpressive word on paper, but +Anne made a song of it on two notes, combining astonishment with a +sincerity that was absolutely final. If, after that, Jervaise had +dared to say, “Are you sure?” I believe I should have +kicked him.</p> +<p>How confounded he was, was shown by the change of attitude +evident in his next speech.</p> +<p>“It’s horribly awkward,” he said.</p> +<p>“Oh! horribly,” Anne agreed, with a charming +sympathy. “What are you going to do?”</p> +<p>“You see, we can’t find your brother, either,” +Jervaise tried tactfully.</p> +<p>“I don’t quite see what that’s got to do with +Brenda,” Anne remarked with a sweet perplexity.</p> +<p>Apparently Jervaise did not wish to point the connection too +abruptly. “We wanted the car,” he said; “and we +couldn’t find him anywhere.”</p> +<p>“Oh! he’s almost sure to have gone to sleep up in +the woods,” Anne replied. “Arthur’s like that, +you know. He sort of got the habit in Canada or somewhere. He often +says that sometimes he simply can’t bear to sleep under a +roof.”</p> +<p>I had already begun to feel a liking for Anne’s brother, +and that speech of hers settled me. I knew that +“Arthur” was the right sort—or, at least, my +sort. I would have been willing, even then, to swap the whole +Jervaise family with the possible exception of Brenda, for this as +yet unknown Arthur Banks.</p> +<p>Jervaise’s diplomacy was beginning to run very thin.</p> +<p>“You don’t think it conceivable that +Brenda…” he began gloomily.</p> +<p>“That Brenda what?”</p> +<p>“I was going to say…”</p> +<p>“Yes?” She leaned a little forward with an air of +expectancy that disguised her definite refusal to end his sentences +for him.</p> +<p>“It’s a most difficult situation, Miss Banks,” +he said, starting a new line; “and we don’t in the +least know what to make of it. What on earth could induce Brenda to +run off like this, with no apparent object?”</p> +<p>“But how do you know she really has?” asked Anne. +“You haven’t told me anything, yet, have you? I mean, +she may have gone out into the Park to get cool after the dance, or +into the woods or anything. Why should you imagine that she +has—run away?”</p> +<p>I joined in the conversation, then, for the first time. I had +not even been introduced to Anne.</p> +<p>“That’s very reasonable, surely, Jervaise,” I +said. “And wouldn’t it—I hardly know her, +I’ll admit—but wouldn’t it be rather like your +sister?”</p> +<p>So far as I was concerned, Anne’s suggestion carried +conviction. I was suddenly sure that our suspicions were all a +mistake.</p> +<p>Jervaise snubbed me with a brief glance of profoundest contempt. +He probably intended that commentary on my interruption to go no +further; but his confounded pose of superiority annoyed me to the +pitch of exasperation.</p> +<p>“You see, my dear chap,” I continued quickly, +“your unfortunate training as a lawyer invariably leads you +to suspect a crime; and you overlook the obvious in your perfectly +unreasonable and prejudiced search for the +incriminating.”</p> +<p>Jervaise’s expression admirably conveyed his complete +boredom with me and my speeches.</p> +<p>“You don’t know anything about it,” he said, +with a short gesture of final dismissal.</p> +<p>“But, Mr. Jervaise,” Anne put in, “what can +you possibly suspect, in this case?”</p> +<p>“He’d suspect anything of anybody for the sake of +making a case of it,” I said, addressing Anne. I wanted to +make her look at me, but she kept her gaze fixed steadily on +Jervaise, as if he were the controller of all destinies.</p> +<p>I accepted my dismissal, then, so far as to keep silence, but I +was annoyed, now, with Anne, as well as with Jervaise. “What +on earth could she see in the fellow?” I asked myself +irritably. I was the more irritated because he had so obviously +already forgotten my presence.</p> +<p>“Have you no reason to suspect anything yourself, Miss +Banks?” he asked gravely.</p> +<p>“If you’re suggesting that Brenda and Arthur have +run away together,” she said, “I’m perfectly, +perfectly certain that you’re wrong, Mr. Jervaise.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean that you know for certain that they +haven’t?” he returned.</p> +<p>She nodded confidently, and I thought she had perjured herself, +until Jervaise with evident relief said, “I’m very glad +of that; very. Do you mind telling me how you know?”</p> +<p>“By intuition,” she said, without a trace of +raillery in her face or her tone.</p> +<p>I forgave her for ignoring me when she said that. I felt that I +could almost forgive Jervaise; he was so deliciously sold.</p> +<p>“But you’ve surely some other grounds for certainty +besides—intuition?” he insisted anxiously.</p> +<p>“What other grounds could I possibly have?” Anne +asked.</p> +<p>“They haven’t, either of them, confided in +you?”</p> +<p>“Confided? What sort of things?”</p> +<p>“That there was, or might be, any—any sort of +understanding between them?”</p> +<p>“I know that they have met—occasionally.”</p> +<p>“Lately! Where?”</p> +<p>“Brenda has been having lessons in driving the +motor.”</p> +<p>“Oh! yes, I know that. You didn’t mean that they had +been meeting here?”</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t mean that,” Anne said +definitely. All through that quick alternation of question and +answer she had, as it were, surrendered her gaze to him; watching +him with a kind of meek submission as if she were ready to do +anything she could to help him in his inquiry. And it was very +plain to me that Jervaise was flattered and pleased by her +attitude. If I had attempted Anne’s method, he would have +scowled and brow-beaten me unmercifully, but now he really looked +almost pleasant.</p> +<p>“It’s very good of you to help me like this, Miss +Banks,” he said, “and I’m very grateful to you. I +do apologise, most sincerely for dragging you out of bed at such an +unholy hour, but I’m sure you appreciate my—our +anxiety.”</p> +<p>“Oh! of course,” she agreed, with a look that I +thought horribly sympathetic.</p> +<p>I began to wonder if my first estimate of her—based to a +certain extent, perhaps, on Jervaise’s admission that she did +not like him—had not been considerably too high. She might, +after all, be just an ordinary charming woman, enlivened by a +streak of minx, and eager enough to catch the heir of Jervaise if +he were available. How low my thought of her must have sunk at that +moment! But they were, now, exchanging courtesies with an air that +gave to their commonplaces the effect of a flirtation.</p> +<p>I distracted my attention. I couldn’t help hearing what +they said, but I could refrain from looking at Anne. She was +becoming vivacious, and I found myself strangely disliking her +vivacity. It was then that I began to take note of the furnishing +of the room which, when I considered it, was so peculiarly not in +the manner of the familiar English farm-house. Instead of the plush +suite, the glass bell shades, the round centre table, and all the +other stuffy misconceptions so firmly established by the +civilisation of the nineteenth century, I discovered the authentic +marks of the old English æsthetic—whitewashed walls and +black oak. And the dresser, the settles, the oblong table, the +rush-bottomed chairs, the big chest by the side wall, all looked +sturdily genuine; venerably conscious of the boast that they had +defied the greedy collector and would continue to elude his most +insidious approaches. Here, they were in their proper surroundings. +They gave the effect of having carelessly lounged in and settled +themselves; they were like the steady group of +“regulars” in the parlour of their familiar inn.</p> +<p>I came out of my reflection on the furniture to find that +Jervaise was going, at last. He was smiling and effusive, talking +quickly about nothing, apologising again for the unseemliness of +our visit. Anne was pathetically complacent, accepting and +discounting his excuses, and professing her willingness to help in +any way she possibly could. “But I really and truly expect +you’ll find Brenda safe at home when you get back,” she +said, and I felt that she honestly believed that.</p> +<p>“I hope so; I hope so,” Jervaise responded, and then +they most unnecessarily shook hands.</p> +<p>I thought that it was time to assert myself above the clatter of +their farewells.</p> +<p>“We might add, Miss Banks,” I put in, “that +we’ve been making a perfectly absurd fuss about nothing at +all. But, no doubt, you’re used to that.”</p> +<p>She looked at me, then, for the first time since I had come into +the house; and I saw the impulse to some tart response flicker in +her face and die away unexpressed. We stood and stared at one +another for a long half-second or so; and when she looked away I +fancied that there was something like fear in her evasion. It +seemed to me that I saw the true spirit of her in the way her +glance refused me as some one with whom she did not care to sport. +Her voice, too, dropped, so that I could not catch the murmur of +her reply.</p> +<p>We had, indeed, recognised each other in that brief meeting of +our eyes. Some kind of challenge had passed between us. I had dared +her to drop that disguise of trickery and show herself as she was; +and her response had been an admission that she acknowledged not +me, but my recognition of her.</p> +<p>How far the fact that I had truly appraised her real worth might +influence her, in time, to think gently of me, I could not guess; +but I hoped, even a little vaingloriously, that she would respond +to our mutual appreciation of truth. I had shown her, I believed, +how greatly I admired the spirit she had been at such pains to +conceal during that talk in the honest sitting-room of the Home +Farm. And I felt that her failure to resent the impertinence of my +“No doubt, you’re used to that,” had been due to +an understanding of something she and I had in common against the +whole solid, stolid, aristocratic family of Jervaise.</p> +<p>Moreover, she gave me what I counted as two more causes for +hopefulness before we left the house. The first was her repetition, +given, now, with a more vibrating sincerity, of the belief that we +should find Brenda safely at home when we got back to the Hall.</p> +<p>“I feel sure you will, Mr. Jervaise,” she said, and +the slight pucker of anxiety between her eyebrows was an earnest +that even if her belief was a little tremulous, her hope, at least, +was unquestionably genuine.</p> +<p>The second sign was the acceptance of a hackneyed commonplace; +the proffer of a friendly message through the medium of a +cliché which, however false in its general application, +offered a short cut to the interpretation of feeling. Racquet who +had maintained a well-bred silence from the first moment of his +mistress’s reproof, had honoured me with his approval while +we sat in the farm-house sitting-room, and sealed the agreement by +a friendly thrust of his nose as we said +“Goodnight.”</p> +<p>Anne did not look at me as she spoke, but her soft comment, +“You are fond of dogs,” seemed to me a full +acknowledgment of our recognition of each other’s +quality.</p> +<p>I must admit, however, that at two o’clock in the morning +one’s sense of values is not altogether normal.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_III" id="Ch_III"></a>III</h3> +<h2>Frank Jervaise</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>I should have preferred to maintain a thoughtful, experiencing +silence throughout our walk home. I had plenty of material for +reflection. I wanted, now, to look at all this disappearing Brenda +business from a new angle. I had a sense of the weaving of plots, +and of the texture of them; such a sense as I imagine a blind man +may get through sensitive finger-tips. Two new characters had come +into my play, and I knew them both for principals. That opening act +without Brenda, Arthur Banks, or his sister was nothing more than a +prologue. The whole affair had begun again to fascinate my +interest. Moreover, I was becoming aware of a stern, half-tragic +background that had not yet come into proper focus.</p> +<p>And the circumstances of our walk home were of a kind that I +find peculiarly stimulating to the imagination. The sky was +clearing. Above us, widening pools of deep sky, glinting here and +there, with the weak radiance of half-drowned stars, opened and +closed again behind dispersing wreaths of mist. While in the west, +a heaped indigo gloom that might in that light have been mistaken +for the silhouette of a vast impending forest, revealed at one edge +a thin haze of yellow silver that stretched weak exploring arms of +light towards the mysterious obscurity of the upper clouds. I knew +precisely how that sky would look at sunset, but at moonset it had +a completely different quality that was at once more ethereal and +more primitive. It seemed to me that this night-sky had the +original, eternal effect of all planetary space; that it might be +found under the leaping rings of Saturn or in the perpetual gloom +of banished Neptune. Compared to the comprehensible, reproducible +effects of sunlight, it was as the wonder of the ineffable to the +beauty of a magnificent picture.</p> +<p>But I was not left for many minutes to the rapture of +contemplation. Even the primitive had to give place to the movement +of our tiny, civilised drama. Jervaise and I were of the race that +has been steadily creating a fiction of the earth since the first +appearance of inductive science in the days of prehistoric man; and +we could not live for long outside the artificial realism of the +thing we were making. We were not the creatures of a process, but +little gods in a world-pantheon.</p> +<hr /> +<p>I made no attempt to check him when he began to talk. I knew by +the raised tone of his voice—he was speaking quite a third +above his ordinary pitch—that he was pleasantly excited by +our interview with Anne: an excitement that he now wished either to +conceal, or, if that were impossible, to attribute to another +cause.</p> +<p>“It occurs to me that there are one or two very puzzling +points about that visit of ours, Melhuish,” he began.</p> +<p>“At least two,” I agreed.</p> +<p>“Which are?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I’d prefer to hear yours first,” I said, +having no intention of displaying my own.</p> +<p>He was so eager to exhibit his cleverness that he did not press +me for my probably worthless deductions.</p> +<p>“Well, in the first place,” he said, “did it +strike you as a curious fact that Miss Banks, and she alone, was +apparently disturbed by that dog’s infernal +barking?”</p> +<p>“It hadn’t struck me,” I admitted; and just +because I had not remarked that anomaly for myself, I was instantly +prepared to treat it as unworthy of notice. “I suppose her +father and mother and the servants, and so on, heard her let us +in,” I said.</p> +<p>Jervaise jeered at that. “Oh! my good man,” he +said.</p> +<p>“Well, why not?” I returned peevishly.</p> +<p>“I put it to you,” he said, “whether in those +circumstances the family’s refusal to make an appearance +admits of any ordinary explanation?”</p> +<p>I could see, now, that it did not; but having committed myself +to a point of view, I determined to uphold it. “Why +<em>should</em> they come down?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Common curiosity would be a sufficient inducement, I +should imagine,” Jervaise replied with a snort of contempt, +“to say nothing of a reasonable anxiety to know why any one +should call at two o’clock in the morning. It isn’t +usual, you know—outside the theatrical world, +perhaps.”</p> +<p>I chose to ignore the sneer conveyed by his last sentence.</p> +<p>“They may be very heavy sleepers,” I tried, fully +aware of the inanity of my suggestion.</p> +<p>Jervaise laughed unpleasantly, a nasty hoot of derision. +“Don’t be a damned fool,” he said. “The +human being isn’t born who could sleep through that +hullabaloo.”</p> +<p>I relinquished that argument as hopeless, and having no other at +the moment, essayed a weak reprisal. “Well, what’s your +explanation?” I asked in the tone of one ready to discount +any possible explanation he might have to make.</p> +<p>“It’s obvious,” he returned. “There can +be only one. They were expecting us.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean that Miss Banks was deliberately lying to us +all the time?” I challenged him with some heat.</p> +<p>“Why that?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Well, if she were expecting us…”</p> +<p>“Which she never denied.”</p> +<p>“And had warned all her people…”</p> +<p>“As she had a perfect right to do.”</p> +<p>“It makes her out a liar, in effect,” I protested. +“I mean, she implied, if she didn’t actually state, +that she knew nothing whatever of your sister’s +movements.”</p> +<p>“Which may have been true,” he remarked in the +complacent tone of one who waits to formulate an unimpeachable +theory.</p> +<p>“Good Lord! How?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Brenda may have been expected and not have +arrived,” he explained, condescending, at last, to point out +all the obvious inferences I had missed. “In which case, my +friend, Miss Banks’s <em>suppressio veri</em> was, in my +judgment, quite venial. Indeed, she was, if the facts are, as I +suppose, perfectly honest in her surprise. Let us assume that she +had arranged to let Brenda in, at say twelve-thirty, and having her +father and mother under her thumb, had warned them to take no +notice if Racquet started his cursed shindy in the middle of the +night. The servant may have been told that Mr. Arthur might be +coming. You will notice, also, that Miss Banks had not, at +one-thirty, gone to bed, although we may infer that she had +undressed. Furthermore, it is a fair assumption that she saw us +coming, and having, by then given up, it may be, any hope of seeing +Brenda, she was, no doubt, considerably at a loss to account for +our presence. Now, does that or does it not cover the facts, and +does it acquit Miss Banks of the charge of perjury?”</p> +<p>I was forced, something reluctantly, to concede an element of +probability in his inferences, although his argument following the +legal tradition was based on a kind of average law of human motive +and took no account of personal peculiarities. He did not try to +consider what Anne would do in certain circumstances, but what +would be done by that vaguely-conceived hermaphrodite who figures +in the Law Courts and elsewhere as “Anyone.” I could +hear Jervaise saying, “I ask you, gentlemen, what would you +have done, what would Anyone have done in such a case as +this?”</p> +<p>“Hm!” I commented, and added, “It still makes +Miss Banks appear rather—double-faced.”</p> +<p>“Can’t see it,” Jervaise replied. “Put +yourself in her place and see how it works!”</p> +<p>“Oh! Lord!” I murmured, struck by the grotesque idea +of Jervaise attempting to see life through the eyes of Anne. +Imagine a rhinoceros thinking itself into the experiences of a +skylark!</p> +<p>Jervaise bored ahead, taking no notice of my interruption. +“Assuming for the moment the general probability of my +theory,” he said, “mayn’t we hazard the further +assumption that Brenda was going to the farm in the first instance +to meet Banks? His sister, we will suppose, being willing to +sanction such a more or less chaperoned assignation. Then, when the +pair didn’t turn up, she guesses that the meeting is off for +some reason or another, but obviously her friendship for +Brenda—to say nothing of loyalty to her brother—would +make her conceal the fact of the proposed assignation from us. +Would you call that being ‘double-faced’? I +shouldn’t.”</p> +<p>“Oh! yes; it’s all very reasonable,” I agreed +petulantly. “But how does it affect the immediate situation? +Do you, for instance, expect to find your sister at home when we +get back?”</p> +<p>“I do,” assented Jervaise definitely. “I +believe that Miss Banks had some good reason for being so sure that +we should find her there.”</p> +<p>I am not really pig-headed. I may not give way gracefully to +such an opponent as Jervaise, but I do not stupidly persist in a +personal opinion through sheer obstinacy. And up to +Jervaise’s last statement, his general deductions were, I +admitted to myself, not only within the bounds of probability but, +also, within distance of affording a tolerable explanation of +Anne’s diplomacy during our interview. But—and I +secretly congratulated myself on having exercised a subtler +intuition in this one particular, at least—I did not believe +that Anne expected us to find Brenda at the Hall on our return. I +remembered that anxious pucker of the brow and the pathetic +insistence on the belief—or might it not better be described +as a hope?—that Brenda had done nothing final.</p> +<p>“You haven’t made a bad case,” I conceded; +“but I differ as to your last inference.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think we shall find Brenda at +home?”</p> +<p>“I do not,” I replied aggressively.</p> +<p>I expected him to bear me down under a new weight of argument +founded on the psychology of Anyone, and I was startled when he +suddenly dropped the lawyer and let out a whole-hearted +“Damnation,” that had a ring of fine sincerity.</p> +<p>I changed my tone instantly in response to that agreeably human +note.</p> +<p>“I may be quite mistaken, of course,” I said. +“I hope to goodness I am. By the way, do you know if she has +taken any luggage with her?”</p> +<p>“Can’t be sure,” Jervaise said. +“Olive’s been looking and there doesn’t seem to +be anything missing, but we’ve no idea what things she +brought down from town with her. If she’d been making plans +beforehand…”</p> +<p>We came out of the wood at that point in our discussion, and +almost at the same moment the last barrier of cloud slipped away +from before the moon. She was in her second quarter, and seemed to +be indolently rolling down towards the horizon, the whole pose of +the scene giving her the effect of being half-recumbent.</p> +<p>I turned and looked at Jervaise and found him facing me with the +full light of the moon on his face. He was frowning, not with the +domineering scowl of the cross-examining counsel, but with a +perplexed, inquiring frown that revealed all the boy in him.</p> +<p>Once at Oakstone he had got into a serious scrape that had begun +in bravado and ended by a public thrashing. He had poached a trout +from the waters of a neighbouring landowner, who had welcomed the +opportunity to make himself more than usually objectionable. And on +the morning before his thrashing, Jervaise had come into my study +and confessed to me that he was dreading the coming ordeal. He was +not afraid of the physical pain, he told me, but of the shame of +the thing. We were near to becoming friends that morning. He +confessed to no one but me. But when the affair was over—he +bore himself very well—he resumed his usual airs of +superiority, and snubbed me when I attempted to sympathise with +him.</p> +<p>And I saw, now, just the same boyish dread and perplexity that I +had seen when he made his confession to me at Oakstone. He looked +to me, indeed, absurdly unchanged by the sixteen years that had +separated the two experiences.</p> +<p>“You know, Melhuish,” he said; “I’m not +altogether blaming Brenda in one way.”</p> +<p>“Do you think she’s really in love with +Banks?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” he said. “How can any +one know? But it has been going on a long time—weeks, anyhow. +They were all getting nervous about it at home. The mater told me +when I came down this afternoon. She wanted me to talk to B. about +it. I was going to. She doesn’t take any notice of Olive. +Never has.” He stopped and looked at me with an appeal in his +face that begged contradiction.</p> +<p>We were standing still in the moonlight at the edge of the wood +and the accident of our position made me wonder if Jervaise’s +soul also hesitated between some gloomy prison of conventional +success and the freedom of beautiful desires. I could find no +words, however, to press that speculation and instead I attempted, +rather nervously, to point the way towards what I regarded as the +natural solution of the immediate problem. “Come,” I +said, “the idea of a marriage between Banks and your sister +doesn’t appear so unreasonable. The Bankses are evidently +good old yeoman stock on the father’s side. It is a mere +accident of luck that you should be the owners of the land and not +they.”</p> +<p>“Theoretically, yes!” he said with a hint of +impatience. “But we’ve got to consider the +opinions—prejudices, if you like—of all my +people—to say nothing of the neighbours.”</p> +<p>“Oh! put the neighbours first,” I exclaimed. +“It’s what we think other people will think that counts +with most of us.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t,” Jervaise returned gloomily. +“You don’t understand what the idea of family means to +people like my father and mother. They’ve been brought up in +it. It has more influence with them than religion. They’d +prefer any scandal to a mésalliance.”</p> +<p>“In your sister’s case?” I put in, a trifle +shocked by the idea of the scandal, and then discovered that he had +not been thinking of Brenda.</p> +<p>“Perhaps not in that case,” he said, +“but…” he paused noticeably before adding, +“The principle remains the same.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it chiefly a matter of courage?” I +asked. “It isn’t as if … the mésalliance +were in any way disgraceful.”</p> +<p>I can’t absolve myself from the charge of hypocrisy in the +making of that speech. I was thinking of Jervaise and Anne, and I +did not for one moment believe that Anne would ever marry him. My +purpose was, I think, well-intentioned. I honestly believed that it +would be good for him to fall in love with Anne and challenge the +world of his people’s opinion for her sake. But I blame +myself, now, for a quite detestable lack of sincerity in pushing +him on. I should not have done it if I had thought he had a real +chance with her. Life is very difficult; especially for the +well-intentioned.</p> +<p>Jervaise shrugged his shoulders. “It’s all so +infernally complicated by this affair of Brenda’s,” he +said.</p> +<p>Yet it has seemed simple enough to him, I reflected, an hour +before. “Kick <em>him</em> and bring <em>her</em> +home,” had been his ready solution of the difficulties he +thought were before us. Evidently Anne’s behaviour during our +talk at the farm had had a considerable effect upon his opinions. +That, and the moon. I feel strongly inclined to include the +moon—lazily declining now towards the ambush of a +tumulus-shaped hill, crowned, as is the manner of that country, +with a pert little top-knot of trees.</p> +<p>“Complicated or simplified?” I suggested.</p> +<p>“Complicated; damnably complicated,” he replied +irritably. “Brenda’s a little fool. It isn’t as +if she were in earnest.”</p> +<p>“Then you don’t honestly believe that she’s in +love with Banks?” I asked, remembering his “I +don’t know. How can any one know,” of a few minutes +earlier.</p> +<p>“She’s so utterly unreliable—in every +way,” he equivocated. “She always has been. She +isn’t the least like the rest of us.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you count yourself as another +exception?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Not in that way, Brenda’s way,” he said. +“She’s scatter-brained; you can’t get round that. +Going off after the dance in that idiotic way. It’s +maddening.”</p> +<p>“Well, there are two questions that must be resolved +before we can get any further,” I commented. “The first +is whether your sister has gone back—she may have been safe +in bed for the last hour and a half for all we know. And the second +is whether she is honestly in love with Banks. From what I’ve +heard of him, I should think it’s very likely,” I added +thoughtfully.</p> +<p>Jervaise had his hands in his pockets and was staring up at the +moon. “He’s not a bad chap in some ways,” he +remarked, “but there’s no getting over the fact that +he’s our chauffeur.”</p> +<p>I saw that. No badge could be quite so disgraceful in the eyes +of the Jervaises as the badge of servitude. Our talk there, by the +wood, had begun to create around us all the limitations of +man’s world. I was forgetting that we were moving in the free +spaces of a planetary republic. And then I looked up and saw the +leaning moon, whimsically balanced on the very crown of the topknot +that gave a touch of impudence to the pudding-basin hill.</p> +<p>“What’s the name of that hill?” I asked.</p> +<p>He looked at it absently for a moment before he said, “The +people about here call it ‘Jervaise Clump.’ It’s +a landmark for miles.”</p> +<p>There was no getting away from it. The Jervaises had conquered +all this land and labelled it. I watched the sharp edge of the +tree-clump slowly indenting the rounded back of the moon; and it +seemed to me that Jervaise-Clump was the solid permanent thing; the +moon a mere incident of the night.</p> +<p>“Oh! Lord! Lord! What bosh it all is!” I +exclaimed.</p> +<p>“All what?” Jervaise asked sharply.</p> +<p>“This business of distinctions; of masters and servants; +of families in possession and families in dependence,” I +enunciated.</p> +<p>“It isn’t such dangerous bosh as socialism,” +Jervaise replied.</p> +<p>“I wasn’t thinking of socialism,” I said; +“I was thinking of interplanetary space.”</p> +<p>Jervaise blew contemptuously. “Don’t talk +rot,” he said, and I realised that we were back again on the +old footing of our normal relations. Nevertheless I made one more +effort.</p> +<p>“It isn’t rot,” I said. “If it is, then +every impulse towards beauty and freedom is rot, too.” (I +could not have said that to Jervaise in a house, but I drew +confidence from the last tip of the moon beckoning farewell above +the curve of the hill.) “Your, whatever it is you feel for +Miss Banks—things like that … all our little efforts +to get away from these awful, clogging human rules.”</p> +<p>I had given him his opportunity and he took it. He was +absolutely ruthless. “No one but a fool tries to be +superhuman,” he said. “Come on!”</p> +<p>He had turned and was walking back in the direction of the Hall, +and I followed him, humiliated and angry.</p> +<p>It was so impossible for me at that moment to avoid the +suspicion that he had led me on by his appealing confidences solely +in order to score off me when I responded. It is not, indeed, +surprising that that should be my reaction while the hurt of his +sneer still smarted. For he had pricked me on a tender spot. I +realised the weakness of what I had said; and it was a +characteristic weakness. I had been absurdly unpractical, as usual, +aiming like a fool, as Jervaise had said, at some +“superhuman” ideal of freedom that perhaps existed +solely in my own imagination; and would certainly be regarded by +Mr. and Mrs. Jervaise and their circle of county friends as the +vapourings of a weak mind. In short, Jervaise had made me aware of +my own ineptitude, and it took me a full ten minutes before I could +feel anything but resentment.</p> +<p>We had passed back through the kitchen garden with its gouty +espaliers, and come into the pleasance before I forgave him. +According to his habit, he made no apology for his rudeness, but +his explicit renewal of confidence in me more nearly approached an +overt expression of desire for my friendship than anything I had +ever known him to show hitherto.</p> +<p>“Look here, Melhuish,” he said, stopping suddenly in +the darkness of the garden. I could not “look” with +much effect, but I replied, a trifle sulkily, “Well? +What?”</p> +<p>“If she hasn’t come back…” he said.</p> +<p>“I don’t see that we can do anything more till +to-morrow,” I replied.</p> +<p>“No use trying to find her, of course,” he agreed, +irritably, “but we’d better talk things over with the +governor.”</p> +<p>“If I can be of any help…” I remarked +elliptically.</p> +<p>“You won’t be if you start that transcendental +rot,” he returned, as if he already regretted his +condescension.</p> +<p>“What sort of rot do you want me to talk?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“Common sense,” he said.</p> +<p>I resisted the desire to say that I was glad he acknowledged the +Jervaise version of common sense to be one kind of rot.</p> +<p>“All serene,” I agreed.</p> +<p>He did not thank me.</p> +<p>And when I looked back on the happenings of the two hours that +had elapsed since Jervaise had fetched me out of the improvised +buffet, I was still greatly puzzled to account for his marked +choice of me as a confidant. It was a choice that seemed to signify +some weakness in him. I wondered if he had been afraid to trust +himself alone with Anne at the Farm; if he were now suffering some +kind of trepidation at the thought of the coming interview with his +father? I found it so impossible to associate any idea of weakness +with that bullying mask which was the outward expression of Frank +Jervaise.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_IV" id="Ch_IV"></a>IV</h3> +<h2>In the Hall</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>We found the family awaiting us in the Hall—Mr. and Mrs. +Jervaise, Olive, and “Ronnie” Turnbull, whose desire to +become one of the family by marrying its younger daughter was +recognised and approved by every one except the young lady herself. +Ronnie had evidently been received into the fullest confidence.</p> +<p>We had come in by the back door and made our way through the +rather arid cleanliness of the houses’ administrative +departments, flavoured with a smell that combined more notably the +odours of cooking and plate-polish. The transition as we emerged +through the red baize door under the majestic panoply of the +staircase, was quite startling. It was like passing from the +desolate sanitation of a well-kept workhouse straight into the +lighted auditorium of a theatre. That contrast dramatised, for me, +the Jervaises’ tremendous ideal of the barrier between owner +and servant; but it had, also, another effect which may have been +due to the fact that it was, now, three o’clock in the +morning.</p> +<p>For just at the moment of our transition I had the queerest +sense not only of having passed at some previous time through a +precisely similar experience, but, also, of taking part in a +ridiculous dream. At that instant Jervaise Hall, its owners, +dependants and friends, had the air of being not realities but +symbols pushed up into my thought by some prank of the fantastic +psyche who dwells in the subconscious. I should not have been +surprised at any incongruity in the brief passing of that +illusion.</p> +<p>The sensation flashed up and vanished; but it left me with the +excited feeling of one who has had a vision of something +transcendental, something more vivid and real than the common +experiences of life—just such a feeling as I have had about +some perfectly absurd dream of the night.</p> +<hr /> +<p>Mr. Jervaise was a man of nearly sixty, I suppose, with a +clean-shaven face, a longish nose, and rather loose cheeks which +fell, nevertheless, into firm folds and gave him a look of weak +determination. I should have liked to model his face in clay; his +lines were of the kind that give the amateur a splendid chance in +modelling.</p> +<p>Mrs. Jervaise was taller and thinner than her husband, but lost +something by always carrying her head with a slight droop as if she +were for ever passing through a low doorway. Her features were +sharper than his—she had a high hawk nose and a thin line of +a mouth—but either they were carelessly arranged or their +relative proportions were bad, for I never felt the least desire to +model her. Jervaise’s face came out as a presentable whole, +my memory of his wife delivers the hawk nose as the one salient +object of what is otherwise a mere jumble.</p> +<p>Old Jervaise certainly looked the more aristocratic of the pair, +but Mrs. Jervaise was a woman of good family. She had been a Miss +Norman before her marriage—one of the Shropshire Normans.</p> +<hr /> +<p>The four people in the Hall looked as if they had reached the +stage of being dreadfully bored with each other when we arrived. +They did not hear us immediately, and as my momentary dream +dissolved I had an impression of them all as being on the verge of +a heartrending yawn. They perked up instantly, however, when they +saw us, turning towards us with a movement that looked concerted +and was in itself a question.</p> +<p>Frank Jervaise, striding on ahead of me, answered at once, with +a gloomy shake of his head.</p> +<p>“Isn’t she there?” his mother asked. And +“Hasn’t she been there at all?” she persisted +when Frank returned a morose negative.</p> +<p>“Who did you see?” put in young Turnbull.</p> +<p>“Miss Banks,” Frank said.</p> +<p>“You are quite sure that Brenda hadn’t been +there?” Olive Jervaise added by way of rounding up and +completing the inquiry.</p> +<p>It was then Frank’s turn to begin an unnecessary +interrogation by saying “She isn’t here, then?” +He must have known that she was not, by their solicitude; but if he +had not put that superfluous question, I believe I should; though I +might not have added as he did, “You’re absolutely +certain?”</p> +<p>Young Turnbull then exploded that phase of the situation by +remarking, “I suppose you know that the car’s +gone?”</p> +<p>Frank was manifestly shocked by that news.</p> +<p>“Good Lord! no, I didn’t. How do you know?” he +said.</p> +<p>“I left my own car in the ditch, just outside the +Park,” Ronnie explained. “Don’t know in the least +how it happened. Suppose I was thinking of something else. Anyway, +I’ve fairly piled her up, I’m afraid. I was coming back +from the vicarage, you know. And then, of course, I walked up here, +and Mr. Jervaise was good enough to offer me your car to get home +in; and when we went out to the garage, it had gone.”</p> +<p>“But was it there when you went to get your own +car?” Frank asked.</p> +<p>“I’m bothered if I know,” Ronnie confessed. +“I’ve been trying hard to remember.”</p> +<p>Mr. Jervaise sighed heavily and took a little stroll across to +the other side of the Hall. He seemed to me to be more perturbed +and unhappy than any of the others.</p> +<p>Frank stood in a good central position and scowled enormously, +while his mother, his sister, and Ronnie waited anxiously for the +important decision that he was apparently about to deliver. And +they still looked to him to find some expedient when his impending +judgment had taken form in the obvious pronouncement, “Looks +as if they’d gone off together, somewhere.”</p> +<p>“It’s very dreadful,” Mrs. Jervaise said; and +then Olive slightly lifted the awful flatness of the dialogue by +saying,—</p> +<p>“We ought to have guessed. It’s absurd that we let +the thing go on.”</p> +<p>“One couldn’t be sure,” her mother +protested.</p> +<p>“If you’re going to wait till you’re sure, of +course…” Frank remarked brutally, with a shrug of his +eyebrows that effectively completed his sentence.</p> +<p>“It was so impossible to believe that she would do a thing +like that,” his mother complained.</p> +<p>“Point is, what’s to be done now,” Ronnie +said. “By gad, if I catch that chap, I’ll wring his +neck.”</p> +<p>Mr. Jervaise, who was taking a lonely promenade up and down the +far side of the Hall, looked up more hopefully at this threat.</p> +<p>“Oh! we can <em>catch</em> him,” Frank commented. +“He has stolen the car, for one thing…” his +inflection implied that catching Banks might be only the beginning +of the trouble.</p> +<p>“Well, once we’ve got him,” returned Ronnie +hopefully.</p> +<p>“Don’t be an ass,” Frank snubbed him. +“We can’t advertise it all over the county that he has +gone off with Brenda.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see…” Ronnie began, but Mrs. +Jervaise interrupted him.</p> +<p>“It was so unfortunate that the Atkinsons should have been +here,” she remarked.</p> +<p>“Every one will know, in any case,” Olive added.</p> +<p>Those avowals of their real and altogether desperate cause for +distress raised the emotional tone of the two Jervaise women, and +for the first time since I had come into the Hall, they looked at +me with a hint of suspicion. They made me feel that I was an +outsider, who might very well take this opportunity to +withdraw.</p> +<p>I was on the point of accepting the hint when Frank Jervaise +dragged me into the conclave.</p> +<p>“What do you think, Melhuish?” he asked, and then +they all turned to me as if I might be able in some miraculous way +to save the situation. Even old Jervaise paused in his melancholy +pacing and waited for my answer.</p> +<p>“There is so little real evidence, at present,” I +said, feeling their need for some loophole and searching my mind to +discover one for them.</p> +<p>“It really does seem almost impossible that Brenda should +have—run away with that man,” Mrs. Jervaise pleaded +with the beginning of a gesture that produced the effect of wanting +to wring her hands.</p> +<p>“She’s under age, too,” Frank put in.</p> +<p>“Does that mean they can’t get married?” asked +Ronnie.</p> +<p>“Not legally,” Frank said.</p> +<p>“It’s such madness, such utter madness,” his +mother broke out in a tone between lament and denunciation. But she +pulled herself up immediately and came back to my recent +contribution as presenting the one possible straw that still +floated in this drowning world. “But, as Mr. Melhuish +says,” she went on with a little gasp of annoyance, “we +really have very little evidence, as yet.”</p> +<p>“It has occurred to me to wonder,” I tried, +“whether Miss Jervaise might not have been moved by a sudden +desire to drive the car by moonlight…” I was going on +to defend my suggestion by pleading that such an impulse would, so +far as I could judge, be quite in character, but no further +argument was needed. I had created a sensation. My feeble straw had +suddenly taken the form of a practicable seaworthy raft, big enough +to accommodate all the family—with the one exception of +Frank, who, as it were, grasped the edge of this life-saving +apparatus of mine, and tested it suspiciously. His preliminary and +perfectly futile opening to the effect that the moon had already +set, was, however, smothered in the general acclamation.</p> +<p>“Oh! of <em>course</em>! So she may!” Mrs. Jervaise +exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Well, we might have thought of that, certainly,” +Olive echoed. “It would be so <em>like</em> +Brenda.”</p> +<p>While Ronnie hopefully murmured “That <em>is</em> +possible, quite possible,” as a kind of running +accompaniment.</p> +<p>Then Mr. Jervaise began to draw in to the family group, with +what seemed to me quite an absurd air of meaning to find a place on +the raft of the big rug by the fireplace. Indeed, they had all +moved a little closer together. Only Frank maintained his +depressing air of doubt.</p> +<p>“Been an infernally long time,” he said. +“What’s it now? Half-past three?”</p> +<p>“She may have had an accident,” Olive suggested +cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Or gone a lot farther than she originally meant +to,” Ronnie substituted; the suggestion of an accident to +Brenda obviously appearing less desirable to him than it apparently +did to Brenda’s sister.</p> +<p>“It seems to me,” Mr. Jervaise said, taking the lead +for the first time, “that there may very well be half a dozen +reasons for her not having returned; but I can’t think of one +that provides the semblance of an excuse for her going in the first +instance. Brenda must be—severely reprimanded. It’s +intolerable that she should be allowed to go on like +this.”</p> +<p>“She has always been spoilt,” Olive said in what I +thought was a slightly vindictive aside.</p> +<p>“She’s so impossibly headstrong,” deplored +Mrs. Jervaise.</p> +<p>Her husband shook his head impatiently. “There is a limit +to this kind of thing,” he said. “She must be made to +understand—<em>I</em> will make her understand that we draw +the line at midnight adventures of this kind.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Jervaise and Olive agreed warmly with that decision, and +the three of them drew a little apart, discussing, I inferred, the +means that were to be adopted for the limiting of the runaway, when +she returned. But I was puzzled to know whether they were finally +convinced of the truth of the theory they had so readily adopted. +Were they deceiving, or trying very hard, indeed, to deceive +themselves into the belief that the whole affair was nothing but a +prank of Brenda’s? I saw that my casual suggestion had a +general air of likelihood, but if I had been in their place, I +should have demanded evidence before I drew much consolation from +so unsupported a conclusion.</p> +<p>I joined young Turnbull.</p> +<p>“Good idea of yours, Melhuish,” Ronnie said.</p> +<p>Frank grunted.</p> +<p>“I’ve no sort of grounds for it, you know,” I +explained. “It was only a casual suggestion.”</p> +<p>“Jolly convincing one, though,” Turnbull +congratulated me. “So exactly the sort of thing she would do, +isn’t it, Frank?”</p> +<p>“Shouldn’t have thought she’d have been gone +so long,” Jervaise replied. He looked at me as he continued, +“And how does it fit with that notion of ours about Miss +Banks having expected her?”</p> +<p>“That was only a guess,” I argued.</p> +<p>“Better evidence for it than you had for your +guess,” he returned, and we drifted into an indeterminate +wrangle, each of us defending his own theory rather because he had +had the glory of originating it than because either of us had, I +think, the least faith in our explanations.</p> +<p>It was Ronnie who, picking up the thread of our deductions from +the Home Farm interview in the course of our discussion, sought to +reconcile us and our theories.</p> +<p>“She might have meant to go up to the Farm,” he +suggested, “and changed her mind when she got outside. +Nothing very unlikely in that.”</p> +<p>“But why the devil should she have made an appointment at +the Home Farm in the first instance?” Frank replied with some +cogency.</p> +<p>“If she ever did,” I put in unwisely, thereby +provoking a repetition of the evidence afforded by Miss +Banks’s behaviour, particularly the damning fact that she, +alone, had responded to Racquet’s demand for our instant +annihilation.</p> +<p>And while we went on with our pointless arguments and the other +little group of three continued to lay plans for the re-education +of Brenda, the depression of a deeper and deeper ennui weighed upon +us all. The truth is, I think, that we were all waiting for the +possibility of the runaway’s return, listening for the sound +of the car, and growing momentarily more uneasy as no sound came. +No doubt the Jervaises were all very sleepy and peevish, and the +necessity of restraining themselves before Turnbull and myself +added still another to their many sources of irritation.</p> +<p>I put the Jervaises apart in this connection, because Ronnie was +certainly very wide awake and I had no inclination whatever to +sleep. My one longing was to get back, alone, into the night. I was +fretting with the fear that the dawn would have broken before I +could get away. I had made up my mind to watch the sunrise from +“Jervaise Clump.”</p> +<p>It was Mrs. Jervaise who started the break-up of the party. She +was attacked by a craving to yawn that gradually became +irresistible. I saw the incipient symptoms of the attack and +watched her with a sympathetic fascination, as she clenched her +jaw, put her hand up to her lips, and made little impatient +movements of her head and body. I knew that it must come at last, +and it did, catching her unawares in the middle of a +sentence—undertaken, I fancy, solely as a defence against the +insidious craving that was obsessing her.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear!” she said, with a mincing, apologetic +gesture of her head; and then “Dear me!” Having +committed the solecism, she found it necessary to draw attention to +it. She may have been a Shropshire Norman, but at that relaxed hour +of the night, she displayed all the signs of the orthodox genteel +attitude.</p> +<p>“I don’t know when I’ve been so tired,” +she apologised.</p> +<p>But, indeed, she did owe us an apology for her yawning fit +affected us all like a virulent epidemic. In a moment we were every +one of us trying to stifle the same desire, and each in our own way +being overcome. I must do Frank the justice to say that he, at +least, displayed no sign of gentility.</p> +<p>“Oh! Lord, mater, you’ve started us now,” he +said, and gave away almost sensuously to his impulses, stretching +and gaping in a way that positively racked us with the longing to +imitate him.</p> +<p>“Really, my dear, no necessity for you,” began Mr. +Jervaise, yawned more or less politely behind a very white, +well-kept hand, and concluded, “no necessity for you or Olive +to stay up; none whatever. We cannot, in any case, <em>do</em> +anything until the morning.”</p> +<p>“Even if she comes in, now,” supplemented Olive.</p> +<p>“As I’m almost sure she will,” affirmed Mrs. +Jervaise.</p> +<p>And she must have put something of genuine confidence into her +statement, for automatically we all stopped talking for a few +seconds and listened again with the ears of faith for the return of +the car.</p> +<p>“But as I said,” Olive began again, abruptly ending +the unhopeful suspense of our pause, “there’s nothing +more we can do by sitting up. And there’s certainly no need +for you to overtire yourself, mother.”</p> +<p>“No, really not,” urged Ronnie politely, “nor +for you, either, sir,” he added, addressing his host. +“What I mean is, Frank and I’ll do all that.”</p> +<p>“Rather, let’s get a drink,” Frank agreed.</p> +<p>We wanted passionately to get away from each other and indulge +ourselves privately in a very orgie of gapes and stretchings. And +yet, we stuck there, idiotically, making excuses and little polite +recommendations for the others to retire, until Frank with a +drastic quality of determination that he sometimes showed, took +command.</p> +<p>“Go on, mater,” he said; “you go to +bed.” And he went up to her, kissed her in the mechanical way +of most grown-up sons, and gently urged her in the direction of the +stairs. She submitted, still with faint protestations of +apology.</p> +<p>Olive followed, and with a last feint of hospitality, her father +brought up the tail of the procession.</p> +<p>“Coming for a drink?” Frank asked me with a jerk of +his head towards the extemporised buffet.</p> +<p>“Well, no, thanks. I think not,” I said, seeking the +relief afforded by the women’s absence; although, now, that I +could indulge my desire without restraint, the longing to gape had +surprisingly vanished.</p> +<p>“Going to bed?” Jervaise suggested.</p> +<p>“Yes. Bed’s the best place, just now,” I +lied.</p> +<p>“Right oh! Good-night, old chap,” Ronnie said +effusively.</p> +<p>I pretended to be going upstairs and they did not wait for me to +disappear. As soon as they had left the Hall, I sneaked down again, +recovered from the cloak-room the light overcoat I had worn on our +expedition to the Farm—I have no idea to whom that overcoat +belonged—borrowed a cap, and let myself out stealthily by the +front door.</p> +<p>As I quietly shut the door behind me, a delicious whiff of +night-stock drifted by me, as if it had waited there for all those +long hours seeking entrance to the stale, dry air of the Hall.</p> +<hr /> +<p>And it must have been, I think, that scent of night-stock which +gave me the sense of a completed episode, or first act, as I stood +alone, at last, on the gravel sweep before the Hall. Already the +darkness was lifting. The dawn was coming high up in the sky, a +sign of fair weather.</p> +<p>I have always had a sure sense of direction, and I turned +instinctively towards the landmark of my promised destination, +although it was invisible from that side of the Hall—screened +by the avenue of tall forest trees, chiefly elms, that led up from +the principal entrance to the Park. I had noticed one side road +leading into this avenue as I had driven up from the station the +previous afternoon, and I sought that turning now, with a feeling +of certainty that it would take me in the right direction. As, +indeed, it did; for it actually skirted the base of “Jervaise +Clump,” which touched the extreme edge of the Park on that +side.</p> +<p>As I cautiously felt my way down the avenue—it was still +black dark under the dark trees—and later up the tunnel of +the side road which I hit upon by an instinct that made me feel for +it at the precise moment when I reached the point of its junction +with the avenue—I returned with a sense of satisfaction to +the memory of the last four hours. I was conscious of some kind of +plan in the way the comedy of Brenda’s disappearance had been +put before us. I realised that, as an art form, the plan was +essentially undramatic, but the thought of it gave me, +nevertheless, a distinct feeling of pleasure.</p> +<p>I saw the experience as a prelude to this lonely adventure of +mine—a prelude full of movement and contrast; but I had no +premonition of any equally diverting sequel.</p> +<p>The daylight was coming, and I believed, a trifle regretfully, +that that great solvent of all mysteries would display these +emotions of the night as the phantasmagoria of our imagination.</p> +<p>Before I had reached the end of the tunnel through the wood and +had come out into the open whence I could, now, see the loom of +Jervaise Clump swelling up before me in the deep, gray gloom of +early dawn, I had decided that my suggestion had been prompted by +an intuition of truth. Brenda had fallen under the spell of the +moon, and gone for a long drive in the motor. She had taken Banks +with her, obviously; but that action need not be presumed to have +any romantic significance. And the Jervaises had accepted that +solution. They had been more convinced of its truth than I had +imagined. They would never have gone to bed, tired as they were, if +they had not been satisfied that Brenda had committed no other +indiscretion than that of indulging herself in the freak of a +moonlight drive. It had, certainly, been unduly prolonged; but, as +old Jervaise had said, there might be half a dozen reasons to +account for that.</p> +<p>As I turned off the road and breasted the lower slopes of the +hill, I was constructing the details of the Jervaises’ +explanatory visit to the Atkinsons. I had reached the point of +making Mrs. Jervaise repeat the statement she had made in the Hall +that “dear Brenda was so impossibly headstrong,” when I +heard the sweet, true notes of some one ahead of me, whistling, +almost miraculously, in tune.</p> +<p>It isn’t one man in a million who can whistle absolutely +true.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_V" id="Ch_V"></a>V</h3> +<h2>Daybreak</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>He was whistling Schubert’s setting of “Who is +Sylvia?” and as I climbed slowly and as silently as I could +towards him, I fitted the music to the words of the second +verse:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Is she kind as she is fair?</p> +<p>For beauty lives with kindness.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Only a man in love, I thought, could be whistling that air with +such attention and accuracy. He hit that unusual interval—is +it an augmented seventh?—with a delicacy that was quite +thrilling.</p> +<p>He had the world to himself, as yet. The birds of the morning +had not begun their orisons, while the birds of the night, the owls +and the corncrakes had, happily, retired before the promise of that +weakening darkness which seemed nevertheless to have reached a +moment of suspense—indeed, I fancied that it was darker, now, +than when I had come out of the Hall a quarter of an hour +before.</p> +<p>The whistler had stopped before I reached the crest of the hill, +and after trying vainly to locate his whereabouts in the gloom, I +leaned up against one of the outermost trunks of the perky little +clump of trees, and facing East awaited developments. A thin, cold +wind had sprung up, and was quietly stirring the leaves above me to +an uneasy sibilance. I heard, now, too, an occasional sleepy +twitter as if a few members of the orchestra had come into their +places and were indolently testing the tune of their pipes. It came +into my mind that the cold stir of air was the spirit of the dying +night, fleeing westward before the sun. Also, I found myself +wondering what would be the effect on us all if one morning we +waited in vain for the sunrise? I tried to picture my own emotions +as the truth was slowly borne in upon me that some unprecedented +calamity had silently and without any premonition befallen the +whole world of men. Would one crouch in a terror of apprehension? I +could not see it that way. I believed that I should be trembling +with a furious excitement, stirred to the very depths by so +inspiring and adventurous a miracle. I had forsaken my speculation +and was indulging in the philosophical reflection that a real and +quite unaccountable miracle, the more universal the better, would +be the most splendid justification of life I could possibly +conceive, when the whistler began again, only a few yards away from +me.</p> +<p>I could just see him now, sitting propped against the trunk of +another tree, but I waited until he had finished what I chose to +believe was the third verse of his lyric before I hailed him. It +came to me that I might test his quality by continuing the play in +proper form, so when he paused, I went on with the speech of the +“host” which immediately follows the song in “The +Two Gentlemen of Verona.”</p> +<p>“How now?” I said. “Are you sadder than you +were before?”</p> +<p>He did not move, not even to turn his head towards me, and I +inferred that he was aware of my presence before I spoke.</p> +<p>“You, one of the search party?” he asked.</p> +<p>I went over and sat down by him. I felt that the situation was +sufficiently fantastic to permit of free speech. I did not know who +he was and I did not care. I only knew that I wanted to deliver +myself of the dreams my lack of sleep had robbed from me.</p> +<p>“The only one,” I said, “unless you also +belong to the very small and select party of searchers.”</p> +<p>I fancy that he turned his head a little towards me, but I kept +my gaze fixed on the indigo masses of the obscure prospect before +us.</p> +<p>“Who are you looking for?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Not so much who as what,” I said. “And even +then it isn’t so easy to define. I’ve heard men call it +beauty and mystery, and things like that; but just now it seemed to +me that what I wanted most was a universal miracle—some +really inexplicable happening that would upset every law the +physicists have ever stated. I was thinking, for instance, how +thrilling it would be if the sun did not rise this morning. One +would know, then, that all our scientific guesses at laws were just +so many baby speculations founded on nothing more substantial than +a few thousand years of experience which had, by some chance given +always more or less the same results. Like a long run on the red, +you know.”</p> +<p>“I know,” he said. “Well? Go on.”</p> +<p>I was greatly stimulated by his encouragement. Here, at last, +was the listener I had been waiting for all through the night.</p> +<p>“One gets so infernally sick of everything happening +according to fixed rules,” I continued. “And the more +you learn the nearer you are to the deadly ability of being able to +foretell the future. If we ever do reach that point in our +intellectual evolution, I only hope that I shan’t be there to +see it. Imagine the awful ennui of a world where the expected +always happened, and next year’s happenings were always +expected! And yet we go on seeking after knowledge, when we ought +surely to avoid it, as the universal kill joy.”</p> +<p>“Hm!” commented my new friend on what I felt to be a +note of doubtful agreement.</p> +<p>“You don’t agree with that?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Well, I see what you’re after, in a way,” he +acknowledged; “but it doesn’t seem to me that it +amounts to very much—practically.”</p> +<p>I was a trifle disappointed. I had not expected any insistence +on the practical from a man who could whistle Schubert and +Shakespeare to the dawn.</p> +<p>“Oh, practically! Perhaps not,” I replied with a +hint of contempt for anything so common.</p> +<p>He gave a little self-conscious laugh. “You can’t +get away from the practical in this life,” he said. +“Even in—” He seemed to bite off the beginning of +confidence with an effort. “You may dream half the +night,” he began again, with a thin assumption of making an +impersonal statement, “but before the night’s over +you’ll come up against the practical, or the practicable, or +the proper right thing, or something, that makes you see what a +fool you are. The way this world’s run, you can’t avoid +it, anyhow.”</p> +<p>I knew that what he said was true, but I found it damping. It +fitted all too well with the coming realism of day. The contours of +the landscape were slowly resigning themselves to the formal +attitudes imposed upon them by expectation. The blood of colour was +beginning to run weakly through the monochrome. The nearer slopes +of the hill and the leaves of the trees were already professing a +resolute green. Moment by moment the familiar was taking prudent +shape, preparing itself for the autocrat whose outriders were +multitudinously busy about their warnings of his approach. +Presently the scene would take on the natural beauty of our desire, +but the actual process of transformation rather depressed me that +morning. I had been so deeply in love with the night.</p> +<p>I took up my companion’s last sentence—spoken, I +fancied, with a suggestion of brooding antagonism.</p> +<p>“You think the world might be ‘run,’ at least, +more interestingly?” I put in.</p> +<p>“More sensibly,” he said in a voice that hinted a +reserve of violence. “There’s no <em>sense</em> in it, +the way we look at things. Only we don’t look at ’em, +most of us, not with any intelligence. We just take everything for +granted because we happen to be used to it, that’s +all.”</p> +<p>“But would any form of socialism…” I tried +tentatively.</p> +<p>“I don’t know that I’m a socialist,” he +returned. “I don’t belong to any union, or anything of +that kind.” He stopped and looked at me with a defiant stare +that was quite visible now. “You know who I am, I +suppose?” he challenged me.</p> +<p>“No idea,” I said.</p> +<p>“Banks, the chauffeur,” he said, as if he were +giving himself up as a well-known criminal.</p> +<p>I was not entirely unprepared for that reply, but I had no +tactful answer to make. I rejected the spontaneous impulse that +arose, as I thought quite fantastically, to say “I believe I +have met your sister;” and fell back on an orthodox +“Well?” I tried to convey the effect that I still +waited to be shocked.</p> +<p>“I suppose you’re staying up at the Hall?” he +said.</p> +<p>“For the week-end only,” I admitted.</p> +<p>“Been a pretty fuss there, I take it?” he said.</p> +<p>“Some,” I acknowledged.</p> +<p>He set his resolute-looking mouth and submitted me to +cross-examination.</p> +<p>“Been looking for me?” he began.</p> +<p>“In a way. Frank Jervaise and I went up to your +father’s house.”</p> +<p>“What time?”</p> +<p>“Between two and three.”</p> +<p>“Not since?”</p> +<p>“No; we left about half-past two.”</p> +<p>“Is she back?”</p> +<p>“Who?” I asked. I was thinking of his sister, and +could find no application for this question.</p> +<p>“Miss Jervaise.”</p> +<p>“Oh—er—Miss Brenda? No. She hadn’t come +in when I left the house.”</p> +<p>“What time was that?”</p> +<p>“About four. I came straight here.”</p> +<p>“Not back, eh?” he commented with a soft, low +whistle, that mingled, I thought, something of gladness with its +surprise.</p> +<p>“You don’t know where she is, then?” I +ventured.</p> +<p>He turned and looked at me suspiciously. “I don’t +see why I should help your friends,” he said.</p> +<p>I realised that my position was a difficult one. My sympathies +were entirely with Banks. I felt that if there was to be any +question of making allowances, I wanted to be on the side of Brenda +and the Home Farm. But, at the same time, I could not deny that I +owed something—loyalty, was it?—to the Jervaises. I +pondered that for a few seconds before I spoke again, and by then I +had found what I believed to be a tolerable attitude, though I was +to learn later that it compromised me no less than if I had frankly +thrown in my lot with the Banks faction.</p> +<p>“You are quite right,” I said. “And I would +sooner you gave me no confidences, now I come to think of it. But I +should like you to know, all the same, that I’m not taking +sides in this affair. I have no intention, for instance, of telling +them at the Hall that I’ve seen you.”</p> +<p>The daylight was flooding up from the North-West, now, in a +great stream that had flushed the whole landscape with colour; and +I could see the full significance of honest inquiry in my +companion’s face as he probed me with his stare. But I could +meet his gaze without confusion. My purpose was single enough, and +if I had had a moment’s doubt of him when he failed to +respond to my mood of fantasy; I was now fully prepared to accept +him without qualification.</p> +<p>He was not like his sister in appearance. He favoured the +paternal stock, I inferred. He was blue-eyed and fairer than Anne, +and the tan of his face was red where hers was dusky. Nevertheless, +I saw a likeness between them deeper than some family trick of +expression which, now and again, made me feel their kinship. For +Banks, too, gave me the impression of having a soul that came +something nearer the surface of life than is common in average +humanity—a look of vitality, zest, ardour—I fumbled for +a more significant superlative as I returned his stare. And yet +behind that ardour there was, in Arthur Banks, at least, a hint of +determination and shrewdness that I felt must be inherited from the +sound yeoman stock of his father.</p> +<p>Our pause of mutual investigation ended in a smile. He held out +his hand with a pleasant frankness that somehow proclaimed the +added colonial quality of him.</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” he said, “but anyway +I couldn’t give you any confidences, yet. I don’t know +myself, you see.”</p> +<p>“Are you going back to the Hall?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I don’t know that, either,” he said, and +added, “I shan’t go back as the chauffeur, +anyway.”</p> +<p>And, indeed, there was little of the chauffeur in his +appearance, just then. He was wearing a light tweed suit and brown +brogues, and his clothes sat upon him with just that touch of +familiarity, of negligence, that your professional servant’s +mufti can never accomplish.</p> +<p>There was a new air of restlessness about him since he had put +me under cross-examination. He looked round him in the broadening +day as if he were in search of something, or some one, hopefully +yet half-despairingly expected.</p> +<p>“Look here—if you’d sooner I +went…” I began.</p> +<p>He had risen to his feet after his last statement and was +looking back towards the Hall, but he faced me again when I +spoke.</p> +<p>“Oh, no!” he said with a hint of weariness.</p> +<p>“It isn’t likely that…” He broke off +and threw himself moodily down on the grass again before he +continued, “It’s not that I couldn’t trust you. +But you can see for yourself that it’s better I +shouldn’t. When you get back to the Hall, you might be asked +questions and for your own sake it’d look better if you +didn’t know the answers.”</p> +<p>“Oh, quite,” I agreed, and added, “I’ll +stay and see the sun rise.”</p> +<p>“You won’t see the sun for some time,” he +remarked. “There’ll be a lot of cloud and mist for it +to break through. It’s going to be a scorcher +to-day.”</p> +<p>“Good,” I replied; and for a few minutes we +discussed weather signs like any other conventional Englishmen. A +natural comparison led us presently to the subject of Canada. But +through it all he bore himself as a man with a preoccupation he +could not forget; and I was looking for a good opening to make an +excuse of fatigue and go back to the Hall, when something of the +thought that was intriguing him broke through the surface of his +talk.</p> +<p>“I’m going back there as soon as I can,” he +said with a sudden impatience. “There’s room to turn +round in Canada without hitting up against a notice board and +trespassing on the preserves of some landed proprietor. I’d +never have come home if it hadn’t been for the old people. +They thought chauffering for Mr. Jervaise would be a chance for me! +Anyhow my father did. He’s got the feeling of being +dependent. It’s in his bones like it is with, all of +’em—on the estate. It’s a tradition. Lord, the +old man would be horrified, if he knew! The Jervaises are a sort of +superior creation to him. We’ve been their tenants for God +knows how many hundred years. And serfs before that, I suppose. I +get the feeling myself, sometimes. It’s infectious. When you +see every one kow-towing to old Jervaise as if he were the angel +Gabriel, you begin to feel as if there must be something in +it.”</p> +<p>The full day had come, and the cold draught of air that had +preceded the sunrise came now from behind me as if the spirits of +the air had discovered that their panic-stricken flight had been a +mistake and were tentatively returning to inquire into the new +conditions. The birds were fully awake now, and there was a +tremendous gossiping and chattering going on, that made me think of +massed school-children in a railway station, twittering with the +excitement of their coming excursion. In the North-East the gray +wall of mist was losing the hardness of its edge, and behind the +cloud the sky was bleaching to an ever paler blue.</p> +<p>“And yet,” I said, as my companion paused, +“the Jervaises aren’t anything particular as a family. +They haven’t done anything, even in the usual way, to earn +ennoblement or fame.”</p> +<p>“They’ve squatted,” Banks said, +“that’s what they’ve done. Set themselves down +here in the reign of Henry II., and sat tight ever +since—grabbing commons and so on, now and again, in the usual +way, of course. The village is called after them, Thorp-Jervaise, +and the woods and the hills, and half the labourers in the +neighbourhood have got names like Jarvey and Jarvis. What I mean is +that the Jervaises mayn’t be of any account in London, or +even in the county, alongside of families like Lord +Garthorne’s; but just round here they’re the owners and +always have been since there have been any private owners. Their +word’s law. If you don’t like it, you can get out, and +that’s all there is about it.” He gazed thoughtfully in +front of him and thrust out his lower lip. “I’ve got to +get out,” he added, “unless…”</p> +<p>I hesitated to prompt him, fearing the possibly inquisitive +sound of the most indirect question, and after what I felt was a +very pregnant silence, he continued rather in the manner of one +allusively submitting a case.</p> +<p>“But you get to a point where you feel as if no +game’s worth winning if you can’t play it fair and +open.”</p> +<p>“So long as the other side play fair with you,” I +commented.</p> +<p>“They can afford to,” he returned. “They get +every bit of pull there is to have. I told you we’ve been +tenants of the Home Farm ever since there’s been a Home Farm, +but old Jervaise could turn my father out any time, at six +months’ notice. Would, too. Probably have to, for the sake of +public opinion. Well, would you call that playing fair?”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t,” I said with emphasis.</p> +<p>“Most people would,” he replied gloomily. I was +wondering what his own “pull” might be, the pull he +would not use because the use of it conflicted with his ideal of +playing the game. I was inclined, with a foolish romanticism to toy +with the notion of some old blood relationship between the families +of Jervaise and Banks—some carefully hidden scandal that +might even throw a doubt on the present owner’s right of +proprietorship. I was still rebuilding that foolish, familiar story +of the lost heir, when my new friend put an end to further +speculation by saying,—</p> +<p>“But what’s the good of thinking about +that—yet? Why, I don’t even know…”</p> +<p>I could not resist a direct question this time. +“Don’t even know what?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I was forgetting,” he said. He got to his feet +again, looked round for a moment, and then gave a yawn which seemed +to spring from a nervous rather than a muscular origin.</p> +<p>“No good my compromising you, just now,” he said +with a friendly smile. “You’ve probably guessed more, +already, than’ll be altogether convenient for you when you +see the family at breakfast. Perhaps, we’ll meet again some +day.”</p> +<p>“I’m staying here till Monday,” I said.</p> +<p>“But I don’t know if I am,” he replied with a +whimsical twist of his firm mouth. “Well, so long,” he +went on quickly. “Glad to have met you, anyway.” He +nodded with a repetition of that frank, engaging smile of his, and +turned away.</p> +<p>He did not take the road by which I had found Jervaise Clump, +but descended the hill on the opposite side; and, after he had gone +for five minutes or so, I got up and took a view of the prospect in +that direction. I had no thought of spying upon him. I just wished +to see if the Home Farm lay over there, as I guessed it must from +my memory of the general lie of the land during our moonlit return +to the Hall.</p> +<p>I was right. The farm was clearly visible from the northern +slope of the hill—an L-shaped, low, white house with a high, +red-tiled roof. It stood on another little tumulus about a mile +away, a small replica of Jervaise Clump; and the whole house was +visible above the valley wood that lay between us.</p> +<p>At first I could not decide why the effect of the place gave me +an impression of being unusual, and finally decided that this +apparent air of individuality was due to the choice of site. In +that country all the farms were built in the lower lands, crouching +under the lee of woods and hills, humbly effacing themselves before +the sovereignty of the Hall. The Home Farm alone, as far as I could +see, presented a composed and dignified face to its overlord.</p> +<p>“There is a quality about these Bankses,” I thought, +and then corrected the statement by adding, “about the +children, at least.” From what Arthur Banks had said, I +gathered that his father conformed to the faith of the estate, both +in act and spirit.</p> +<p>I stared at the Farm for a few minutes, wondering what that +French wife might be like. I found it difficult to picture the +ci-devant governess in those surroundings, and more particularly as +the mother of these two fascinating children. They, like their +home, produced an effect of being different from the common +average….</p> +<p>I became aware that the green of woods and grass had leapt to +attention, and that sprawling shadows had suddenly come into being +and were giving a new solidity to the landscape. Also, I felt a +touch of unexpected warmth on my right cheek.</p> +<p>I returned to the place where Banks and I had talked, and sat +down again facing the glorious light of the delivered sun. And +almost at once I was overcome by an intense desire to sleep. My +purpose of walking back to the Hall, undressing and going to bed +had become impossible. I stretched myself full length on the turf, +and surrendered myself, exquisitely, to the care of the +sunlight.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_VI" id="Ch_VI"></a>VI</h3> +<h2>Morning</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>I awoke suddenly to the realisation of sound. The world about me +was alive with a murmurous humming. It was as if in passing through +the silent aisles of sleep, some door had been unexpectedly thrown +open and let in the tumultuous roar of life from without—or +as if after a brief absence I had returned and with one movement +had re-established all the communications of my body.</p> +<p>All sense of tiredness had left me. I opened my eyes and saw +that the sun had leapt far up into the sky. The whole population of +Jervaise Clump was plunged into the full bustle of its daily +business. Industrious bees were methodically visiting the +buttercups; their bustling, commercial eagerness in marked contrast +to the bluebottles and flies that seemed to choose their point of +alighting with a sham intentness which did not disguise their lack +of any definite purpose. Now and again a feral, domineering wasp +would join the crowd, coming up with the air of a fussy, +inquisitive overseer.</p> +<p>I looked at my watch and found that the time was a quarter past +eight. I had been asleep for nearly three hours. I had no idea what +time the Jervaises had breakfast, but I knew that it was high time +I got back to the Hall and changed my clothes.</p> +<p>I unbuttoned my coat and looked down at my shirt front and +thought how incongruous and silly that absurd garb of evening dress +appeared in those surroundings.</p> +<p>And as I trotted back to the Hall, I found a symbol in my dress +for the drama of the night. It was, I thought, all artificial and +unreal, now that I looked back upon it in the blaze of a brilliant +August morning. Beginning with the foolishness of a dance at that +time of year—even a “tennis-dance” as they called +it—the subsequent theatrical quality of the night’s +adventure seemed to me, just then, altogether garish and fantastic. +I began to wonder how far I had dramatised and distorted the actual +events by the exercise of a romantic imagination? In the sweet +freshness of the familiar day, I found myself exceedingly inclined +to be rational. Also, I was aware of being quite unusually +hungry.</p> +<p>The front door of the Hall was standing wide open, and save for +a glimpse of the discreet John very busy in his shirt-sleeves, I +saw no one about. I was glad to reach my room unobserved. I knew +that my feeling was unreasonable, but entering that sedate house, +under the blaze of the morning sun, I was ashamed of my tawdry +dress. A sense of dissipation and revelry seemed to hang about +me—and of an uncivilised dirtiness.</p> +<p>A cold bath and a change of clothes, however, fully restored my +self-respect; and when I was summoned by the welcome sound of a +booming gong, the balance of sensation was kicking the other beam. +My sleep in the open had left me finally with a feeling of +superiority. I was inclined to despise the feeble, stuffy creatures +who had been shut up in a house all night.</p> +<p>I knew the topography of the house fairly well after my +night’s experience of it, and inferred the breakfast-room +without any difficulty. But when I reached the door I stood and +listened in considerable astonishment. Luckily, I was not tempted +to make the jaunty entrance my mood prompted. I had not seen a soul +as I had made my way from my room in the north wing down into the +Hall. The place seemed to be absolutely deserted. And, now, in the +breakfast-room an almost breathless silence was broken only by the +slow grumbling of one monotonous voice, undulating about the +limited range of a minor third, and proceeding with the steady +fluency of a lunatic’s muttering. I suppose I ought to have +guessed the reasonable origin of those sounds, but I didn’t, +not even when the muttering fell to a pause and was succeeded by a +subdued chorus, that conveyed the effect of a score of people +giving a concerted but strongly-repressed groan. After that the +first voice began again, but this time it was not allowed to mumble +unsupported. A murmured chant followed and caricatured it, +repeating as far as I could make out the same sequence of sounds. +They began “Ah! Fah! Chah! Hen….” That continued +for something like a minute before it came to a ragged close with +another groan. Then for a few seconds the original voice continued +its grumbling, and was followed by an immense quiet.</p> +<p>I stared through the open door of the Hall at the gay world of +colour outside and wondered if I was under the thrall of some queer +illusion. But as I moved towards the garden with a vague idea of +regaining my sanity in the open air, the silence in the +breakfast-room was broken by the sigh of a general movement, the +door was opened from within, and there poured out a long procession +of servants: a grave woman in black, a bevy of print-gowned maids, +and finally John—all of them looking staid and a trifle +melancholy, they made their way with a kind of hushed timidity +towards the red-baized entrance that led to the freedoms of their +proper condition.</p> +<p>Within the breakfast-room a low chatter of voices was slowly +rising to the level of ordinary conversation.</p> +<p>My entrance was anything but jaunty. This was the first +intimation I had received of the Jervaises’ piety; and my +recognition of the ceremonial of family worship to which I had so +unintuitively listened, had evoked long undisturbed memories of my +boyhood. As I entered the breakfast-room, I could not for the life +of me avoid a feeling of self-reproach. I had been naughty again. +My host, taking the place of my father, would be vexed because I +had missed prayers.</p> +<p>My reception did little to disperse my sense of shame. The air +of Sunday morning enveloped the whole party. Even Hughes and Frank +Jervaise were dressed as for a special occasion in black tail-coats +and gray trousers that boasted the rigidity of a week’s +pressing. Not only had I been guilty of cutting family prayers; I +was convicted, also of disrespect on another count. My blue serge +and bright tie were almost profane in those surroundings. The +thought of how I had spent the night convicted me as a +thorough-going Pagan.</p> +<p>“I hope you managed to get a little sleep, Mr. +Melhuish,” Mrs. Jervaise said tepidly. “We are having +breakfast half an hour later than usual, but you were so very late +last night.”</p> +<p>I began to mumble something, but she went on, right over me, +speaking in a voice that she obviously meant to carry “And +Brenda isn’t down even now,” she said. “In fact +she’s having breakfast in her own room, and I am not at all +sure that we shan’t keep her there all day. She has the +beginning of a nasty cold brought on by her foolishness—and, +besides, she has been very, very naughty and will have to be +punished.” She gave a touch of grim playfulness to her last +sentence, but I should not in any case have taken her statement +seriously. If I knew anything of our Brenda, it was that she was +not the sort of young lady who would submit to being kept in her +own room as a punishment.</p> +<p>“I hope the cold won’t be serious,” was all I +could find to say.</p> +<p>I looked at Mr. Jervaise, who was standing despondently by the +fireplace, but he did not return my glance. He presented, I +thought, the picture of despair, and I suffered a sharp twinge of +reaction from my championship of the Banks interest at sunrise. +Those two protagonists of the drama, Banks and Brenda, were so +young, eager and active. Life held so much promise for them. This +ageing man by the fireplace—he must have been nearly +sixty—had probably ceased to live for his own interests. His +ambitions were now centred in his children. I began to feel an +emotional glow of sympathy for him in his distress. Probably this +youngest, most brilliant, child of his was also the most tenderly +loved. It might well be that his anxiety was for her rather than +for himself; that the threat to his pride of family was almost +forgotten in his sincere wish for his daughter’s happiness. +It would appear so certain to him that she could never find +happiness in a marriage with Arthur Banks.</p> +<p>And with that thought a suspicion of my late companion of the +hill-top leapt into my mind. He had hinted at some influence or +“pull” over Brenda’s father that might perhaps be +used in a last emergency, although the use of it implied the taking +of a slightly dishonourable advantage. Was it not probable, I now +wondered, that this influence was to be obtained by working on +Jervaise’s too tender devotion to his daughter? Was she, +perhaps, to be urged as a last resource to bear on that gentle +weakness by threat or cajolery?</p> +<p>I began to wish that I had not been quite so friendly with Mr. +Banks. I had been led away by the scent and glamour of the night. +Here, in this Sunday morning breakfast-room, I was able for the +first time to appreciate the tragedy in its proper relation to the +facts of life. I saw that Brenda’s rash impulsiveness might +impose a quite horrible punishment on her too-devoted father.</p> +<p>I turned away towards one of the window-seats. Miss Tattersall +and Nora Bailey were sitting together there, pretending a +conversation while they patiently awaited the coming of breakfast. +Mrs. Jervaise was talking now to her elder daughter; Frank was +arguing some point with Gordon Hughes, and as I felt unequal to +offering comfort to the lonely head of the house, so evidently +wrapped in his sorrow, I preferred to range myself with the fourth +group. I thought it probable that the sympathies of those two young +women might at the moment most nearly correspond to my own.</p> +<p>I was surprised to be greeted by Miss Tattersall with what had +all the appearance of a discreetly covert wink, and I raised my +eyebrows with that air of half-jocular inquiry which I fancied she +would expect from me. She evaded the implied question, however, by +asking me what time I “really got to bed, after +all.”</p> +<p>“The sun was up before I went to sleep,” I replied, +to avoid the possible embarrassment of her comments should I admit +to having slept in the open air; and then John and a female acolyte +came in with the long-desired material of breakfast.</p> +<p>“Good!” I commented softly. “I’m simply +ravenous.”</p> +<p>“Are you?” Miss Tattersall said. “You deserve +to go without breakfast for having missed prayers,” and added +in precisely the same undertone of conventional commonplace, +“I don’t believe she came back at all last +night.”</p> +<p>But, having thus piqued my curiosity, she gave me no opportunity +to gratify it. She checked the question that my change of +expression must have foreshadowed by a frown which warned me that +she could not give any reason for her suspicion in that +company.</p> +<p>“Later on,” she whispered, and got up from her seat +in the window, leaving me to puzzle over the still uncertain +mystery of Brenda’s disappearance. Miss Bailey had not, +apparently, overheard the confidence. She did not, in any case, +relinquish for an instant that air of simple, attentive innocence +which so admirably suited the fresh prettiness of her style.</p> +<p>There was little conversation over the breakfast table. We were +all glad to find an excuse for silence either in the pretence or +reality of hunger. Old Jervaise’s excuse was, quite +pathetically, only a pretence; but he tried very hard to appear +engrossed in the making of a hearty meal. His manner had begun to +fascinate me, and I had constantly to check myself from staring at +him. I found it so difficult to account satisfactorily for the +effect of dread that he in some way conveyed. It was, I thought, +much the effect that might have been produced by a criminal in +danger of arrest.</p> +<p>But all of us, in our different ways, were more than a little +uncomfortable. The whole air of the breakfast-table was one of +dissimulation. Gordon Hughes made occasional efforts in +conversation that were too glaringly irrelevant to the real subject +of our thoughts. And with each beginning of his, the others, +particularly Olive, Mrs. Jervaise, and little Nora Bailey, plunged +gallantly into the new topic with spasmodic fervour that expended +itself in a couple of minutes, and horribly emphasised the blank of +silence that inevitably followed. We talked as people talk who are +passing the time while they wait for some great event. But what +event we could be awaiting, it was hard to imagine—unless it +were the sudden return of Brenda, with or without Banks.</p> +<p>And, even when we had all finished, and were free to separate, +we still lingered for unnecessary minutes in the breakfast-room, as +if we were compelled to maintain our pretence until the last +possible moment.</p> +<p>Old Jervaise was the first to go. He had made less effort to +disguise his preoccupation than any of us, and now his exit had +something of abruptness, as if he could no longer bear to maintain +any further semblance of disguise. One could only infer from the +manner of his going that he passionately desired either solitude or +the sole companionship of those with whom he could speak plainly of +his distress.</p> +<p>We took our cue from him with an evident alacrity. Every one +looked as if he or she were saying something that began with a +half-apologetic “Well…”; and Mrs. Jervaise +interpreted our spirit when she remarked to the company in general, +“Well, it’s very late, I’m afraid, and I dare say +we’ve all got a lot to do before we start for church. We +shall have to leave soon after half-past ten,” she +explained.</p> +<p>Frank had already left the room when she said that, she herself +went out with her elder daughter, and the four of us who remained, +all visitors, were left to pair with each other as we chose. It was +Miss Tattersall who determined the arrangement. She cleverly +avoided the submissive glance of little Nora Bailey, and asked me +unequivocally if I would care to take a “stroll” with +her in the garden.</p> +<p>I agreed with a touch of eagerness and followed her, wondering +if her intriguing sentence before breakfast had been nothing more +than a clever piece of chicane, planned to entice me into a +tête-à-tête.</p> +<p>(I admit that this may sound like a detestable symptom of vanity +on my part, but, indeed, I do not mean to imply that she cared a +snap of the fingers for me personally. She was one of those women +who must have some man in tow, and it happened that I was the only +one available for that week-end. Frank was supposed to be in love +with Miss Bailey; Gordon Hughes was engaged to some girl in the +north, and used that defence without shame when it suited him.)</p> +<p>I did not, however, permit Miss Tattersall to see my eagerness +when we were alone on the terrace together. If she was capable of +chicane, so was I; and I knew that if she had anything to tell me, +she would not be able to keep it to herself for long. If, on the +other hand, I began to ask questions, she would certainly take a +pleasure in tantalising me.</p> +<p>“What’s this about going to church?” was my +opening.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you know?” she replied. “We all +go in solemn procession. We walk—for piety’s +sake—it’s over a mile across the fields—and we +are rounded up in lots of time, because it’s a dreadful thing +to get there after the bell has stopped.”</p> +<p>“Interrupting the service,” I put in with the usual +inanity that is essential to the maintenance of this kind of +conversation.</p> +<p>“It’s worse than that,” Miss Tattersall +explained gaily; “because Mr. Sturton waits for the +Jervaises, to begin. When we’re late we hold up the devotions +of the whole parish.”</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” I commented; sincerely, this time; and +with a thought of my socialist friend Banks. I could still +sympathise with him on that score, even though I was now strongly +inclined to side with the Jervaises in the Brenda affair.</p> +<p>“Yes, isn’t it?” Miss Tattersall agreed. +“Of course, they <em>are</em> the only important people in +the place,” she added thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“So important that it’s slightly presumptuous to +worship God without the sanction of their presence in +church,” I remarked. And then, feeling that this comment was +a trifle too strong for my company, I tried to cover it by changing +the subject.</p> +<p>“I say, do you think we <em>ought</em> to stay on here +over the week-end?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be more +tactful of us to invent excuses and leave them to +themselves?”</p> +<p>“Certainly it would. Have you only just thought of +it?” Miss Tattersall said pertly. “Nora and I agreed +about that before we came down to prayers. But there’s a +difficulty that seems, for the moment, insuperable.”</p> +<p>“Which is?” I prompted her.</p> +<p>“No conveyance,” she explained. “There +aren’t any Sunday trains on the loop line, Hurley Junction is +fifteen miles away, and the Jervaises’ car is Heaven knows +where and the only other that is borrowable, Mr. Turnbull’s, +is derelict just outside the Park gates.”</p> +<p>I thought she was rather inclined to make a song of it all, +genuinely thankful to have so sound an excuse for staying to +witness the dramatic developments that might possibly be in store +for us. I do not deny that I appreciated her feeling in that +matter.</p> +<p>“And the horses?” I suggested.</p> +<p>“Too far for them, in the omnibus,” she said. +“And nothing else would be big enough for four people and +their luggage. But, as a matter of fact, Nora and I talked it all +over with Mrs. Jervaise before prayers, and she said we +weren’t to think of going—especially as it was all +right, now, about Brenda.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad it is all right, if only for old +Jervaise’s sake,” I said, craftily.</p> +<p>She looked up at me, trying to guess how far I was honest in +that remark.</p> +<p>“But you don’t really believe…” she +said.</p> +<p>“I don’t see why not,” I returned.</p> +<p>“That Brenda <em>has</em> come back?”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Jervaise said…”</p> +<p>“Had to, of course,” Miss Tattersall replied +curtly.</p> +<p>I pursed my mouth and shook my head. “It would be too +risky to deceive us as crudely as that,” I said. “Make +it so much more significant if we discovered that they had been +lying about her.”</p> +<p>Miss Tattersall looked obstinate, putting on that wooden +enduring expression peculiar to fair people with pale eyes.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe she has come back,” she +said.</p> +<p>I continued to argue. I guessed that she had some piece of +evidence in reserve; also, that for some reason she was afraid to +produce it. And at last, as I had hoped, my foolish, specious +arguments and apparent credulity irritated her to a pitch of +exasperation.</p> +<p>“Oh! you can talk till all’s blue,” she broke +in with a flash of temper, “but she hasn’t come +back.”</p> +<p>“But…” I began.</p> +<p>“I know she hasn’t,” Miss Tattersall said, and +the pink of her cheeks spread to her forehead and neck like an +overflowing stain.</p> +<p>“Of course if you know…” I conceded.</p> +<p>“I do,” she affirmed, still blushing.</p> +<p>I realised that the moment had come for conciliation. +“This is tremendously interesting,” I said.</p> +<p>She looked up at me with a question in her face, but I did not +understand until she spoke, that what had been keeping back her +confession was not doubt of my trustworthiness but her fear of +losing my good opinion.</p> +<p>“I expect you’ll think it was horrid of me,” +she said.</p> +<p>I made inarticulate sounds intended to convey an effect of +reassurance.</p> +<p>“You <em>will</em>,” she insisted, and gave her +protest a value that I felt to be slightly compromising. I could +only infer that the loss of my good opinion would be fatal to her +future happiness.</p> +<p>“Indeed, I shan’t,” I protested, although I +had to say it in a tone that practically confirmed this talk of +ours as a perfectly genuine flirtation.</p> +<p>“Men have such queer ideas of honour in these +things,” she went on with a recovering confidence.</p> +<p>“Do you mean that you—peeped,” I said. +“Into Brenda’s room?”</p> +<p>She made a <em>moue</em> that I ought to have found fascinating, +nodding emphatically.</p> +<p>“The door wasn’t locked, then?” I put in.</p> +<p>She shook her head and blushed again; and I guessed in a flash +that she had used the keyhole.</p> +<p>“But could you be sure?” I persisted. +“Absolutely sure that she wasn’t there?”</p> +<p>“I—I only opened the door for a second,” she +said, “But I saw the bed. It hadn’t been slept +in.”</p> +<p>“And this happened?” I suggested.</p> +<p>“Just before I came down to prayers,” she +replied.</p> +<p>“Well, where is she?” I asked.</p> +<p>Miss Tattersall laughed. Now that we had left the dangerous +topic of her means of obtaining evidence, she was sure of herself +again.</p> +<p>“She might be anywhere by this time,” she said. +“She and her lover obviously went off in the motor together +at twelve o’clock. They are probably in London, by +now.”</p> +<p>I did not give her confidence for confidence. I had practically +promised Banks not to say that I had seen him on Jervaise Clump at +five o’clock that morning, and I was not the least tempted to +reveal that important fact to Miss Tattersall. I diverted the angle +of our talk a trifle, at the same time allowing my companion to +assume that I agreed with her conclusion.</p> +<p>“Do you know,” I said, “that the person +I’m most sorry for in this affair is Mr. Jervaise. He seems +absolutely broken by it.”</p> +<p>Miss Tattersall nodded sympathetically. “Yes, isn’t +it dreadful?” she said. “At breakfast this morning I +was thinking how perfectly detestable it was of Brenda to do a +thing like that.”</p> +<p>“Or of Banks?” I added.</p> +<p>“Oh! it wasn’t his fault,” Miss Tattersall +said spitefully. “He was just infatuated, poor fool. She +could do anything she liked with him.”</p> +<p>I reflected that Olive Jervaise and Nora Bailey would probably +have expressed a precisely similar opinion.</p> +<p>“I suppose he’s a weak sort of chap?” I +said.</p> +<p>“No. It isn’t that,” Miss Tattersall replied. +“He doesn’t look weak—not at all. No! he is just +infatuated—for the time being.”</p> +<p>We had been pacing up and down the lawn, parallel to the front +of the house and perhaps fifty yards away from it—a safe +distance for maintaining the privacy of our conversation. And as we +came to the turn of our walk nearest to the drive, I looked back +towards the avenue that intervened between us and the swelling +contours of Jervaise Clump. I was thinking about my expedition +towards the sunrise; and I was taken completely off my guard when I +saw a tweed-clad figure emerge from under the elms and make its way +with a steady determination up the drive.</p> +<p>“Well, one of them isn’t in London, anyway,” I +said.</p> +<p>“Why? Who?” she returned, staring, and I realised +that she was too short-sighted to make out the identity of the +advancing figure from that distance.</p> +<p>“Who is it?” she repeated with a hint of +testiness.</p> +<p>I had seen by then that I had inadvertently given myself away, +and I had not the wit to escape from the dilemma.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” I said, hopelessly +embarrassed. “It—it just struck me that this might be +Banks.”</p> +<p>He had come nearer to us now, near enough for Miss Tattersall to +recognise him; and her amazement was certainly greater than +mine.</p> +<p>“But you’re right,” she said with a little +catch in her breath. “It is Banks, out of uniform.”</p> +<p>For a moment I hoped that her surprise might cover my slip, but +she was much too acute to pass such a palpable blunder as that.</p> +<p>“It is,” she repeated; “but how did you know? +I thought you had never seen him.”</p> +<p>“Just an intuition,” I prevaricated and tried, I +knew at the time how uselessly, to boast a pride in my powers of +insight.</p> +<p>The effect upon my companion was neither that I hoped to +produce, nor that I more confidently expected. Instead of chaffing +me, pressing me for an explanation of the double game I had +presumably been playing, she looked at me with doubt and an obvious +loss of confidence. Just so, I thought, she might have looked at me +if I had tried to take some unfair advantage of her.</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose it’s time to get ready for +church,” she remarked coldly. “Are you +coming?”</p> +<p>I forget what I replied. She was already slipping into the +background of my interest. I was so extraordinarily intrigued by +the sight of Arthur Banks, the chauffeur, boldly ringing at the +front door of Jervaise Hall.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_VII" id="Ch_VII"></a>VII</h3> +<h2>Notes and Queries</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>Miss Tattersall had started for the house and her preparations +for church-going, but she paused on the hither side of the drive +and pretended an interest in the flower beds, until Banks had been +admitted to the Hall.</p> +<p>I could not, at that distance, mark the expression on +John’s face when he answered the bell, but I noticed that +there was a perceptible interval of colloquy on the doorstep before +the strange visitor was allowed to enter. I should have liked to +hear that conversation, and to know what argument Banks used in +overcoming John’s reluctance to carry the astounding message +that the chauffeur had “called” and wished to see Mr. +Jervaise. But, no doubt, John’s diplomacy was equal to the +occasion. Banks’s fine effort in self-assertion was probably +wasted. John would not mention the affront to the family’s +prestige. He would imply that Banks had come in the manner proper +to his condition. “Banks wishes to know if he might speak to +you a minute, sir,” was all the warning poor old Jervaise +would get of this frontal attack upon his dignities.</p> +<p>So far I felt a certain faith in my ability to guess the hidden +action of the drama that was being played in the Hall; but beyond +this point my imagination would not carry me. I could not foresee +the attitude of either of the two protagonists. I thought over what +I remembered of my conversation with Banks on the hill, but the +only essential that stuck in my mind was that suggestion of the +“pull,” the admittedly unfair advantage that he might +possibly use as a last resource. I was conscious of an earnest wish +that that reserve would not be called upon. I felt, intuitively, +that it would shame both the chauffeur and his master. I had still +less material for any imaginative construction of old +Jervaise’s part in the scene now being played; a scene that I +could only regard as being of the greatest moment. Indeed I +believed that the conversation then taking place would reach the +climax of the whole episode, and I bitterly regretted that I had +apparently no possible chance of ever learning the detail of that +confrontation of owner and servant. Worse still, I realised that I +might have some difficulty in gathering the upshot. Whether Banks +were accepted or rejected the Jervaises would not confide the story +to their visitors.</p> +<p>I must admit that my curiosity was immensely piqued; though I +flatter myself that my interest was quite legitimate, that it +contained no element of vulgar inquisitiveness. Nevertheless, I did +want to know—the outcome, at least—and I could decide +upon no intermediary who would give me just the information I +desired.</p> +<p>Miss Tattersall I ruled out at once. She so persistently +vulgarised the affair. I felt that in her mind she regarded the +elopement as subject for common gossip; also, that she was not free +from a form of generalised jealousy. She did not want Arthur Banks +for herself, but she evidently thought him a rather admirable +masculine figure and deplored his “infatuation” for +Brenda. Moreover, I had a notion that I had fallen from Miss +Tattersall’s favour. There was something in her expression +when she discovered my deceit in pretending ignorance of the heroic +chauffeur that portrayed a sense of personal injury. No doubt she +thought that I had squeezed her confidence, while I treacherously +withheld my own; and she would certainly regret that confession of +having peeped into Brenda’s room, even if she did not guess +that I had inferred the final shame of using the keyhole. +Subsequent evidence showed that my only mistake in this connection +was a fatuous underestimation of the lady’s sense of +injury.</p> +<p>Of the other members of the house-party, Frank Jervaise was the +only one who seemed likely or able to post me in the progress of +the affair, and I felt considerable hesitation in approaching him. +I could not expect a return of that mood of weakness he had +exhibited the night before; and I had no intention of courting a +direct snub from him.</p> +<p>There remained Banks, himself, but I could not possibly have +questioned him, even if my sympathies had still been engaged on his +side.</p> +<p>And I must admit that as I paced the lawn in front of the house +my sympathies were very markedly with old Jervaise. It hurt me to +remember that look of apprehension he had worn at breakfast. I +wanted, almost passionately, to defend him from the possibly +heart-breaking consequences that might arise from no fault of his +own.</p> +<p>I was still pondering these feelings of compassion for my host, +when the church-party emerged from the front door of the Hall. If +my watch were right they were very late. Mr. Sturton and his +congregation would have to wait ten minutes or so in patient +expectation before they could begin their devotions. And I would +gladly have effaced myself if only to save the Jervaises the +vexation of a still further delay. But I was too near the line of +their approach. Any attempt at retreat would have been a positive +rudeness.</p> +<p>I was framing an apology for not accompanying them to church as +they came up—Mrs. Jervaise and her daughter leading, with +their three visitors in a bunch behind. But I was spared the +necessity to offer what would certainly have been a transparent and +foolish excuse for absenting myself from their religious +observances. Mrs. Jervaise pulled herself together as the party +approached me. She had had her head down even more than usual as +they came out of the Hall, as if she were determined to butt her +way through any further obstacles that might intervene between her +and her duty as a Christian. At sight of me, however, she obviously +stiffened. She almost held herself erect as she faced me; and her +hawk nose jerked up like the head of a pick.</p> +<p>“So you’re not coming with us, Mr. Melhuish?” +she said.</p> +<p>“I hope you will excuse me,” I replied with, I hope, +a proper air of courtesy.</p> +<p>“Of course,” she said stiffly, her nose still +balanced, as it were, in preparation to strike. Then she lowered +her head with the air of one who carefully replaces a weapon, and +mumbling something about being “dreadfully late as it +was,” continued her interrupted plunging into the resistances +that separated her from her goal. The others followed, as if they +were being trailed in her wake by invisible hawsers. None of them +took any notice of me—particularly Miss Tattersall, whose +failure to see me was a marked and positive act of omission.</p> +<p>I realised that I had been disapproved and snubbed, but I was +not at all distressed by the fact. I put it all down to my failure +in piety, begun with my absence from prayers and now accentuated by +my absence from church. Olive, Nora Bailey, and Hughes had, I +supposed, followed Mrs. Jervaise’s lead in duty bound, and I +knew nearly enough why Miss Tattersall had cut me. I had no idea, +then, that I had come under suspicion of a far more serious offence +than that of a sectarian nonconformity. Indeed, I hardly gave the +matter a moment’s attention. The composition of the +church-party had provided me with material for further speculation +concerning the subject that was absorbing all my interest. Why were +old Jervaise and his son also absent from the tale of those devoted +pilgrims? Was that interview in the Hall developing some crucial +situation, and had Frank been called in? One thing was certain: +Banks had not, as yet, come out. I had kept my eye on the front +door. I could not possibly have missed him.</p> +<p>And it was with the idea of seeing what inferences I could draw +from his general demeanour when he did come, rather than with any +thought of accosting him, that I maintained my thoughtful pacing up +and down the lawn on the garden side of the drive. I was relieved +by the knowledge that that party of church-goers were out of the +way. I had a feeling of freedom such as I used to have as a boy +when I had been permitted to stay at home, on some plea or another, +on a Sunday morning. I had a sense of enlargement and +opportunity.</p> +<hr /> +<p>I must have been on that lawn for more than an hour, and my +thoughts had covered much ground that is not appropriate to this +narrative, when I was roused to a recognition of the fact that my +brief freedom was passing and that I was taking no advantage of any +opportunity it might afford me.</p> +<p>The thing that suddenly stirred me to a new activity was the +sound of the stable-clock striking twelve. Its horrible bell still +had the same note of intrusive artificiality that had vexed me on +the previous night, but it no longer thrilled me with any sense of +stage effect. It was merely a mechanical and inappropriate invasion +of that lovely Sunday morning.</p> +<p>There was a strange stimulation, however, in the deductions that +I drew from that portentous chiming, for my interest was at once +called to the fact that this was the first time that clock had +struck since I had been on the lawn. I could not conceivably have +missed its earlier efforts at the hours of ten and eleven. There +was an insistence about the beastly thing that demanded one’s +attention. Had it, then, run down overnight and been recently +re-wound? And if so, by whom?</p> +<p>It may seem absurd that I should have made so much of the +inferences that followed my consideration of this problem, but the +truth is that my mind was so intensely occupied with one subject +that everything seemed to point to the participation of the +important Arthur Banks. At any other time I should not have +troubled about the clock; now, I looked to it for evidence. And +however ridiculous it may appear, I was influenced in my excited +search for clues by the fact that the clock had, after it was +re-wound, only struck the hour of twelve. The significance of that +deduction lay in the observation—my experience is, +admittedly, limited—that clocks which have run down must be +patiently made to re-toll the hours they have missed, or they will +pick up their last neglected reminders of the time at the point at +which they stopped. And from that I inferred an esoteric knowledge +of mechanics from that rewinder of the stable-clock who had got the +horrid contrivance correctly going again without imposing upon us +the misery of slowly working through an almost endless series of, +as it were, historical chimes. I agree that my premises were +faulty, far too lightly supported, but my mind leapt to the +deduction that the mechanic in this connection could be none other +than Banks. And granting that, the further inferences were, +undoubtedly, important. For as I saw them they pointed infallibly +to the conclusion that Banks had accepted once more the yoke of +servitude; that he had made his exit through the servants’ +quarters and had meekly taken up his tasks again with the winding +of the stable-clock.</p> +<p>(I may add that strangely enough the weak inference was correct, +and the well-grounded one fallacious. If you would interpret the +riddle of human motives, put no confidence in logic. The principles +of logic are founded on the psychology of Anyone. And Anyone is a +mechanical waxwork, an intellectual abstraction, a thing without a +soul or a sub-consciousness.)</p> +<p>Having taken the side of old Jervaise, I ought to have been +comforted by this conclusion, and I tried to persuade myself that +it indicated the only satisfactory termination to the brief drama +of the night. I attempted to see the affair as a slightly +ridiculous episode that had occupied exactly twelve hours and ended +with an inevitable bathos. I pictured the return of a disgraced and +penitent Brenda, and the temporary re-employment, as an antidote to +gossip, of the defeated Banks. They would be parted, of course. She +might be taken abroad, or to Scotland, and by the time she +returned, he would have been sent back to the country from which he +had been injudiciously recalled. Finally, old Jervaise would be +able to take up his life again with his old zest. I believed that +he was a man who took his pleasures with a certain gusto. He had +been quite gay at the dance before the coming of the scandal that +had temporarily upset his peace of mind.</p> +<p>All this imaginary restitution was perfectly reasonable. I could +“see” things happening just as I had thought them. The +only trouble was that I could find no personal satisfaction in the +consideration of the Jervaises’ restored happiness. I was +aware of a feeling of great disappointment for which I could not +account; and although I tried to persuade myself that this feeling +was due to the evaporation of the emotional interest of the moving +drama that had been playing, I found that explanation insufficient. +I was conscious of a loss that intimately concerned myself, the +loss of something to which I had been unconsciously looking +forward.</p> +<p>I came out of my reverie to find that I had wandered half round +the house, across the formal pleasance, and that I was now at the +door leading into the kitchen garden.</p> +<p>I hesitated a moment with a distinct sense of wrong-doing, +before I opened the door with the air of one who defies his own +conscience, and passed up the avenue between the gouty +espaliers—fine old veterans they were, and as I could see, +now, loaded with splendid fruit. The iron gates that led out into +the Park were locked, but a gardener—the head gardener, I +suppose—came out of one of the greenhouses close at hand, and +let me through.</p> +<p>I began to hurry, then. It was already twenty past twelve, and +lunch was at half-past one. Just what I proposed to do, or whom I +expected to see, at the Home Farm, I had no idea; but I was +suddenly determined to get there and back before lunch. The walk +would not take me more than a quarter of an hour each way, but, for +no reason that I could explain, the balance of half an hour or so +that remained to me appeared far too short. I remember that as I +walked through the wood, I persuaded myself that I wanted to see +Arthur Banks, who, according to my neat and convincing theory, had +taken up his work again and was, therefore, probably at the Hall. +But, as I have said, our impulses are never guided, and seldom +altered, by that form of reasoning known as logic.</p> +<hr /> +<p>But I never reached the farm, and I forgot all about the +pretended motive of my excursion. For in two seconds I came to an +entirely new judgment on the whole problem of the Jervaise-Banks +intrigue, a judgment that had nothing in common with any earlier +turns of sympathy from one party to the other.</p> +<p>Such a little thing it was that temporarily turned me into a +disgusted misanthrope, nothing more than a sight of two people seen +for a moment in an arresting shock of outraged amazement before I +turned a disgusted back upon them and retreated moodily to the +Hall. But the sight was enough to throw the affair into a new +perspective, and beget in me a sense of contempt for all the actors +in that midsummer comedy. “A plague on both your +houses,” I muttered to myself, but I saw them no longer as +the antagonists of a romantic drama. I was suddenly influenced to a +mood of scorn. Jervaises and Banks alike seemed to me unworthy of +any admiration. The members of those families were just a crowd of +self-seeking creatures with no thought beyond their own petty +interests. The Jervaises were snobs upset by the threat to their +silly prestige. Brenda was a feather-headed madcap without a scrap +of consideration for any one but herself. Banks was an infatuated +fool, and the best I could hope for him was that he would realise +the fact before it was too late. Frank, confound and confound him, +was a coarse-minded sensualist. The thought of him drove me crazy +with impatience….</p> +<p>And what on earth could have tempted Anne to let him kiss her, +if she had not been a crafty, worldly-minded schemer with an eye on +the glories of ruling at the Hall?</p> +<p>It is true that I did not actually see him kiss her. I turned +away too quickly. But the grouping left me in no doubt that if he +had not kissed her already, he was on the point of doing it. In any +case he had had his arm round her, and she had shown no signs of +resisting him.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_VIII" id="Ch_VIII"></a>VIII</h3> +<h2>The Outcast</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>My first impression of the curious change in demeanour shown +towards me by the Jervaises and their friends at lunch was that it +had no existence outside my own recently embittered mind. I thought +that I was avoiding them, not that they were avoiding me. It was +not until I condescended to come down from my pinnacle of conscious +superiority that I realised my own disgrace.</p> +<p>My effort at conversation with Mrs. Jervaise was a mere act of +politeness.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid you were rather late this +morning,” I said. It was not, perhaps, a tactful remark, but +I could think of nothing else. All the church-party were stiff with +the slightly peevish righteousness of those who have fulfilled a +duty contrary to their real inclinations.</p> +<p>Mrs. Jervaise lifted her nose savagely. No doubt her head went +with it, but only the nose was important.</p> +<p>“Very late, Mr. Melhuish,” she said, stared at me as +if debating whether she would not instantly give me the coup de +grace, and then dipped again to the threat of the imaginary +doorway.</p> +<p>“Mr. Sturton give you a good sermon?” I continued, +still suffering from the delusion that I was graciously overlooking +their obvious inferiority to myself.</p> +<p>“He is a very able man; very able,” Mrs. Jervaise +said, this time without looking up.</p> +<p>“You are lucky to have such a good man as vicar,” I +said. “Sometimes there is—well, a lack of sympathy +between the Vicarage and the Hall. I remember—the case +isn’t quite parallel, of course, but the moral is much the +same—I remember a curate my father had +once…”</p> +<p>Now, my story of that curate is thoroughly sound. It is full of +incident and humour and not at all derogatory to the prestige of +the church. I have been asked for it, more than once, by hostesses. +And though I am rather sick of it myself, I still fall back on it +in cases of such urgency as I judged the present one to be. I +thought that I had been lucky to get so easy an opening to produce +the anecdote with relevance, and I counted on it for a good five +minutes relief from the constraint of making polite +conversation.</p> +<p>Mrs. Jervaise’s response began to open my eyes to the +state of the new relations that now existed between myself and the +rest of the party. She did not even allow me to begin. She ignored +my opening entirely, and looking down the table towards her husband +said, “Mr. Sturton preached from the tenth of Hebrews, +‘Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without +wavering.’ Quite a coincidence, wasn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Indeed? Yes, quite a coincidence,” Mr. Jervaise +replied without enthusiasm. He did not look as cheerful as I had +anticipated, but he wore the air of a man who has had at least a +temporary reprieve.</p> +<p>“Olive and I were quite struck by it; weren’t we, +dear?” Mrs. Jervaise continued, dragging in her +daughter’s evidence.</p> +<p>“Yes, it was very odd,” Olive agreed tepidly.</p> +<p>I never knew what the coincidence was, but I judge from Mrs. +Jervaise’s insistence that it was something perfectly +futile.</p> +<p>I glanced across at Hughes, and guessed that he was not less +bored than I was myself, but when I caught his eye he looked +hastily away.</p> +<p>I was beginning to wonder what I had done, but I valiantly tried +again.</p> +<p>“Don’t you think it possible that many cases of +apparent coincidences are probably due to telepathy?” I said +genially, addressing the dangerous-looking profile of my +hostess.</p> +<p>She gave an impatient movement of her head that reminded me of a +parrot viciously digging out the kernel of a nut.</p> +<p>“I really can’t say,” she said, pointedly +turned to Gordon Hughes, who was on her other side, and asked him +if he had played much tennis lately.</p> +<p>I looked round the table for help, but none of the party would +meet my eyes, avoiding my glance with a determination that could +not be mistaken. I might have suffered from some loathsome +deformity. Frank, alone, appeared unaware of my innocent appeal for +an explanation. He was bending gloomily over his plate, apparently +absorbed in his own thoughts—though how any man could be +gloomy after his recent experience it was beyond me to imagine.</p> +<p>My astonishment flamed into a feeling of acute annoyance. If any +one had spoken to me at that moment, I should have been +unforgivably rude. But no one had the least intention of speaking +to me, and I had just sense enough to restrain myself from +demanding an apology from the company at large. That was my natural +inclination. I had been insulted; outraged. I was the +Jervaises’ guest, and whatever they imagined that I had done, +they owed it to me and to themselves to treat me with a reasonable +courtesy.</p> +<p>It was a detestable situation, and I was completely floored by +it for the moment. We were not half-way through lunch, and I felt +that I could not endure to sit there for another twenty minutes, +avoided, proscribed, held fast in a pillory, a butt for the sneers +of any fool at the table. On the other hand, if I got up and +marched out of the room, I should be acknowledging my +defeat—and my guilt of whatever crime I was supposed to have +committed. If I ever wished to justify my perfect innocence, I +should forfeit my chances, at once, by accepting the snub I had +received. To do that would be to acknowledge my sense of +misbehaviour.</p> +<p>I leaned a little forward and glanced at Miss Tattersall who was +sitting just beyond Nora Bailey on my side of the table. And I saw +that my late confidante, the user of keyholes, was faintly smiling +to herself with an unmistakable air of malicious satisfaction.</p> +<p>I wished, then, that I had not looked. I was no longer quite so +conscious of outraged innocence. It is true that I was guiltless of +any real offence, but I saw that the charge of complicity with the +chauffeur—a charge that had certainly not lost in substance +or in its suggestion of perfidy by Miss Tattersall’s +rendering—was one that I could not wholly refute. I was in +the position of a man charged with murder on good circumstantial +evidence; and my first furious indignation began to give way to a +detestable feeling of embarrassment, momentarily increased by the +necessity to sit in silence while the inane chatter of the luncheon +table swerved past me. If I had had one friend with whom I could +have talked, I might have been able to recover myself, but I defy +any one in my situation to maintain an effective part with no +active means of expression.</p> +<p>I glanced a trifle desperately at Olive Jervaise. I judged her +to be rather a colourless creature who would not have the spirit +openly to snub me. She was nearly opposite to me, between her +brother and Hughes, and well placed for an open attack if I could +once engage her attention. But when I came to consider an opening, +every reasonably appropriate topic seemed to have some dangerous +relation to the <em>affaire Brenda</em>. Any reference to the +dance, to the Sturtons, the place, the weather, suddenly assumed in +my mind the appearance of a subtle approach to the subject I most +wished to avoid. If I was, indeed, regarded in that house as a spy +in league with the enemy, the most innocent remark might be +construed into an attempt to obtain evidence.</p> +<p>I fancy, too, that I was subject to an influence other than the +heightened self-consciousness due to my awkward situation. I had +only just begun to realise that the absence of Brenda must be a +horribly insistent fact to her own family. She was so entirely +different from the rest of them. Her vivacity, her spirit must have +shown amidst the nervous respectability of this dull and fearful +household like the gleam of unexpected water in the blankness of a +desert. Her absence must have seemed to them a positive thing. +Probably every one at the table was thinking of her at that moment. +And the result of this combined thought was producing a +hallucination of Brenda in my mind, strong enough to hypnotise me. +In any case, her apparition stood at the end of every avenue of +conversation I could devise. I could think of no opening that did +not lead straight up to the subject of her absence.</p> +<p>And even while I was still pondering my problem (I had come to +such fantastic absurdities as contemplating an essay on the Chinese +gamut, rejecting it on the grounds that Brenda was the only +musician in the family), that awful lunch was abruptly closed by a +unanimous refusal of the last course. Perhaps the others were as +eager as I was to put an end to that ordeal; all of them, that is, +with the exception of the spiteful snake who was responsible for my +humiliation.</p> +<p>The family managed to get out of the room this time without +their usual procrastinating civilities. I went ahead of Frank and +Hughes. I intended to spend a lonely afternoon in thinking out some +plan for exposing the treachery of Grace Tattersall, but as I was +crossing the Hall, Frank Jervaise came up behind me.</p> +<p>“Look here, Melhuish,” he said.</p> +<p>I looked. I did more than that; I confronted him. There is just +a suspicion of red in my hair, and on occasion the influence of it +is shown in my temper. It must have shown then, for Jervaise was +visibly uncomfortable.</p> +<p>“It’s no damned good being so ratty, +Melhuish,” he said. “Jolly well your own fault, +anyway.”</p> +<p>“What’s my own fault?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“We can’t talk here,” he said uneasily. +“Let’s go down the avenue.”</p> +<p>I had an impression that he was going to offer to fight me. I +certainly hoped that he would.</p> +<p>“Very well,” I agreed.</p> +<p>But when he spoke again, I realised that it was as a lawyer and +not as a fighter. He had, indeed, been preparing a cautious +impeachment of me. We had reached the entrance to the avenue before +he began, and the cloister of its cool shade seemed a sufficiently +appropriate setting for his forensic diplomacy. Outside, in the +glare of the brilliant August sun, I should have flared out at him. +In the solemnity of that Gothic aisle, I found influences which +helped me to maintain a relative composure.</p> +<p>He posed his first question with an assumed indifference.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you sleep in the house last +night?” he asked.</p> +<p>I took time to consider my answer; I was taken aback by his +knowledge of the fact he had disclosed. My first impulse was to +retort “How do you know that I didn’t sleep in the +house?” but I was determined to be very cautious at the +outset of this cross-examination. Obviously he meant it to take the +form of a cross-examination. I was equally determined that I would +presently reverse the parts of counsel and witness—or was I +the prisoner giving evidence on my own behalf?</p> +<p>We must have gone another fifteen or twenty deliberate paces +before I replied,—</p> +<p>“I’ll answer that question in a minute. I should +like to know first what grounds you have for stating that I +didn’t sleep in the house?”</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders. “You admit that you +didn’t?” he retorted.</p> +<p>“If you’re going to conduct your conversation on the +principles of the court room,” I said, “the only thing +I can do is to adopt the same method.”</p> +<p>He ignored that. “You admit that you didn’t sleep in +the house?” he repeated.</p> +<p>“I’ll admit nothing until I know what the devil +you’re driving at,” I replied.</p> +<p>He did not look at me. He was saving himself until he reached +the brow-beating stage. But I was watching him—we were +walking a yard or two apart—and I noted his expression of +simulated indifference and forbearance, as he condescendingly +admitted my claim to demand evidence for his preliminary +accusation.</p> +<p>“You were very late coming down,” he began and +paused, probably to tempt me into some ridicule of such a worthless +piece of testimony.</p> +<p>“Go on,” I said.</p> +<p>“You were seen coming into the house after eight +o’clock in the morning,” he continued, paused again and +then, as I kept silence, added, “In evening dress.”</p> +<p>“Is that all?” I asked.</p> +<p>It was not. He had kept the decisive accusation until the +end.</p> +<p>“Your bed had not been slept in,” he concluded +wearily, as if to say, “My good idiot, why persist in this +damning assumption of innocence?”</p> +<p>“You’ve been examining the servants, I see,” I +remarked.</p> +<p>He was not to be drawn by such an ingenuous sneer as that. +“The housekeeper told the mater when she came back from +church,” he said. “I suppose the thing came up in some +arrangement of household affairs.”</p> +<p>“Very likely,” I agreed; “but why did your +mother tell <em>you</em>?”</p> +<p>I saw at once that he meant to evade that question if possible. +For some reason Miss Tattersall was to be kept out of the case. +Possibly she had made terms to that effect. More probably, I +thought, Jervaise was a trifle ashamed of the source of his +evidence against me.</p> +<p>“Oh! look here, Melhuish,” he said, with a return to +his bullying manner. “You’re only making things look +worse for yourself by all this beating about the bush. It’s +evident that you didn’t sleep in the house, and I want to +know why.”</p> +<p>“Is sleeping in the house a condition of your +hospitality?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Not in ordinary circumstances,” he said. “But +the circumstances are not ordinary. I suppose you haven’t +forgotten that something happened last night which very seriously +affects us?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t, but I don’t see what the deuce +it’s got to do with me,” I returned.</p> +<p>“Nor I; unless it’s one of your idiotic, romantic +tricks,” he retorted; “but I have very good evidence, +all the same, that you were concerned in it.”</p> +<p>“Oh! is that what you’re accusing me of?” I +said.</p> +<p>“It is,” Jervaise replied.</p> +<p>“Then I can put your mind at rest,” I said. “I +am ready to swear by any oath you like that I had nothing whatever +to do with your sister’s elopement, and that I +know…” I was going to add “nothing more about it +than you do yourself,” but remembering my talk with Banks, I +decided that that was not perfectly true, and with the +layman’s respect for the sanctity of an oath I concluded, +“and that I know very little more about it than <em>you</em> +do.”</p> +<p>“It’s that little bit more that is so +important,” Jervaise commented sardonically.</p> +<p>After all, a legal training does count for something. I was not +his match in this kind of give and take, and I decided to throw +down my hand. I was not incriminating Banks. I knew nothing about +his movements of the night, and in that morning interview with old +Jervaise the most important admission of all must almost certainly +have been made.</p> +<p>“Well, you have a right to know that,” I began, +“although I don’t think you and your family had any +right whatever to be so damnably rude to me at lunch, on the mere +spiteful accusations of Miss Tattersall.”</p> +<p>“Miss Tattersall?” Jervaise put in, with a very +decent imitation of surprise.</p> +<p>“Oh! I’m going to be perfectly honest with +you,” I returned. “Can’t you drop that burlesque +of the legal manner and be equally honest with me?”</p> +<p>“Simply dunno what you’re driving at,” he +said.</p> +<p>“Very well, then, answer the question you shirked just +now,” I retorted. “Why did your mother rush to tell you +that I hadn’t slept in the house last night?”</p> +<p>“The mater’s in an awful state of nerves,” he +said.</p> +<p>Incidentally I had to admit to myself that I had not made +sufficient allowance for that indubitable fact, but I chose to +disregard it at the moment. I wanted to be sure of the treachery of +Grace Tattersall.</p> +<p>“You asked me not to beat about the bush, a minute +ago,” I said, “and now you’re trying to dodge all +my questions with the most futile and palpable evasions.”</p> +<p>“For instance?” he replied calmly, with a cunning +that nearly trapped me. For when I tried to recall, as I thought I +could, a specific and convincing instance of his evasion, I +realised that to cite a case would only draw us into an irrelevant +bickering over side issues.</p> +<p>“Your last three or four answers were all obvious +equivocations,” I said, and raising my voice I went straight +on over his attempt to expostulate by adding, “And if Mrs. +Jervaise’s state of nerves is an excuse for her confiding in +<em>you</em>, it isn’t, in my opinion, any excuse for her +confiding in Miss Tattersall and Nora Bailey and Hughes, and +setting them on to—ostracise me.”</p> +<p>“Oh! come,” Jervaise protested, a little taken +aback. I had put him in a quandary, now. He had to choose between +an imputation on his mother’s good taste, savoir faire, +breeding—and an admission of the rather shameful source of +the present accusation against me.</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact, it’s absolutely clear to me +that Grace Tattersall is at the bottom of all this,” I +continued, to get this point settled. “I’m perfectly +sure your mother would not have treated me as she did unless her +mind had been perverted in some way.”</p> +<p>“But why should she—Miss Tattersall—I mean she +seemed rather keen on you…”</p> +<p>“I can explain that,” I interrupted him. “She +wanted to gossip with me about the whole affair this morning, and +she made admissions that I suppose she was subsequently ashamed of. +And after that she discovered by an accident that I had met Banks, +and jumped to the totally false conclusion that I had been drawing +her out for my own disreputable purposes.”</p> +<p>“Where did you meet Banks?” was Jervaise’s +only comment on this explanation.</p> +<p>“I’m going to tell you that,” I said. “I +told you that I meant to be perfectly honest with you, but I want +to know first if I’m not right about Miss +Tattersall.”</p> +<p>“She has been a bit spiteful about you,” he +admitted.</p> +<p>“So that’s settled,” I replied by way of +finally confirming his admission. “Now, I’ll tell you +exactly what happened last night.”</p> +<p>I made a fairly long story of it; so long that we reached the +lodge at the Park gates before I had finished, and turned back +again up the avenue. I was careful to be scrupulously truthful, but +I gave him no record of any conversation that I thought might, +however indirectly, inculpate Banks.</p> +<p>Jervaise did not once interrupt me, but I saw that he was +listening with all his attention, studying my statement as he might +have studied a complicated brief. And when I had done, he thrust +out his ugly underlip with an effect of sneering incredulity that I +found almost unendurably irritating.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that you don’t believe +me?” I asked passionately.</p> +<p>We were just opposite the side road that I had taken the night +before, the road that led through the thickest part of the spinney +before it came out into the open within a quarter of a mile of +Jervaise Clump. And as if both our minds had been unconsciously +occupied with the same thought, the need for a still greater +privacy, we turned out of the avenue with an air of deliberate +intention and a marked increase of pace. It seemed as though this +secluded alley had, from the outset, been the secret destination of +our walk.</p> +<p>He did not reply to my challenging question for perhaps a couple +of minutes. We were walking quite quickly, now. Until the heat of +our rising anger could find some other expression, we had to seek +relief in physical action. I had no doubt that Jervaise in his own +more restrained way was as angry as I was myself. His sardonic +sneer had intensified until it took the shape of a fierce, brooding +anger.</p> +<p>We were out of sight of the junction of the side road with the +avenue, when he stopped suddenly and faced me. He had manifestly +gathered himself together for a great effort that was, as it were, +focussed in the malignant, dominating scowl of his forbidding face. +The restraint of his language added to the combined +effect—consciously studied, no doubt—of coarse and +brutal authority.</p> +<p>“And why did you spy on me this morning?” he asked. +“Why did you follow me up to the Home Farm, watch me while I +was talking to Miss Banks, and then slink away again?”</p> +<p>I have two failings that would certainly have disqualified me if +I had ever attempted to adopt the legal profession. The first is a +tendency to blush violently on occasion. The second is to see and +to sympathise with my opponent’s point of view. Both these +failings betrayed me now. The blush seemed to proclaim my guilt; my +sudden understanding of Jervaise’s temper confirmed it.</p> +<p>For, indeed, I understood precisely at that moment how enraged +he must be against me. He, like Miss Tattersall, had been playing +an underhand game, though his was different in kind. He had been +seduced (my bitterness against Anne found satisfaction in laying +the blame at her door!) into betraying the interests of his own +family. <em>I</em> did not, in a sense, blame him for that; I had, +the night before, been more than a little inclined to honour him +for it; but I saw how, from the purely Jervaise point of view, his +love-making would appear as something little short of criminal. And +to be caught in the act, for I had caught him, however unwillingly, +must have been horribly humiliating for him. Little wonder that +coming home, hot and ashamed from his rendezvous, and being +confronted with all the tale of my duplicity, he had flamed into a +fury of resentment against me. I understood that beyond any +question. Only one point still puzzled me. How had he been able +until this moment to restrain his fury? I could but suppose that +there was something cold-blooded, calculating, almost reptilian in +his character; that he had planned cautiously and far-sightedly +what he regarded as the best means for bringing about my ultimate +disgrace.</p> +<p>And now my blush and my powers of sympathy had betrayed me. I +felt like a convicted criminal as I said feebly, “Oh! that +was an accident, absolutely an accident, I assure you. I had no +sort of idea where you were when I went up to the Home +Farm….”</p> +<p>“After keeping an eye on the front of the house all the +morning,” he put in viciously.</p> +<p>A sense of awful frustration overcame me. Looking back on the +past fifteen hours, I saw all my actions ranged in a long +incriminating series. Each one separately might be explained, but +regarded as a consequent series, those entirely inconsequent doings +of mine could bear but one explanation: I was for some purpose of +my own, whether idiotically romantic or not, on the side of Banks +and Brenda. I had never lifted a finger to help them; I was not in +their confidence; and since the early morning I had withdrawn a +measure of my sympathy from them. But I could not prove any of +these things. I could only affirm them, and this domineering bully, +who stood glowering at me, wanted proof or nothing. He was too well +accustomed to the methods of criminals to accept explanations.</p> +<p>“You don’t believe me?” I said.</p> +<p>“Candidly, I don’t,” he replied.</p> +<p>And at that my temper finally blazed. I could not bear any +longer either that awful sense of frustration or the sight of Frank +Jervaise’s absurdly portentous scowl.</p> +<p>I did not clench my fists, but I presume my purpose showed +suddenly in my face, for he moved quickly backwards with a queer, +nervous jerk of the head that was the precise counterpart of the +parrot-like twist his mother had given at the luncheon table. It +was an odd movement, at once timid and vicious, and in an instant I +saw the spirit of Frank Jervaise revealed to me. He was a coward, +hiding his weakness under that coarse mask of the brooding, +relentless hawk. He had winced and retreated at my unspoken threat, +as he had winced at the thought of his thrashing at school. He had +taken his punishment stoically enough then, and might take another +with equal fortitude now; though he had been weakened in the past +five or six years by the immunity his frowning face had won for +him. But he could not meet the promise of a thrashing. I saw that +he would do anything, make any admission, to avoid that.</p> +<p>“Look here, Melhuish…” he began, but I cut +him short.</p> +<p>“Oh! go to hell,” I said savagely.</p> +<p>I was disappointed. I wanted to fight him. I knew now that since +the scene I had witnessed in the wood the primitive savage in me +had been longing for some excuse to break out in its own primitive, +savage way. And once again I was frustrated. I was just too +civilised to leap at him without further excuse.</p> +<p>He gave me none.</p> +<p>“If you’re going to take that tone…” he +said with a ridiculous affectation of bravado, and did not complete +his sentence. His evasion was, perhaps, the best that he could have +managed in the circumstances. It was so obvious that only the least +further incentive was required to make me an irresponsible madman. +And he dared not risk it.</p> +<p>He turned away with a pretence of dignity, the craven brag of a +schoolboy who says, “I could lick you if I wanted to, but I +don’t happen to want to.” I watched him as he walked +back towards the avenue with a deliberation that was so artificial, +I could swear that when he reached the turn he would break into a +run.</p> +<p>I stood still in the same place long after he was out of sight. +As my short-lived passion evaporated, I began to realise that I was +really in a very awkward situation. I could not and would not +return to the Hall. I had offended Frank Jervaise beyond all hope +of reconciliation. He would never forgive me for that exposure of +his cowardice. And if I had not had a single friend at the house +before, I could, after the new report of my treachery had been +spread by Frank, expect nothing but the bitterness of open enemies. +No doubt they would essay a kind of frigid politeness, their social +standards would enforce some show of outward courtesy to a guest. +But I simply could not face the atmosphere of the Hall again. And +here I was without my luggage, without even a hat, and with no idea +where I could find refuge. The only idea I had was that of walking +fifteen miles to Hurley Junction on the chance of getting a train +back to town.</p> +<p>It was an uncommonly queer situation for a perfectly innocent +man, week-ending at a country house. I should have been ashamed to +face the critics if I had made so improbable a situation the crux +of a play. But the improbability of life constantly outruns the +mechanical inventions of the playwright and the novelist. Where +life, with all its extravagances, fails, is in its refusal to +provide the apt and timely coincidence that shall solve the problem +of the hero. As I walked on slowly towards Jervaise Clump, I had +little hope of finding the peculiarly appropriate vehicle that +would convey me to Hurley Junction; and I did not relish the +thought of that fifteen mile walk, without a hat.</p> +<p>I kept to the road, skirting the pudding basin hill, and came +presently to the fence of the Park and to what was evidently a side +gate—not an imposing wrought-iron erection between stone +pillars such as that which announced the front entrance, but just a +rather high-class six-barred gate.</p> +<p>I hesitated a minute or two, with the feelings of one who leaves +the safety of the home enclosure for the unknown perils of the +wild, and then with a sigh of resignation walked boldly out on to +the high road.</p> +<p>I had no notion in which direction Hurley Junction lay, but luck +was with me, so far. There was a fourth road, opposite the Park +gate, and a sign-post stood at the junction of what may once have +been the main cross-roads—before some old Jervaise +land-robber pushed the park out on this side until he was stopped +by the King’s highway.</p> +<p>On the sign-post I read the indication that Hurley Junction was +distant 14-1/2 miles, and that my direction was towards the north; +but I felt a marked disinclination to begin my walk.</p> +<p>It was very hot, and the flies were a horrible nuisance. I stood +under the shadow of the hedge, flapped a petulant handkerchief at +the detestably annoying flies, and stared down the road towards the +far, invisible distances of Hurley. No one was in sight. The whole +country was plunged in the deep slumber of a Sunday afternoon, and +I began to feel uncommonly sleepy myself. I had, after all, only +slept for a couple of hours or so that morning.</p> +<p>I yawned wearily and my thoughts ran to the refrain of +“fourteen and a half miles; fourteen and a half miles to +Hurley Junction.”</p> +<p>“Oh! well,” I said to myself at last. “I +suppose it’s got to be done,” and I stepped out into +the road, and very lazily and wearily began my awful tramp. The +road ran uphill, in a long curve encircling the base of the hill, +and I suppose I took about ten minutes to reach the crest of the +rise. I stayed there a moment to wipe my forehead and slap +peevishly at my accompanying swarm of flies. And it was from there +I discovered that I had stumbled upon another property of the +Jervaise comedy. Their car—I instantly concluded that it was +their car—stood just beyond the rise, drawn in on to the +grass at the side of the road, and partly covered with a +tarpaulin—it looked, I thought, like a dissipated roysterer +asleep in the ditch.</p> +<p>I decided, then, without the least compunction, that this should +be my heaven-sent means of reaching the railway. The Jervaises owed +me that; and I could leave the car at some hotel at Hurley and send +the Jervaises a telegram. I began to compose that telegram in my +mind as I threw off the tarpaulin preparatory to starting the car. +But Providence was only laughing at me. The car was there and the +tank was full of petrol, but neither the electric starter nor the +crank that I found under the seat would produce anything but the +most depressing and uninspired clanking from the mechanism that +should have responded with the warm, encouraging thud of renewed +life.</p> +<p>I swore bitterly (I can drive, but I’m no expert), climbed +into the tonneau, pulled back the tarpaulin over me like a tent to +exclude those pestilent flies, and settled myself down to draw one +or two deep and penetrating inductions.</p> +<p>My first was that Banks had brought the car here the night +before with the fixed intention of abducting Brenda Jervaise.</p> +<p>My second was that the confounded fellow had cautiously removed +some essential part of the car’s mechanism.</p> +<p>My third, that he would have to come back and fetch the car +sometime, and that I would then blackmail him into driving me to +Hurley Junction.</p> +<p>I did not trouble to draw a fourth induction. I was cool and +comfortable under the shadow of the cover. The flies, although +there were many openings for them, did not favour the darkness of +my tent. I leaned well back into the corner of the car and joined +the remainder of the county in a calm and restful sleep.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_IX" id="Ch_IX"></a>IX</h3> +<h2>Banks</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>I was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the +road—probably the first footsteps that had passed during the +hour and a half that I had been asleep. I was still lazily +wondering whether it was worth while to look out, when the +tarpaulin was smartly drawn off the car and revealed me to the eyes +of the car’s guardian, Arthur Banks.</p> +<p>His first expression was merely one of surprise. He looked as +startled as if he had found any other unlikely thing asleep in the +car. Then I saw his surprise give way to suspicion. His whole +attitude stiffened, and I was given an opportunity to note that he +was one of those men who grow cool and turn pale when they are +angry.</p> +<p>My first remark to him was ill-chosen.</p> +<p>“I’ve been waiting for you,” I said.</p> +<p>Probably my last thought before I went to sleep had concerned +the hope that Banks would be the first person I should see when I +woke; and that thought now came up and delivered itself almost +without my knowledge.</p> +<p>“They have put you in charge, I suppose,” he +returned grimly. “Well, you needn’t have worried. +I’d just come to take the car back to the house.”</p> +<p>I had again been taken for a spy, but this time I was not +stirred to righteous indignation. The thing had become absurd. I +had for all intents and purposes been turned out of Jervaise Hall +for aiding and abetting Banks, and now he believed me to be a sort +of prize crew put aboard the discovered motor by the enemy.</p> +<p>My situation had its pathetic side. I had, by running away, +finally branded myself in the Jervaises’ eyes as a mean and +despicable traitor to my own order; and now it appeared that I was +not to be afforded even the satisfaction of having proved loyal to +the party of the Home Farm. I was a pariah, the suspect of both +sides, the ill-treated hero of a romantic novel. I ought to have +wept, but instead of that I laughed.</p> +<p>Perhaps I was still a little dazed by sleep, for I was under the +impression that any kind of explanation would be quite hopeless, +and I had, then, no intention of offering any. All I wanted was to +be taken to Hurley Junction; to get back to town and forget the +Jervaises’ existence.</p> +<p>Banks’s change of expression when I laughed began to +enlighten my fuddled understanding. I realised that I had no longer +to deal with a suspicious, wooden-headed lawyer, but with a frank, +kindly human being.</p> +<p>“I don’t see the joke,” he said, but his look +of cold anger was fading rapidly.</p> +<p>“The joke,” I said, “is a particularly funny +one. I have quarrelled with the entire Jervaise family and their +house-party. I have been openly accused by Frank Jervaise of having +come to Thorp-Jervaise solely to aid you in your elopement; and my +duplicity being discovered I hastened to run away, leaving all my +baggage behind, in the fear of being stood up against a wall and +shot at sight. I set out, I may add, to walk fourteen miles to +Hurley Junction, but on the way I discovered this car, from which +you seem to have extracted some vital organ. So I settled myself +down to wait until you should return with its heart, or lungs, or +whatever it is you removed. And now, my dear chap, I beseech you to +put the confounded thing right again and drive me to Hurley. +I’ve suffered much on your account. It’s really the +least you can do by way of return.”</p> +<p>He stared at me in amazement.</p> +<p>“But, honestly, no kid…” he remarked.</p> +<p>I saw that, naturally enough, he could not make head or tail of +my story.</p> +<p>“Oh! it’s all perfectly true, in effect,” I +said. “I can’t go into details. As a matter of fact, +all the Jervaises’ suspicions came about as a result of our +accidental meeting on the hill last night. I said nothing about it +to them, you understand; and then they found out that I +hadn’t slept in the house, and Miss Tattersall discovered by +accident that I knew you by sight—that was when you came up +to the house this morning—and after that everything +I’ve ever done since infancy has somehow gone to prove that +my single ambition in life has always been to help you in abducting +Brenda Jervaise. Also, I wanted to fight Frank Jervaise an hour or +two ago in the avenue. So, my dear Banks, have pity on me and help +me to get back to London.”</p> +<p>Banks grinned. “No getting back to London to-night,” +he said. “Last train went at 3.19.”</p> +<p>“Well, isn’t there some hotel in the +neighbourhood?” I asked.</p> +<p>He hesitated, imaginatively searching the county for some hotel +worthy of receiving me.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing decent nearer than Godbury,” +he said. “Twenty-three miles. There’s an inn at Hurley +of a sort. There’s no town there to speak of, you know. +It’s only a junction.”</p> +<p>“Oh! well, I’ll risk the inn at Hurley for one +night,” I said.</p> +<p>“What about your things?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Blast!” was my only comment.</p> +<p>“Rummest go I ever heard of,” Banks interjected +thoughtfully. “You don’t mean as they’ve actually +<em>turned you out?</em>”</p> +<p>“Well, no, not exactly,” I explained. “But I +couldn’t possibly go back there.”</p> +<p>“What about writing a note for your things?” he +suggested. “I’d take it up.”</p> +<p>“And ask them to lend me the motor?”</p> +<p>“I don’t expect they’d mind,” he +said.</p> +<p>“Perhaps not. Anything to get rid of me,” I +returned. “But I’m not going to ask them any favours. I +don’t mind using the bally thing—they owe me +that—but I’m not going to ask them for it.”</p> +<p>“Must have been a fair old bust up,” he commented, +evidently curious still about my quarrel at the Hall.</p> +<p>“I told you that it ended with my wanting to fight Frank +Jervaise,” I reminded him.</p> +<p>He grinned again. “How did he get out of it?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“What makes you think he wanted to get out of it?” I +retorted.</p> +<p>He measured me for a moment with his eye before he said, +“Mr. Frank isn’t the fighting sort. I’ve seen him +go white before now, when I’ve took the corner a bit +sharp.” He paused a moment before adding, “But +they’re all a bit like that.”</p> +<p>“Nervous at dangerous corners,” I commented, +sharpening his image for him.</p> +<p>“Blue with funk,” he said.</p> +<p>It occurred to me that possibly some hint of the family taint in +Brenda had influenced, at the last moment, the plan of her proposed +elopement; but I said nothing of that to Banks.</p> +<p>“I’d better leave my things,” I said, +returning to the subject which was of chief importance to me. You +take me to that inn at Hurley. If I arrive in a motor, +they’ll take me in all right, even though I haven’t any +luggage. I’ll invent some story as we go.”</p> +<p>“They’d take you <em>in</em>,” Banks replied +thoughtfully. “’Tisn’t hardly more than a public +house, really.”</p> +<p>I thought that some strain of the gentleman’s servant in +him was concerned with the question of the entertainment proper to +my station.</p> +<p>“It’s only for one night,” I remarked.</p> +<p>“Oh! yes,” he said, obviously thinking of something +else.</p> +<p>“Too far for you to go?” I asked.</p> +<p>He glanced at his wrist watch. “Quarter past five,” +he said. “It’d take me the best part of two hours to +get there and back—the road’s none too good.”</p> +<p>“You don’t want to go?” I said.</p> +<p>“Well, no, honestly I don’t,” he replied. +“The fact is I want to see Mr. Jervaise again.” He +smiled as he added, “My little affair isn’t settled yet +by a good bit, you see.”</p> +<p>I sheered away from that topic; chiefly, I think, because I +wanted to avoid any suggestion of pumping him. When you have +recently been branded as a spy, you go about for the next few days +trying not to feel like one.</p> +<p>“Isn’t there any place in the village I could go +to?” I asked.</p> +<p>He shook his head. “There’s one pub—a sort of +beerhouse—but they don’t take people in,” he +said.</p> +<p>“No lodgings?” I persisted.</p> +<p>“The Jervaises don’t encourage that sort of +thing,” he replied. “Afraid of the place getting +frippery. I’ve heard them talking about it in the car. And as +they own every blessed cottage in the place….” He left +the deduction to my imagination, and continued with the least touch +of bashfulness, “You wouldn’t care to come to us, I +suppose?”</p> +<p>“To the Home Farm?” I replied stupidly. I was +absurdly embarrassed. If I had not chanced to see that grouping in +the wood before lunch, I should have jumped at the offer. But I +knew that it must have been Miss Banks who had seen +me—spying. Jervaise had had his back to me. And she would +probably, I thought, take his view of the confounded accident. She +would be as anxious to avoid me as I was to avoid her. Coming so +unexpectedly, this invitation to the Farm appeared to me as a +perfectly impossible suggestion.</p> +<p>Banks, naturally, misinterpreted my embarrassment.</p> +<p>“I suppose it would put you in the wrong, as it +were—up at the Hall,” he said. “Coming to us +after that row, I mean, ’d look as if what they’d been +saying was all true.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care a hang about <em>that</em>,” I +said earnestly. In my relief at being able to speak candidly I +forgot that I was committing myself to an explanation; and Banks +inevitably wandered into still more shameful misconceptions of my +implied refusal.</p> +<p>“Only a farm, of course…” he began.</p> +<p>“Oh! my dear chap,” I interposed quickly. “Do +believe me, I’d far sooner stay at the Home Farm than at +Jervaise Hall.”</p> +<p>He looked at me with rather a blank stare of inquiry.</p> +<p>“Well, then?” was all he found to say.</p> +<p>I could think of nothing whatever.</p> +<p>For a second or two we stared at one another like antagonists +searching for an unexposed weakness. He was the first to try +another opening.</p> +<p>“Fact is, I suppose,” he said tentatively, +“that you’d like to be out of this affair altogether? +Had enough of it, no doubt?”</p> +<p>I might have accepted that suggestion without hurting +Banks’s self-respect. I saw the excuse as a possibility that +provided an honourable way of escape. I had but to say, +“Well, in a way, yes. I have, in all innocence, got most +confoundedly entangled in an affair that hasn’t anything +whatever to do with me, and it seems that the best thing I can do +now is to clear out.” He would have believed that. He would +have seen the justice of it. But the moment this easy way of escape +was made clear to me, I knew that I did not want to take it; that +in spite of everything, I wanted, almost passionately, to go to the +Home Farm.</p> +<p>I was aware of a sudden clarity of vision. The choice that lay +before me appeared suddenly vital; a climax in my career, a symbol +of the essential choice that would determine my future.</p> +<p>On the one hand was the security of refusal. I could return, +unaffected, to my familiar life. Presently, when the Jervaise +nerves had become normal again, the Jervaises themselves would +recognise the egregious blunder they had made in their treatment of +me. They would apologise—through Frank. And I should go on, +as I had begun. I was already decently successful. I should become +more successful. I could look forward to increased financial +security, to a measure of fame, to all that is said to make life +worth living. And as I saw it, then, the whole prospect of that +easy future, appeared to me as hopelessly boring, worthless, +futile.</p> +<p>On the other hand…? I had no idea what awaited me on the +other hand. I could see that I should have to accept the stigma +that had been put upon me; that I should be thrown into the company +of a young woman whose personality had extraordinarily attracted +me, who probably detested me, and who might now be engaged to a man +I very actively disliked; that I should involve myself in an affair +that had not fully engaged my sympathy (I still retained my feeling +of compassion for old Jervaise); that I should, in short, be +choosing the path of greatest resistance and unpleasantness, with +no possibility of getting any return other than scorn and +disgrace.</p> +<p>I saw these alternatives in a flash, and no sane man would have +hesitated between them for one moment.</p> +<p>“But look here, Banks,” I said. “What would +your mother and—and your sister say to having an unknown +visitor foisted upon them without notice?”</p> +<p>“Oh! that’d be all right,” he said with +conviction.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing I should like better than to stay +with you,” I continued, “if I thought that +your—people would care to have me.”</p> +<p>“Well, as a matter of fact,” he said, “my +father and mother haven’t come home yet. They drove over to +some relations of ours about twelve miles away, yesterday +afternoon, and they won’t be back till about seven, probably. +Last chance my father had before harvest, and my mother likes to +get away now and again when she can manage it.”</p> +<p>“They don’t know yet, then, about you +and…?” I said, momentarily diverted by the new aspect +this news put on the doings of the night.</p> +<p>“Not yet. That’ll be all right, though,” Banks +replied, and added as an afterthought, “The old man may be a +bit upset. I want to persuade ’em all to come out to Canada, +you see. There’s a chance there. Mother would come like a +shot, but I’m afraid the old man’ll be a bit +difficult.”</p> +<p>“But, then, look here, Banks,” I said. “You +won’t want a stranger up there to-night of all +nights—interfering with your—er—family +council.”</p> +<p>Banks scratched his head with a professional air. “I +dunno,” he said. “It might help.” He looked at me +reflectively before adding, “You know She’s up +there—of course?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t,” I replied. “Was she there +last night when Jervaise and I went up?”</p> +<p>He shook his head. “We meant to go off together and chance +it,” he said. “May as well tell you now. There’s +no secret about it among ourselves. And then she came out to me on +the hill without her things—just in a cloak. Came to tell me +it was all off. Said she wouldn’t go, that way…. Well, +we talked…. Best part of three hours. And the end of it was, +she came back to the Farm.”</p> +<p>“And it isn’t all off?” I put in.</p> +<p>“The elopement is,” he said.</p> +<p>“But not the proposed marriage?”</p> +<p>He leaned against the door of the car with the air of one who is +preparing for a long story. “You’re sure you want to +hear all this?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Quite sure—that is, if you want to tell me,” +I said. “And if I’m coming home with you, it might be +as well if I knew exactly how things stand.”</p> +<p>“I felt somehow as if you and me were going to hit it off, +last night,” he remarked shyly.</p> +<p>“So did I,” I rejoined, not less shy than he +was.</p> +<p>Our friendship had been admitted and confirmed. No further word +was needed. We understood each other. I felt warmed and comforted. +It was good to be once more in the confidence of a fellowman. I +have not the stuff in me that is needed to make a good spy.</p> +<p>“Well, the way things are at present,” Banks hurried +on to cover our lapse into an un-British sentimentality, “is +like this. We’d meant, as I told you, to run +away….”</p> +<p>“And then she was afraid?”</p> +<p>“No, it was rather the other way round. It was me that was +afraid. You see, I thought I should take all the blame off the old +man by going off with her—him being away and all, I +didn’t think as even the Jervaises could very well blame it +on to him, overlooking what she pointed out, as once we’d +gone they’d simply have to get rid of him, too, blame or no +blame. They’d never stand having him and mother and Anne +within a mile of the Hall, as sort of relations. <em>I</em> ought +to have seen that, but one forgets these things at the +time.”</p> +<p>I nodded sympathetically.</p> +<p>“So what it came to,” he continued, “was that +we might as well face it out as not. She’s like +that—likes to have things straight and honest. So do I, for +the matter of that; but once you’ve been a gentleman’s +servant it gets in your blood or something. I was three years as +groom and so on up at the Hall before I went to Canada. Should have +been there now if it hadn’t been for mother. I was only a lad +of sixteen when I went into service, you see, and when I came back +I got into the old habits again. I tell you it’s difficult +once you’ve been in service to get out o’ the way of +feeling that, well, old Jervaise, for instance, is a sort of little +lord god almighty.”</p> +<p>“I can understand that,” I agreed, and added, +“but I’m rather sorry for him, old Jervaise. He has +been badly cut up, I think.”</p> +<p>Banks looked at me sharply, with one of his keen, rather +challenging turns of expression. “Sorry for him? You +needn’t be,” he said. “I could tell you +something—at least, I can’t—but you can take it +from me that you needn’t waste your pity on him.”</p> +<p>I realised that this was another reference to that +“pull” I had heard of, which could not be used, and was +not even to be spoken of to me after I had been admitted to +Banks’s confidence. I realised, further, that my guessing +must have gone hopelessly astray. Here was the suggestion of +something far more sinister than a playing on the old man’s +affection for his youngest child.</p> +<p>“Very well, I’ll take it from you,” I said. +“On the other hand, you can take it from me that old Jervaise +is very much upset.”</p> +<p>Banks smiled grimly. “He’s nervous at dangerous +corners, like you said,” he returned. “However, we +needn’t go into that—the point is as I began to tell +you, that we’ve decided to face it out; and well, you saw me +go up to the Hall this morning.”</p> +<p>“What happened?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” Banks said. “I saw the old man and +Mr. Frank, and they were both polite in a sort of way—no +shouting nor anything, though, of course, Mr. Frank tried to +browbeat me—but very firm that nothing had got to happen; no +engagement or running away or anything. She was to come home and I +was to go back to Canada—they’d pay my fare and so +on…”</p> +<p>“And you?”</p> +<p>“Me? I just stuck to it we were going to get married, and +Mr. Frank tried to threaten me till the old man stopped him, and +then I came out.”</p> +<p>“Did you wind up the stable-clock?” I put in.</p> +<p>“Yes. I forgot it last night,” he said. “And I +hate to see a thing not working properly.”</p> +<p>Dear Banks! I did not know, then, how characteristic that was of +him.</p> +<p>I returned to the subject in hand.</p> +<p>“What do you propose to do, then?” I asked. +“To get their consent?”</p> +<p>“Just stick to it,” he said.</p> +<p>“You think they’ll give way?”</p> +<p>“They’ll have to, in the end,” he affirmed +gravely, and continued in a colder voice that with him indicated a +flash of temper. “It’s just their respectability they +care about, that’s all. If they were fond of her, or she of +them, it would be another thing altogether. But she’s +different to all the others, and they’ve never hit it off, +she and them, among themselves. Why, they treat her quite +differently to the others; to Miss Olive, for instance.”</p> +<p>“Do they?” I said, in astonishment. I had been +romantically picturing Brenda as the favourite child, and I could +not, at once, see her in this new light.</p> +<p>“She never got on with ’em, somehow,” Banks +said. “Anyway, not when they were alone. Always rows of one +sort or another. They couldn’t understand her, of course, +being so different to the others.”</p> +<p>I was not satisfied with this explanation, but I did not press +him for further details. His insistence on Brenda’s +difference from the rest of the Jervaises was evidently as far as +he could get. The difference was obvious enough, certainly, but he +would naturally exaggerate it. He was, as Miss Tattersall had said, +“infatuated,” but I put a more kindly construction on +the description than she had done—perhaps +“enthralled” would have been a better word.</p> +<p>We had come to a pause. His confidences were exhausted for the +present. He had told me all that it was necessary for me to know +before I met Brenda and his sister; and I waited for him, now, to +renew his invitation. I preferred that <em>he</em> should re-open +that subject; but he came to it rather obliquely.</p> +<p>“Well!” he remarked. “Might as well be getting +on, I suppose?”</p> +<p>I nodded and got out of the car.</p> +<p>“Can you find your way up?” he proceeded.</p> +<p>“Alone?” I asked.</p> +<p>“It’s only about half a mile,” he explained, +“You can’t miss it. You see, I want to get the car back +to the house. Don’t do it any good standing about here. +Besides, it wouldn’t do for them to think as I was holding it +over them.”</p> +<p>Even the picture of a herculean Banks holding that car over the +Jervaises failed to divert me, just then. I was too much occupied +with my new friend’s simple absence of tact. I would sooner +have faced a return to the Hall than an unsupported appearance at +the Farm.</p> +<p>“Oh! I’m not going up there alone,” I +said.</p> +<p>Banks was honestly surprised. “Why not?” he asked. +“You met Anne last night, didn’t you? That’ll be +all right. You tell her I told you to come up. +<em>She’ll</em> understand.”</p> +<p>I shook my head. “It won’t take you long to run up +to the Hall and put the car in,” I said. “I’ll +cut across the Park and meet you in that wood just below your +house—the way that Jervaise and I went last night.”</p> +<p>He looked distressed. He could not understand my unwillingness +to go alone, but his sense of what was due to me would not permit +him to let me wait for him in the wood.</p> +<p>“But, I can’t see…” he began, and then +apparently realising that he was failing either in respect or in +hospitality, he continued, “Oh! well, I’ll just run up +with you at once; it won’t take us ten minutes, and half an +hour one way or the other won’t make any +difference.”</p> +<p>I accepted his sacrifice without further protestation; and after +he had carefully replaced the tarpaulin over the tonneau of the +car, we set off briskly towards the Farm. About a third of a mile +farther on we left the highroad for a side road, and another three +or four minutes’ walk up the hill brought us to the main +entrance to the Farm. I saw, now, that I had come with Jervaise to +a side door last night. This front approach was more +imposing—up a drive through an avenue of limes. The house +seen from this aspect looked very sweet and charming. It was +obviously of a date not later than the sixteenth century, and I +guessed that the rough-cast probably concealed a half-timber work +structure. In front of it was a good strip of carefully kept lawn +and flower garden. The whole place had an air of dignity and beauty +that I had not expected, and I think Banks must have noticed my +surprise, for he said,—</p> +<p>“Not bad, is it? Used to be a kind of dower house once +upon a time, they say.”</p> +<p>“Absolutely charming,” I replied. “Now, this +is the sort of house I should like to live in.”</p> +<p>“I dare say it’ll be to let before long,” +Banks said with a touch of grim humour.</p> +<p>“Not to me, though,” I said.</p> +<p>He laughed. “Perhaps not,” he agreed.</p> +<p>We had paused at the end of the little avenue for me to take in +the effect of the house, and as we still stood there, the sound of +a man’s voice came to us through the open window of one of +the rooms on the ground floor.</p> +<p>“Your father’s home sooner than you expected,” +I remarked.</p> +<p>“That’s not the old man,” Banks said in a tone +that instantly diverted my gaze from the beauties of the Home +Farm.</p> +<p>“Who is it, then?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Listen!” he said. He was suddenly keen, alert and +suspicious. I saw him no longer as the gentleman’s servant, +the product of the Jervaise estate, but as the man who had knocked +about the world, who often preferred to sleep in the open.</p> +<p>“There are two of them there,” he said; “Frank +Jervaise and that young fellow Turnbull, if I’m not +mistaken.” And even as he spoke he began hurriedly to cross +the little lawn with a look of cold anger and determination that I +was glad was not directed against myself.</p> +<p>As I followed him, it came into my mind to wonder whether Frank +Jervaise had taken me with him as a protection the night before? +Had he been afraid of meeting Banks? I had hitherto failed to find +any convincing reason for Jervaise’s queer mark of confidence +in me.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_X" id="Ch_X"></a>X</h3> +<h2>The Home Farm</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>I must own that I was distinctly uncomfortable as I followed +Banks into the same room in which I had sat on my previous visit to +the Home Farm. The influence of tradition and habit would not let +me alone. I cared nothing for the Jervaises’ opinion, but I +resented the unfairness of it and had all the innocent man’s +longing to prove his innocence—a feat that was now become for +ever impossible. By accepting Banks’s invitation, I had +confirmed the worst suspicions the Jervaises could possibly have +harboured against me.</p> +<p>Indeed, it seems probable that I was now revealing more shameful +depths of duplicity than their most depraved imaginings had been +able to picture. As I entered the room, I looked first at Frank, +and his dominant emotion, just then, appeared to be surprise. For a +moment I had a sense of reprieve. I guessed that he had not been +truly convinced of the truth of his own accusations against me. But +any relief I may have felt was dissipated at once. I saw +Jervaise’s look of surprise give place to a kind of perplexed +anger, an expression that I could only read as conveying his +amazement that any gentleman (I am sure his thought was playing +about that word) could be such a blackguard as I was now proving +myself to be.</p> +<p>Ronnie Turnbull, also, evidently shared that opinion. The boyish +and rather theatrical movement with which he turned his back upon +me, showed at once that he had been coached in the suspicions that +were now so finally clinched.</p> +<p>“This fellow simply isn’t worth speaking to,” +was the inarticulate message of his gesture.</p> +<p>And certainly I gave neither of them any occasion to speak to +me. Banks’s opening plunged us into one of those chaotic +dialogues which are only made more confused by any additional +contribution.</p> +<p>“What have you come up here for?” Banks asked, +displaying his immediate determination to treat the invaders +without respect of class on this common ground of his +father’s home.</p> +<p>“That’s our affair,” Frank snapped. He looked +nervously vicious, I thought, like a timid-minded dog turned +desperate.</p> +<p>“What the devil do you mean?” Turnbull asked at the +same moment, and Brenda got up from her chair and tried to address +some explanation to her lover through the ominous preparatory +snarlings of the melée.</p> +<p>I heard her say, “Arthur! They’ve been trying +to…” but lost the rest in the general shindy.</p> +<p>Turnbull, by virtue of his lung-power, was the most audible of +the four.</p> +<p>“You’ve jolly well got to understand, my good +man,” he was saying, “that the sooner you get out of +this the better”; and went on with more foolishness about +Banks having stolen the motor—all painfully tactless stuff, +if he still had the least intention of influencing Brenda, but he +was young and arrogant and not at all clever.</p> +<p>Banks and Jervaise were sparring at each other all the time that +Turnbull fulminated, and Brenda’s soprano came in like a +flageolet obbligato—a word or two here and there ringing out +with a grateful clearness above the masculine accompaniment.</p> +<p>I dared, in the confusion, to glance at Anne, and she looked up +at me at the same moment. She was slightly withdrawn from the +tumult that drew together about the counter of the sturdy oak table +in the centre of the room. She was sitting in the towering old +settle by the fireplace, leaning a little forward as if she awaited +her opportunity to spring in and determine the tumult when +something of this grotesque male violence had been exhausted.</p> +<p>She looked at me, I thought, with just a touch of supplication, +a look that I misinterpreted as a request to use my influence in +stopping this din of angry voices that was so obviously serving no +useful purpose. But I felt no inclination to respond to that appeal +of hers. I had an idea that she might be going to announce her +engagement to Jervaise, an announcement that would critically +affect the whole situation; and I had no wish to help her in +solving the immediate problem by those means.</p> +<p>Perhaps she read in my face something of the sullen resentment I +was feeling, for she leaned back quickly into the corner of the +settle, with a movement that seemed to indicate a temporary +resignation to the inevitable. I saw her as taking cover from this +foolish masculine din about the table; but I had no doubt that she +was still awaiting her opportunity.</p> +<p>It was Jervaise who brought back the unintelligible disputants +to reasonable speech. He stopped speaking, stepped back on to the +hearth-rug, and then addressed the loudly vociferous Turnbull.</p> +<p>“Ronnie!” Jervaise said in a tone that arrested +attention, and having got his man’s ear, added, “Half a +minute!”</p> +<p>“But look here, you know,” Turnbull protested, still +on the same note of aggressive violence. “What I mean to say +is that this feller seems to confoundedly well +imagine…”</p> +<p>“Do for God’s sake <em>shut up!</em>” Jervaise +returned with a scowl.</p> +<p>“I suppose you think that I haven’t any +right…” Turnbull began in a rather lower voice; and +Brenda at last finding a chance to make herself heard, finished him +by saying quickly,—</p> +<p>“Certainly you haven’t; no right whatever to come +here—and <em>brawl</em>…” She spoke +breathlessly, as though she were searching in the brief interlude +of an exhausting struggle for some insult that would fatally wound +and offend him. She tried to show him in a sentence that he was +nothing more to her than a blundering, inessential fool, +interfering in important business that was no concern of his. And +although the hurry of her mind did not permit her to find the +deadly phrase she desired, the sharpness of her anxiety to wound +him was clear enough.</p> +<p>“Oh! of course, if you think that…” he said, +paused as if seeking for some threat of retaliation, and then flung +himself, the picture of dudgeon, into a chair by the wall. He +turned his back towards Brenda and glared steadfastly at his rival. +I received the impression that the poor deluded boy was trying to +revenge himself on Brenda. At the back of his mind he seemed still +to regard her escapade as a foolish piece of bravado, undertaken +chiefly to torture himself. His attitude was meant to convey that +the joke had gone far enough, and that he would not stand much more +of it.</p> +<p>For a time at least he was, fortunately, out of the piece. +Perhaps he thought the influence of his attitude must presently +take effect; that Brenda, whom he so habitually adored with his +eyes, would be intimidated by his threat of being finally +offended?</p> +<p>The three other protagonists took no more notice of the sulky +Ronnie, but they could not at once recover any approach to +sequence.</p> +<p>“I want to know why you’ve come up here,” +Banks persisted.</p> +<p>“That’s not the point,” Jervaise began in a +tone that I thought was meant to be conciliatory.</p> +<p>“But it is—partly,” Brenda put in.</p> +<p>“My dear girl, do let’s have the thing clear,” +her brother returned, but she diverted his apparent intention of +making a plain statement by an impatient,—</p> +<p>“Oh! it’s all <em>clear</em> enough.”</p> +<p>“But it isn’t, by any means,” Jervaise +said.</p> +<p>“To us it is,” Banks added, meaning, I presume, that +he and Brenda had no doubts as to their intentions.</p> +<p>“You’re going to persist in the claim you made this +morning?” Jervaise asked.</p> +<p>Banks smiled and shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“Don’t be silly, Frank,” Brenda interpreted. +“You must know that we can’t do anything +else.”</p> +<p>“It’s foolish to say you +<em>can’t</em>,” he returned irritably, “when so +obviously you <em>can</em>.”</p> +<p>“Well, anyway, we’re going to,” Banks affirmed +with a slight inconsequence.</p> +<p>“And do you purpose to stay on here?” Jervaise said +sharply, as if he were posing an insuperable objection.</p> +<p>“Not likely,” Banks replied. “We’re +going to Canada, the whole lot of us.”</p> +<p>“Your father and mother, too?”</p> +<p>“Yes, if I can persuade ’em; and I can,” Banks +said.</p> +<p>“You haven’t tried yet?”</p> +<p>“No, I haven’t.”</p> +<p>“Don’t they know anything about this? Anything, I +mean, before last night’s affair?”</p> +<p>“Practically nothing at all,” Banks said. “Of +course, nothing whatever about last night.”</p> +<p>“And you honestly think…” began Jervaise.</p> +<p>“That’ll be all right, won’t it, Anne?” +Banks replied.</p> +<p>But Anne, still leaning back in the corner of the settle, +refused to answer.</p> +<p>Jervaise turned and looked down at her. “If you all +went…?” he said, giving his incomplete sentence the +sound of a question.</p> +<p>“Oh! I should certainly go, too,” she replied.</p> +<p>Jervaise frowned moodily. I could see that he was caught in an +awkward dilemma, but I was not absolutely sure as to the form it +took. Had Anne made conditions? Her remark seemed, I thought, to +hint a particular stipulation. Had she tried to coerce him with the +threat of accompanying her brother to Canada unless the engagement +to Brenda was openly sanctioned by the family?</p> +<p>“But you must see how impossible it is,” Jervaise +said, still looking at Anne.</p> +<p>“<em>We</em> don’t think so,” Brenda put +in.</p> +<p>“You don’t understand,” her brother returned +savagely.</p> +<p>“<em>You</em> don’t,” Brenda replied.</p> +<p>Jervaise snorted impatiently, but he had enough control of +himself to avoid the snare of being drawn into a bickering +match.</p> +<p>“It isn’t as if the decision rested with me,” +he went on, looking down at the hearth-rug, but still, I fancy, +addressing himself almost exclusively to Anne. “I can’t +make my father and mother see things as you do. No one could. Why +can’t you compromise?”</p> +<p>“Oh! <em>How</em>?” Brenda broke out with a fierce +contempt.</p> +<p>“Agree to separate—for a time,” Jervaise said. +“Let Banks go to Canada and start a farm or something, and +afterwards you could join him without any open scandal.”</p> +<p>“Any mortal thing to save a scandal, of course,” +Brenda commented scornfully.</p> +<p>“Would <em>you</em> be prepared to do that?” +Jervaise asked, turning to Banks.</p> +<p>I thought Banks seemed a trifle irresolute, as though the bribe +of finally possessing Brenda was tempting enough to outweigh any +other consideration. But he looked at her before replying, and her +contemptuous shake of the head was completely decisive. He could +not question any determination of hers.</p> +<p>“No, I wouldn’t,” he said.</p> +<p>“But look here, Brenda, why…” Jervaise began +on a note of desperate reasonableness.</p> +<p>“Because I’m going out <em>with</em> him,” +Brenda said. They might have chased that argument round for half an +hour if Ronnie had not once more interposed.</p> +<p>His dudgeon had been slowly giving place to a shocked surprise. +It was being borne in upon his reluctant mind that Brenda and Banks +honestly intended to get married. And here was Frank Jervaise, for +some mistaken purpose of his own, calmly admitting the possibility +of the outrage, instead of scorning the bare idea of it with +violence.</p> +<p>“I think you’re making a ghastly mistake, +Frank,” he said with a composure that was intended to be +extremely ominous.</p> +<p>Jervaise clutched at the interruption, probably to give himself +a little more time. The women were proving so unamenable to his +excellent reasoning. One simply contradicted him, and the other +refused to speak. “What’s a mistake, Ronnie?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“Listening to them at all,” Turnbull said, with a +preposterous attempt to be dignified. He would not look at Brenda +as he continued, but he was certainly aware that she had turned +towards him when he spoke, and the consciousness that she was +watching him steadily increased his embarrassment. +“It’s perfectly absurd, I mean, to talk as if you and +your people would allow the thing to go on—under any +circumstances—perfect rot! Why can’t you say at once +that it’s got to stop—absolutely, and—Good +Lord!—I don’t care what any one thinks—if I were +in your place I’d jolly well sling Banks off the +premises—I tell you I would—” he got to his feet, +his vehemence was increasing, as if he would shout down +Brenda’s silent disdain—“I’d confoundedly +well kick him out of the county…” He looked almost +equal to the task as he stood there roaring like a young bull-calf; +but although he could have given his rival a good three stone in +weight there was, I fancy, a difference in the quality of their +muscles that might have left the final advantage with Banks in a +rough-and-tumble engagement.</p> +<p>But despite, or perhaps on account of his complete ineptitude, I +had a feeling of sympathy for Turnbull. It must have been very +exasperating for him to stand there, roaring out his sincerest +convictions and to be received by every one of us with a forbearing +contempt.</p> +<p>Even Brenda expressed something of pity for him.</p> +<p>“My dear Ronnie, don’t be absolutely idiotic,” +she said, forbearingly, but rather as though she warned him that he +had said quite enough.</p> +<p>He breathed heavily, resentfully, but still declined to look at +her. “Of course if you’d sooner I went away +altogether…” he remarked.</p> +<p>“I don’t see that you can help us by staying,” +Brenda said.</p> +<p>“I mean for good,” he explained tragically.</p> +<p>I heard afterwards that he had been in love with Brenda since +she was nine years old, but I might have inferred the fact from his +present attitude. He simply could not believe, as yet, that she +would let him go—for good, as he said. No doubt she had +tricked and plagued him so often in the past that the present +situation seemed to him nothing more than the repetition of a +familiar experience.</p> +<p>Brenda must have realised that, too; but, no doubt, she shrank +from wounding him mortally in public. The ten years of familiar +intercourse between her and Ronnie were not to be obliterated in a +day, not even by the fury of her passion for Arthur Banks.</p> +<p>“I know,” she said. “But you <em>are</em> +interrupting, Ronnie. Do go!”</p> +<p>“And leave you here?” He was suddenly encouraged +again by her tone. He looked down at her, now; pleading like a +great puppy, beseeching her to put a stop to this very painful +game.</p> +<p>“Surely, Ronnie, you must realise that I—mean it, +this time,” she said.</p> +<p>“Not that you’re going to … going to +Canada,” he begged.</p> +<p>“Yes. Yes. Definitely and absolutely finally yes,” +she said.</p> +<p>“With—him?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But, <em>Brenda</em>!” The long-drawn appeal of her +name showed that the full bitterness of the truth was coming home +to him at last.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” she said, and the sound of it was +in some way painfully final.</p> +<p>“It isn’t because…” he began, but she +anticipated his well-known reasons by saying,—</p> +<p>“It’s nothing to do with you or with anything +you’ve done, nothing whatever. I’m sorry, Ronnie, but +it’s fate—just fate. Do go, now. I’ll see you +again before—before we go.”</p> +<p>And still he stood for an instant undecided; and I could see the +struggle that was going on in him, between the influence of Harrow +and Oxford and those of the honest, simple primitive man. He knew +that the right, conventional thing for him to do was to be +magnanimous; to admit that he was the defeated lover, and to say +something that would prove how splendid he could be in the moment +of disaster. The traditions of Harrow, Oxford, and the melodrama +united to give him an indication of the proper conduct of the +situation, and against them was ranged nothing more than one feral +impulse to take Banks by the throat and settle his blasphemous +assumption of rivalry off-hand.</p> +<p>But it was, I think, a third influence that decided the struggle +for that time. His glare of wrath at Banks had been followed by one +last yearning look at Brenda, and some sentimental realisation of +his loss rose and choked him, temporarily superseding the powers +both of make-believe and instinct. One lesson he had learnt at +Harrow and Oxford so thoroughly that he re-acted to it even in this +supreme crisis of his life. He might give expression to brutal +passion, but in no circumstances whatever must he break down and +weep in public.</p> +<p>He turned quickly and blundered out of the room with a stumbling +eagerness to be alone that was extraordinarily pathetic.</p> +<p>“You’ll admit, B., that it’s cursedly hard +lines on Ronnie after all these years,” Frank said with what +sounded like genuine emotion.</p> +<p>She took that up at once. “I know it is,” she said. +“It’s going to be hard lines on lots of people, but +there’s no way out of it. You may think it’s silly tosh +to talk about Fate; but it <em>is</em> Fate.”</p> +<p>And then she looked at Banks with something in her expression +that was surely enough to compensate him for any pain or sacrifice +he might have to endure for her.</p> +<p>“<em>We</em> can’t help it, can we, Arthur?” +she said.</p> +<p>He was too moved to answer. He set his lips tightly together and +shook his head, gazing at her with a look of adoration and +confidence that was almost violent in its protestation of love.</p> +<p>Jervaise turned round and leaned his forehead against the high +mantelpiece. I looked out of the window. Anne remained hidden in +the corner of the settle. We all, no doubt, had the same feeling +that this love-affair was showing itself as something too splendid +to be interfered with. Whether or not it had the qualities that +make for endurance, it had a present force that dwarfed every other +emotion. Those two lovers ruled us by their perfect devotion to +each other. I felt ashamed of my presence there, as if I had +intruded upon some fervent religious ceremony. They were both so +sincere, so gallant, and so proud.</p> +<p>It was Banks who re-started the conversation. The solitude we +had permitted to the lovers was at once too little and too much for +them. What had passed between them by an exchange of signals in the +brief interval, I could only guess; they certainly had not spoken, +but Banks’s new subject suggested that they had somehow +agreed to divert the interest momentarily from themselves.</p> +<p>“I’ve brought Mr. Melhuish back with me,” he +said. “He’s going to stay the night with us.” He +may have been addressing Brenda in answer to some look of inquiry +that had indicated my resolutely unconscious back.</p> +<p>Since Turnbull had gone, I was more than ever the outsider and +intruder, and I was all too keenly aware of that fact as I turned +back towards the room. My embarrassment was not relieved by the +slightly perplexed astonishment the announcement had evoked in the +faces of the two women.</p> +<p>“But I thought you were staying at the Hall,” Brenda +said, looking at me with that air of suspicion to which I was +rapidly growing accustomed.</p> +<p>“I was,” I said; “but for reasons that your +brother may be able to explain, I’m staying there no +longer.”</p> +<p>She looked at Jervaise, then, but he had no reply ready. I had +put him in a difficult position. I had a chance to revenge myself +at last.</p> +<p>“I don’t understand, Frank,” Brenda prompted +him; and Anne began to come to life for the first time since I had +entered the room—there was a new effect of mischief about +her, as if she had partly guessed the cause of my expulsion from +the Hall.</p> +<p>“It’s a long story,” Jervaise +prevaricated.</p> +<p>“But one that I think you ought to tell,” I said, +“in justice to me.”</p> +<p>“We found that Melhuish had been, most unwarrantably, +interfering in—in this affair of yours, B.,” he +grumbled; “and, in any case, it’s no business of +his.”</p> +<p>Brenda’s dark eyebrows lifted with that expression of +surprised questioning to which she could give such unusual effect. +I suppose it emphasised that queer contrast—unique in my +experience—between her naturally fair hair, and her black +eyebrows and eyelashes. I have to emphasise the fact that the straw +gold of her abundant vital hair was its <em>natural</em> colour. +She had often, I believe, threatened to dye it, in order to avoid +the charge of having already done so.</p> +<p>“What piffle!” she remarked. “How has Mr. +Melhuish interfered? Why, this is the first time I’ve seen +him since last night at the dance. Besides,” she glanced at +me with a half-whimsical touch of apology, “I hardly know +him.”</p> +<p>“Oh! it’s some romantic rot of his, I +suppose,” Jervaise returned sullenly. “I never thought +it was serious.”</p> +<p>“But,” Anne interposed, “it sounds very +serious…if Mr. Melhuish has had to leave the Hall in the +middle of his visit—and come to us.” I inferred that +she was deliberately overlooking my presence in the room for some +purpose of her own. She certainly spoke as if I were not +present.</p> +<p>“Partly a misunderstanding,” Jervaise said. +“No reason why he shouldn’t come back with me now if he +wants to.”</p> +<p>“You would in that case explain, of course, how the +misunderstanding arose?” I put in.</p> +<p>“<em>I</em> don’t know what your game is,” he +returned allusively.</p> +<p>“I never had one,” I said.</p> +<p>“Looked infernally suspicious,” was his grudging +answer.</p> +<p>The two girls exchanged a look of understanding, but I had no +notion what they intended by it. I had not learnt, then, how +cleverly they played up to each other.</p> +<p>“Yes, but suspicious of what, Mr. Jervaise?” Anne +said, taking up the cross-examination.</p> +<p>“Spying upon us,” Jervaise growled.</p> +<p>“Upon you or me?” asked Brenda.</p> +<p>“Both,” Jervaise said.</p> +<p>“But why?” asked Anne.</p> +<p>“Lord knows,” Jervaise replied.</p> +<p>I made no effort to interrupt them. The two girls were clearing +my character for me by the simple obvious method that I had not had +the wit to adopt for myself. I might have argued and protested for +hours, and the only result would have been to confirm +Jervaise’s suspicions. Confronted by an innocent demand for +explanation, he had not a leg to stand on.</p> +<p>Brenda’s eyebrows went up again, with that slightly +bizarre, exotic air which was so arresting. She spoke to me this +time.</p> +<p>“And do you mean to say that they were all so horrid to +you that you had to come away?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Precisely that,” I said.</p> +<p>“But you don’t tell us what Mr. Melhuish has +<em>done!</em>” Anne persisted, continuing her +cross-examination of Jervaise.</p> +<p>“Well, for one thing, he went out to meet your brother at +three o’clock this morning,” he replied grudgingly.</p> +<p>“Didn’t come out to meet me,” Banks put in. +“We did meet all right, but it was the first time we’d +ever seen each other.”</p> +<p>We all four looked at Jervaise, awaiting his next piece of +evidence with the expectant air of children watching a +conjurer.</p> +<p>He began to lose his temper. “I can’t see that this +has got anything to do with what we’re +discussing…” he said, but I had no intention of +letting him off too easily. He had saved me the trouble of making +tedious explanations, and my character had been cleared before Anne +and Brenda, which two things were all that I really cared about in +this connection; but I wanted, for other reasons, to make Jervaise +appear foolish. So I interrupted him by saying,—</p> +<p>“Hadn’t you better tell them about Miss +Tattersall?”</p> +<p>He turned on me, quite savagely. “What the devil has this +affair of ours got to do with you, Melhuish?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Nothing whatever,” I said. “You dragged me +into it in the first instance by bringing me up here last night, +but since then I haven’t interfered one way or the other. +What does affect me, however, is that you and your family +have—well—insulted me, and for that you do owe me, at +least, an explanation.”</p> +<p>“What made you come up here, now?” he asked with +that glowering legal air of his; thrusting the question at me as if +I must, now, be finally confuted.</p> +<p>“After you ran away from me in the avenue,” I said +promptly, “it seemed that the only thing left for me to do +was to walk to Hurley Junction; but a quarter of a mile from the +Park gate I found your car drawn up by the side of the road. And as +I had no sort of inclination to walk fourteen miles on a broiling +afternoon, I decided to wait by the car until some one came to +fetch it. And when presently Banks came, I tried my best to +persuade him to take me to the station in it. He refused on the +grounds that he wanted to take the car back at once to the garage; +but when I explained my difficulty to him, his hospitable mind +prompted him to offer me temporary refuge at the Home Farm. He +brought me back to introduce me, and we found you here. Simple, +isn’t it?”</p> +<p>Jervaise scowled at the hearth-rug. “All been a cursed +misunderstanding from first to last,” he growled.</p> +<p>“But what was that about Grace Tattersall?” Brenda +asked. “If you’d accused <em>her</em> of spying, I +could have understood it. She was trying to pump me for all she was +worth yesterday afternoon.”</p> +<p>“I’ve admitted that there must have been some +misunderstanding,” Jervaise said. “For goodness’ +sake, let’s drop this question of Melhuish’s +interference and settle the more important one of what we’re +going to do about—you.”</p> +<p>“I resent that word ‘interference,’” I +put in.</p> +<p>“Oh! resent it, then,” Jervaise snarled.</p> +<p>“Really, I think Mr. Melhuish is perfectly +justified,” Brenda said. “I feel horribly ashamed of +the way you’ve been treating him at home. I should never have +thought that the mater…”</p> +<p>“Can’t you understand that she’s nearly off +her head with worrying about you?” Jervaise interrupted.</p> +<p>“No, I can’t,” Brenda returned. “If it +had been Olive, I could. But I should have thought they would all +have been jolly glad to see the last of me. They’ve always +given me that impression, anyhow.”</p> +<p>“Not in this way,” her brother grumbled.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by that exactly?” Anne asked with +a great seriousness.</p> +<p>I think Jervaise was beginning to lose his nerve. He was +balanced so dangerously between the anxiety to maintain the +respectability of the Jervaises and his passion, or whatever it +was, for Anne. Such, at least, was my inference; although how he +could possibly reconcile his two devotions I could not imagine, +unless his intentions with regard to Anne were frankly shameful. +And Jervaise must, indeed, be an even grosser fool than I supposed +him to be if he could believe for one instant that Anne was the +sort of woman who would stoop to a common intrigue with him. For it +could be nothing more than that. If they loved each other, they +could do no less than follow the shining example of Brenda and +Anne’s brother. I could see Anne doing that, and with a still +more daring spirit than the other couple had so far displayed. I +could not see her as Frank Jervaise’s mistress. Moreover, I +could not believe now, even after that morning’s scene in the +wood, that she really cared for him. If she did, she must have been +an actress of genius, since, so far as I had been able to observe, +her attitude towards him during the last half-hour had most nearly +approached one of slightly amused contempt.</p> +<p>Jervaise’s evident perplexity was notably aggravated by +Anne’s question.</p> +<p>“Well, naturally, my father and mother don’t want an +open scandal,” he said irritably.</p> +<p>“But why a scandal?” asked Anne. “If Arthur +and Brenda were married and went to Canada?”</p> +<p>“I don’t say that <em>I</em> think it would be a +scandal,” he said. “I’m only telling you the way +that <em>they’d</em> certainly see it. It might have been +different if your brother had never been in our service. You must +see that. <em>We</em> know, of course, but other people +don’t, and we shall never be able to explain to them. People +like the Turnbulls and the Atkinsons and all that lot will say that +Brenda eloped with the chauffeur. It’s no good beating about +the bush—that’s the plain fact we’ve got to +face.”</p> +<p>“Then, hadn’t we better face it?” Anne +returned with a flash of indignation. “Or do you think you +can persuade Arthur to go back to Canada, alone?”</p> +<p>Jervaise grunted uneasily.</p> +<p>“You know it’s no earthly, Frank,” Brenda +said. “Why can’t you be a sport and go back and tell +them that they might as well give in at once?”</p> +<p>“Oh! my dear girl, you must know perfectly well that +they’ll <em>never</em> give in,” her brother +replied.</p> +<p>“Mr. Jervaise might,” Banks put in.</p> +<p>Frank turned to him sharply. “What do you mean by +that?” he asked.</p> +<p>“He’d have given in this morning, if it hadn’t +been for you,” Banks said, staring with his most dogged +expression at Jervaise.</p> +<p>“What makes you think so?” Jervaise retaliated.</p> +<p>“What he said, and the way he behaved,” Banks +asserted, the English yeoman stock in him still very apparent.</p> +<p>“You’re mistaken,” Jervaise snapped.</p> +<p>“Give me a chance to prove it, then,” was +Banks’s counter.</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“I’ve got to take that car back. Give me a chance +for another talk with Mr. Jervaise; alone this time.”</p> +<p>I looked at Banks with a sudden feeling of anxiety. I was afraid +that he meant at last to use that “pull” he had hinted +at on the hill; and I had an intuitive shrinking from the idea of +his doing that. This open defiance was fine and upright. The other +attitude suggested to my mind the conception of something cowardly, +a little base and underhand. He looked, I admit, the picture of +sturdy virtue as he stood there challenging his late master to +permit this test of old Jervaise’s attitude, but the prize at +stake was so inestimably precious to Banks, that it must have +altered all his values. He would, I am sure, have committed murder +for Brenda—any sort of murder.</p> +<p>Frank Jervaise did not respond at once to the gage that had been +offered. He appeared to be moodily weighing the probabilities +before he decided his policy. And Brenda impatiently prompted him +by saying,—</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t see what possible objection you can +have to that.”</p> +<p>“Only want to save the pater any worry I can,” +Jervaise said. “He has been more cut up than any one over +this business.”</p> +<p>“The pater has?” queried Brenda on a note of +amazement. “I shouldn’t have expected him to be half as +bad as the mater and Olive.”</p> +<p>“Well, he is. He’s worse—much worse,” +Jervaise asserted.</p> +<p>I was listening to the others, but I was watching Banks, and I +saw him sneer when that assertion was made. The expression seemed +to have been forced out of him against his will; just a quick jerk +downwards of the corners of his mouth that portrayed a supreme +contempt for old Jervaise’s distress. But that sneer revealed +Banks’s opinion to me better than anything he had said or +done. I knew then that he was aware of something concerning the +master of the Hall that was probably unknown either to Brenda or +Frank, something that Banks had loyally hidden even from his +sister. He covered his sneer so quickly that I believe no one else +noticed it.</p> +<p>“But, surely, it would be better for the pater to see +Arthur and have done with it,” Brenda was saying.</p> +<p>“Oh! I dare say,” Jervaise agreed with his usual air +of grudging the least concession. “Are you ready to go +now?” he asked, addressing Banks.</p> +<p>Banks nodded. “I’ll pick up the car on the +way,” he said.</p> +<p>“I’ll come with you—as far as the car,” +Brenda said, and the pair of them went out together.</p> +<p>Jervaise stretched himself with a self-conscious air. “It +will take him the best part of an hour getting the car into the +garage and all that,” he remarked, looking at me.</p> +<p>I could see, of course, that he wanted me to go; his hint had +been, indeed, almost indecently pointed; and I had no wish to +intrude myself upon them, if Anne’s desire coincided with +his. I got to my feet and stood like an awkward dummy trying to +frame some excuse for leaving the room. I could think of nothing +that was not absurdly obvious. I was on the point of trying to save +the last remnant of my dignity by walking out, when Anne relieved +my embarrassment. I knew that she had been watching me, but I was +afraid to look at her. I cannot say why, exactly, but I felt that +if I looked at her just then I should give myself away before +Jervaise.</p> +<p>“I must go and see about Mr. Melhuish’s room,” +she said.</p> +<p>She was half-way to the door when Jervaise stopped her.</p> +<p>“I should rather like to speak to you for a minute +first,” he remarked, and scowled again at me.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing more to be said until Arthur has +seen Mr. Jervaise,” Anne replied, as though any subject other +than the affair Brenda, could not conceivably be of interest to +her.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t about them,” Jervaise said +awkwardly.</p> +<p>“What was it, then?” Anne asked. I dared to look at +her, now, and her face was perfectly serious as she added, +“Was it about the milk, or eggs, or anything?”</p> +<p>Without doubt there was a delicious strain of minx in her!</p> +<p>Jervaise lost his temper. I believe that if I had offered to +fight him, then, he would have welcomed the opportunity.</p> +<p>“Oh! you know what I want to say,” he snorted.</p> +<p>“Then why not say it?” Anne replied.</p> +<p>He turned savagely upon me. “Haven’t you got the +common sense…” he began, but Anne cut him short.</p> +<p>“Oh! we don’t suspect <em>our</em> guests of +spying,” she said.</p> +<p>I was nearly sorry for Jervaise at that moment. He could not +have looked any more vindictive than he looked already, but he +positively trembled with anger. He could not endure to be thwarted. +Nevertheless, he displayed a certain measure of self-control.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said as calmly as he could. +“If you’re going to take that tone…”</p> +<p>“Yes?” Anne prompted him. She showed no sign of +being in any way disconcerted.</p> +<p>“It will hardly help your brother,” he +concluded.</p> +<p>“I made a mistake in trying to help him this +morning,” she said. “I shan’t make the same +mistake twice in one day.”</p> +<p>He evidently knew what she meant, although I did not. His heavy +eyebrows twitched, and then, with a half-contemptuous shrug of his +shoulders he strode out of the room with an air of leaving us to +the doom we so justly deserved.</p> +<p>“The worst of it is that the second mistake doesn’t +cancel the first,” Anne remarked thoughtfully.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_XI" id="Ch_XI"></a>XI</h3> +<h2>The Story</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>She still stood by the great oak table, her hands resting +lightly on its dark polished surface. I could see the vague +reflection of her fingers reaching up through the deep solidity of +the oak to join hands with her. She produced, I thought, an +impressive effect of fragility and power in her contrast with that +massive table. The material of her flesh was so delicate compared +to the inert, formidable mass before her. She could not have lifted +or moved it by her own effort. And yet it seemed that she had +absolute command over that ponderous obstacle, that in some way the +mobility of her spirit must give her control of it, that she might, +if she wished, plunge those relatively fragile hands of hers deep +into the lake of that dark and adamant surface.</p> +<p>She had not looked at me since Jervaise left the room, and when +she spoke again she gazed with a kind of concentrated abstraction +out of the window at the quiet glory of the calm August evening. +Nevertheless her speech showed that all her attention was being +given to the human interests that had just been absorbing us.</p> +<p>“Are you really a friend of ours?” she asked, +“or did you just come here faute de mieux?” The little +French phrase came like an unexpected jewel, as if she had relapsed +unconsciously into a more familiar language.</p> +<p>I was strangely confused by the fact of our being alone +together. I had an entirely unwarranted feeling that we were about +to make up a quarrel. And I wanted to do my utmost to produce the +best possible impression upon her.</p> +<p>“I hope I may call myself your brother’s +friend,” I began lamely. “All my sympathies are with +him.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know the Jervaises particularly +well?” she inquired. For one moment she glanced down at her +poised hands, but almost instantly returned to her rather +absent-minded gazing through the open window.</p> +<p>“Except for Frank and his brother, I never met one of them +until last night,” I explained. “I was at school and +Cambridge with Frank.”</p> +<p>“But they are your sort, your class,” she said. +“Don’t you agree with them that it’s a dreadful +thing for Arthur, their chauffeur—and he was in the stables +once, years ago—to try to run away with their +daughter?”</p> +<p>“All my sympathies are with Arthur,” I repeated.</p> +<p>“Not because the Jervaises were so rude to you?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“I liked him before that; when we met on the hill, very +early this morning,” I said. “But, perhaps, he +didn’t tell you.”</p> +<p>“Yes, he told me,” she said. “And was that the +beginning of all the trouble between you and the +Jervaises?”</p> +<p>“In a way, it was,” I agreed. “But it’s +an involved story and very silly. I admit that they had grounds for +suspecting that I had interfered.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Jervaise and Olive are always suspecting +people,” she volunteered. “I’ve often wondered +why?”</p> +<p>“Like that, by nature,” I suggested.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” she said carelessly as if she did not +care to pursue that speculation. “You know that my mother was +governess to Olive and Frank before she married my father?” +she continued, still with that same air of discussing some remote, +detached topic.</p> +<p>“I heard that she had been a governess. I didn’t +know that she had ever been with the Jervaises,” I said.</p> +<p>“She was there for over two years,” pursued Anne. +“She is French, you know, though you’d probably never +guess it, now, except for an occasional word here and there. She +left years before Brenda was born. Brenda is so much younger than +the others. There’s eight years between her and Robert, the +next one. Olive’s the eldest, of course, and then +Frank.”</p> +<p>I made some conventional acknowledgment for this information. I +was wondering if she were merely talking to save the embarrassment +of silence. We had drifted, apparently, a long way from any matter +of personal interest and I was hesitating as to whether I should +not attempt a new opening, when she began again with the least +little frown of determination.</p> +<p>“I’m talking about them, because if you are to be +Arthur’s friend you ought to know more or less how things are +between us and the Jervaises, and I might just as well say right +out at once that we don’t like them; we’ve never liked +them. Mother, more particularly. She has got something against them +that she has never told us, but it isn’t that.” Her +frown was more pronounced as she went on, “They aren’t +nice people, any of them, except Brenda, and she’s so +absolutely different from the rest of them, and doesn’t like +them either—in a way.”</p> +<p>“You don’t even except Frank?” I mumbled. I +could not resist the opportunity she had offered to ask that too +pointed question; but I looked down at the floor as I spoke; I +wanted her to understand that I was not cross-examining her.</p> +<p>“I knew you saw us,” she returned in the same even +tone that she had used all through this conversation of ours. She +had not once raised or lowered her voice. She might have been +speaking a part, just to test her memory.</p> +<p>“Yes, I did,” I said. “Quite by accident, of +course. I had no idea that he had come up here. I hadn’t seen +him since breakfast.”</p> +<p>“It was a mistake,” she said simply.</p> +<p>I looked up at her, hoping with no shadow of reason that I might +have played some part in her discovery that that caress in the wood +had been a mistake. But she had not changed colour nor moved her +attitude, and her voice was still free from any emotion as she +said,—</p> +<p>“We thought, Brenda and I thought, that we might trick +him. It was a piece of chicane. She and I were rather silly this +morning. We excite each other. In a sort of way she dared me. But I +was sorry afterwards and so was Brenda, although she thought it +might be better as I’d gone so far to keep it up until Arthur +had got a promise or something out of Mr. Jervaise. I had meant to +do that. I don’t know why I didn’t.”</p> +<p>“But do you think that Frank Jervaise realises that you +were only playing with him for your own ends, this morning?” +I asked.</p> +<p>“Oh! yes,” she said with perfect assurance. +“As a matter of fact, he was very suspicious this morning. +He’s like his mother and sister in suspecting +everybody.”</p> +<p>“Do you think he’ll make trouble?” I said. +“Now? Up at the Hall?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do. He’s vindictive,” she replied. +“That’s one reason why I’m glad you are with us, +now. It might help—though I don’t quite see how. +Perhaps it’s just the feeling of having some one else on our +side. Because I’m afraid that there’s going to be a lot +of trouble when my father and mother come home. With my father, +more particularly. He’ll be afraid of being turned out. It +will be very difficult to make him take up a new idea. He’ll +hate the thought of leaving here and starting all over again in +Canada. He loves this place so.”</p> +<p>“And I suppose he likes, or at least respects, the +Jervaises?” I said.</p> +<p>“Not much,” she replied. “They’ve made +it very difficult for us in many ways.”</p> +<p>“Deliberately?” I suggested.</p> +<p>“They don’t care,” she said, warming a little +for the first time. “They simply don’t think of any one +but themselves. For instance, it mayn’t seem much to you, but +it’s part of our agreement with Mr. Jervaise to provide the +Hall with dairy when they’re at home—at market prices, +of course. And then they’ll go to town for two or three +months in the summer and take a lot of the servants with them, and +we’re left to find a market for our dairy as best we can, +just when milk is most plentiful.” She lifted her hands for a +moment in a graceful French gesture as she added, “Often it +means just giving milk away.”</p> +<p>“Does your father complain about that?” I asked.</p> +<p>She turned and looked at me with a complete change of +expression. Her abstraction had vanished, giving place to an air +that confessed a deliberate caprice.</p> +<p>“To <em>us</em>,” she said with a laugh that +delightfully indulged her father’s weakness.</p> +<p>I needed nothing more to illuminate the relations of the Banks +family. With that single gesture she had portrayed her +father’s character, and her own and her mother’s +smiling consideration for him. Nevertheless I was still interested +in his attitude towards the Hall—with Anne as interpreter. I +knew that I should get a version noticeably different from the one +her brother had given me on the hill that morning.</p> +<p>“But you said that your father hadn’t much +<em>respect</em> for the Jervaises?” I stipulated.</p> +<p>“Not for the Jervaises as individuals,” she amended, +“but he has for the Family. And they aren’t so much a +family to him as an Idea, an Institution, a sort of Religion. +Nothing would break him of that, nothing the Jervaises themselves +ever could do. He’d be much more likely to lose his faith in +God than in the Rights of the Hall. That’s one of his +sayings. He says they have rights, as if there was no getting over +that. It’s just like people used to believe in the divine +right of kings.”</p> +<p>I do not know whether I was more fascinated by her theme or by +her exposition of it. “Then, how is it that the rest of +you…?” I began, but she had not the patience to wait +while I finished the question. She was suddenly eager, vivid, +astonishingly alive; a different woman from the Anne who had spoken +as if in her sleep, while plunged in some immense, engrossing +meditation.</p> +<p>“My mother,” she broke in. “The Jervaises mean +nothing to her, nothing of that sort. She wasn’t brought up +on it. It isn’t in her blood. In a way she’s as good as +they are. Her grandfather was an emigré from the +Revolution—not titled except just for the ‘de’, +you know—they had an estate near Rouen … but all this +doesn’t interest you.”</p> +<p>“It does, profoundly,” I said.</p> +<p>She looked at me with a spice of mischief in her eyes. +“Why?” she asked.</p> +<p>It was a tempting opening for a flirtation, but I could not +flirt with her. When I had first heard the clear, soft tones of her +voice at the window, I must have known that my meeting with her was +a new and decisive experience. I had always idealised a certain +type of woman, and perhaps for that reason I had always held back +from the possible disillusions of an exploring intimacy. But my +recognition of Anne had nothing in common with all my old +deliberately romantic searchings for a theoretical affinity. If I +had been asked at any time before two o’clock that morning to +define my ideal, the definition would not have described Anne. +Indeed, I could never have imagined her. She was altogether too +individual, too positive, too independently real, to fit the +mawkish vapourings of a man’s imaginary woman. There was +something about her that conquered me. Already I was blushingly +ashamed of my jealous suspicion that she could sell herself by a +marriage with Jervaise. In all her moods, she appeared to me with +an effect that I can only describe as “convincing.”</p> +<p>She was a perpetual revelation, and each new phase of her +thrilled me with admiration, and a sense of long-sought +satisfaction. I could be content to watch and to listen to her. The +revelations of her personality were to me as a continual and +glorious adventure. To flirt with her would be a confession on my +part of a kind of superiority that I could never feel; a suggestion +of the ridiculous assumption that I could afford to dally with and +in certain circumstances flout her. I could sooner have dallied +with and flouted a supreme work of art. Wherefore when she +challenged me with her daring “Why?” I met her eyes +with a look that if it in any way represented what I was feeling, +must have expressed a grave and sincere humility.</p> +<p>“I can hardly tell you why,” I said. “I can +only assure you that I am profoundly interested.”</p> +<p>She accepted that statement with a readiness that gave me +another thrill of satisfaction. She understood my desire and gave +way to it, instantly fulfilling my present need of her.</p> +<p>“My great-grandfather went back to Paris after things had +settled down,” she went on, as if there had been no break in +her narrative; “just as a common workman. He was about +thirty-five, then, I believe; his first wife and his two children +had died of small-pox in Holland, and he didn’t marry again +until he was sixty. He had only one child afterwards; that was my +grandmother. But I can’t tell you the story properly. You +must get my mother to do that. She makes such a lovely romance out +of it. And it <em>is</em> rather romantic, too, isn’t it? I +like to feel that I’ve got that behind me rather than all the +stodgy old ancestors the Jervaises have got. Wouldn’t +you?”</p> +<p>“Rather,” I agreed warmly.</p> +<p>“If I didn’t miss all the important points +you’d think so,” Anne replied with a little childish +pucker of perplexity coming in her forehead. “But +story-telling isn’t a bit in my line. I wish it were. I can +listen to mother for hours, and I can never make out quite what it +is she does to make her stories so interesting. Of course she +generally tells them in French, which helps, but I’m no +better in French than in English. Mother has a way of saying +‘Enfin’ or ‘En effet’ that in itself is +quite thrilling.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know quite how well you do it +yourself,” I said.</p> +<p>She shook her head. “Not like mother,” she asserted. +With that childish pucker still wrinkling her forehead she looked +like a little girl of fourteen. I could see her gazing up at her +mother with some little halting perplexed question. I felt as if +she were giving me some almost miraculous confidence, obliterating +all the strangeness of new acquaintanceship by displaying the story +of her girlhood.</p> +<p>“She puts mystery into it, too,” she went on, still +intent on the difference between her own and her mother’s +methods. “And, I think, there really is some mystery that +she’s never told us,” she added as an afterthought. +“After my grandfather died, her mother married again, a +widower with one little girl, and when she grew up mother got her +over here as a sort of finishing governess to Olive Jervaise. She +came a year or two before Brenda was born. She was born in Italy. +Did you know that? I always wonder whether that’s why +she’s so absolutely different from all the others.”</p> +<p>“She certainly is. I don’t know whether that’s +enough to explain it,” I commented. “And did your +mother’s step-sister go abroad with them?”</p> +<p>“I believe so. She never came back here afterwards. She +has been dead for ages, now. But mother’s always rather +mysterious about her. That’s how I began, wasn’t it? I +know that she was very beautiful, and sometimes I think I can just +remember her. I must have been about four when she left here, +because I’m rather more than four years older than +Brenda.”</p> +<p>The thought of Anne at four was not less fascinating to me than +the picture of her at fourteen. I was jealous of all her +twenty-three years of life. I wanted to have an intimate knowledge +of all her past being; of every least change and development that +she had suffered since babyhood.</p> +<p>But I was to have no more confidences of that sort just then. +The child disappeared from her face and speech as quickly as it had +come. She appeared to be dreaming, again, as she continued almost +without a pause,—</p> +<p>“But it isn’t my mother I’m sorry for in this +affair. She’ll arrange herself. I think she’ll be glad, +in a way. We all should if it weren’t for my father. +We’re so ruled by the Jervaises here. And it’s worse +than that. Their—their prestige sort of hangs over you +everywhere. It’s like being at the court of Louis Quatorze. +The estate is theirs and they are the estate. Mother often says we +are still féodal down here. It seems to me sometimes that +we’re little better than slaves.”</p> +<p>I smiled at the grotesqueness of the idea. It was impossible to +conceive Anne as a slave.</p> +<p>She was still gazing out of the window with that appearance of +abstraction, but she was evidently aware of my smile, for she +said,—</p> +<p>“You think that’s absurd, do you?”</p> +<p>“In connection with you,” I replied. “I +can’t see you as any one’s slave.”</p> +<p>She gave me her attention again. “No, I couldn’t +be,” she threw at me with a hint of defiance; and before I +had time to reply, continued, “I was angry with Arthur for +coming back. To go into service! I almost quarrelled with mother +over that. She was so weak about it. She hated his being so far +away. She didn’t seem to mind anything as long as she could +get him home again. But Arthur’s more like my father. +He’s got a strain of Jervaise-worship in him, +somewhere.”</p> +<p>“A very strong strain, just now,” I suggested.</p> +<p>She laughed. “Yes, he’s Brenda’s slave; always +will be,” she said. “But I don’t count her as a +Jervaise. She’s an insurgée like me—against her +own family. She’d do anything to get away from +them.”</p> +<p>“Well, she will now,” I said, “and your +brother, too.”</p> +<p>That seemed to annoy her. “It may sound easy enough to +you,” she said, “but it’s going to be anything +but easy. You can’t possibly understand how difficult +it’s going to be.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you tell me?” I asked.</p> +<p>She shrugged her shoulders as if she had suddenly become tired +of my questions, perhaps of myself, also.</p> +<p>“You’re so outside it all,” she said.</p> +<p>“I know I am,” I admitted. “But—I +don’t want to remain outside.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know why I’ve been telling you as +much as I have,” she returned.</p> +<p>“I can only plead my profound interest,” I said.</p> +<p>“In Arthur? Or in us, generally?” she inquired and +frowned as if she forbade me to say that my chief interest might be +in herself.</p> +<p>“In all of you and in the situation,” I tried, +hoping to please her. “I was prepared to dislike the +Jervaises and all they stood for, before this talk with you. +Now…”</p> +<p>“But you’re well off, aren’t you?” she +said with a faint air of contempt. “<em>You</em> can’t +be an insurgé. You’d be playing against your own +side.”</p> +<p>“If you think that, why did you give me so much confidence +to begin with?” I retaliated.</p> +<p>“Oh! I’m always doing silly things,” she said. +“It was silly to play with that foolish Jervaise man this +morning. It was silly to offend him this evening. I +don’t—<em>think</em>. I ought to be whipped.” She +had apparently forgotten her recent distrust of me, for she +continued in the tone of one who makes an ultimate confession. +“As a matter of fact, I suppose I’m chiefly responsible +for the whole thing. I egged them on. Arthur would have gone on +adoring Brenda as a kind of divinity for ever, if I hadn’t +brought them together. He’s afraid to touch her, even now. I +just didn’t think. I never do till it’s too +late.”</p> +<p>“But you’re not sorry—about them, are +you?” I put in.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry for my father,” she said. +“Oh! I’m terribly sorry for him.” Her eyes were +extraordinarily tender and compassionate as she spoke. I felt that +if any lover of Anne’s could ever inspire such devotion as +showed in her face at that moment, he would indeed be blest.</p> +<p>“He’s sixty,” she went on in a low, brooding +voice, “and he’s—he’s +so—rooted.”</p> +<p>“Is there no chance of their letting you stay on, if +Arthur and Brenda went to Canada?” I asked.</p> +<p>Her face was suddenly hard again as she replied. “I +don’t think there’s one chance in a million,” she +said. “The Jervaise prestige couldn’t stand such +relations as us, living at their very doors. Besides, I know +I’ve upset that horrid Jervaise man. He’ll be +revengeful. He’s so weak, and that sort are always +vindictive. He’ll be mean and spiteful. Oh! no, it’s +one of two things, either Arthur will have to go back to Canada +without Brenda, or we’ll all have to go together.”</p> +<p>Her tone and attitude convinced me. If I had been able to +consider the case logically and without prejudice, I should +probably have scorned this presentation of rigid alternatives as +the invention of a romantic mind; I might have recognised in it the +familiar device of the dramatist. But I had so far surrendered +myself to the charm of Anne’s individuality that I accepted +her statement without the least shadow of criticism. It was the +search to find some mechanical means of influencing the +Jervaises’ decision that reminded me of Arthur Banks’s +hint of an advantage that he might use in a last emergency.</p> +<p>“But your brother told me last night,” I said, +“that there was some—‘pull’ or other he +had, that might make a difference if it came to desperate +measures.”</p> +<p>“He didn’t tell you what it was?” she asked, +and I knew at once that she was, after all, in her brother’s +confidence.</p> +<p>“No, he gave me no idea,” I replied.</p> +<p>“He couldn’t ever use that,” she said +decidedly. “He told me about it this morning, before he went +up to the Hall, and I—”</p> +<p>“Dissuaded him?” I suggested, as she paused.</p> +<p>“No! He saw it, himself,” she explained.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t like Arthur—to think of such a +thing, even—at ordinary times. But after his quarrel with +Brenda on the hill—if you could call it a quarrel, when, so +far as I can make out, Arthur never said a word the whole +time—after that, and Brenda being so eager to face them all +out, this morning; he got a little beyond himself.”</p> +<p>“Does Brenda know about this—pull?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“Of course not!” Anne replied indignantly. +“How could we tell her that?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t the least notion what it is, you +see,” I apologised.</p> +<p>“Oh! it’s about old Mr. Jervaise,” Anne +explained without the least show of reluctance. +“There’s some woman or other he goes to see in town. +And once or twice Arthur took him in the car. They forget +we’re human beings at all, sometimes, you know. They think +we’re just servants and don’t notice things; or if we +do notice them, that we shouldn’t be so disrespectful as to +say anything. I don’t know what they think. Anyhow, he let +Arthur drive him—twice, I believe it was—and the second +time Arthur looked at him when he came out of the house, and Mr. +Jervaise must have known that Arthur guessed. Nothing was said, of +course, but he didn’t ever take Arthur again; but Arthur +knows the woman’s name and address. It was in some flats, and +the porter told him something, too.”</p> +<p>I realised that I had wasted my sympathy on old Jervaise. His +air of a criminal awaiting arrest had been more truly indicative +than I could have imagined possible. He had been expecting +blackmail; had probably been willing to pay almost any price to +avoid the scandal. I wondered how far the morning interview had +relieved his mind?</p> +<p>“That explains Mr. Jervaise’s state of nerves this +morning,” I remarked. “I could see that he was +frightfully upset, but I thought it was about Brenda. I had an idea +that he might be very devoted to her.”</p> +<p>Anne pushed that aside with a gesture, as quite unworthy of +comment.</p> +<p>“But, surely, that really does give your brother some kind +of advantage,” I went on thoughtlessly. I suppose that I was +too intent on keeping Anne in England to understand exactly what my +speech implied.</p> +<p>She looked at me with a superb scorn. “You don’t +mean to say,” she said, “that you think we’d take +advantage of a thing like that? Father—or any of +us?”</p> +<p>I had almost the same sense of being unjustly in disgrace that I +had had during the Hall luncheon party. I do not quite know what +made me grasp at the hint of an omission from her bravely delivered +“any of us.” I was probably snatching at any straw.</p> +<p>“Your mother would feel like that, too?” I dared in +my extremity.</p> +<p>Any ordinary person would have parried that question by a +semblance of indignation or by asking what I meant by it. Anne made +no attempt to disguise the fact that the question had been +justified. Her scorn gave way to a look of perplexity; and when she +spoke she was staring out of the window again, as if she sought the +spirit of ultimate truth on some, to me, invisible horizon.</p> +<p>“She isn’t practical,” was Anne’s excuse +for her mother. “She’s so—so romantic.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I was being unpractical and romantic, +too,” I apologised, rejoicing in my ability to make use of +the precedent.</p> +<p>Anne just perceptibly pursed her lips, and her eyes turned +towards me with the beginning of a smile.</p> +<p>“You little thought what a romance you were coming into +when you accepted the invitation for that week-end—did +you?” she asked.</p> +<p>“My goodness!” was all the comment I could find; but +I put a world of feeling into it.</p> +<p>“And I very nearly refused,” I went on, with the +excitement of one who makes a thrilling announcement.</p> +<p>Anne humoured my eagerness with a tolerant smile. +“<em>Did</em> you?” she said encouragingly.</p> +<p>“It was the merest chance that I accepted,” I +replied. “I was curious about the Jervaise family.”</p> +<p>“Satisfied?” Anne asked.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve been given an opportunity of knowing +them from the inside,” I said.</p> +<p>“You’ll be writing a play about us,” Anne +remarked carelessly.</p> +<p>I was astonished to find that she knew I had written plays. +“How did you know that I did that sort of thing?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“I’ve seen one of them,” she said. +“’<em>The Mulberry Bush</em>’; when mother and I +were in London last winter. And Arthur said you were the same Mr. +Melhuish. I suppose Frank Jervaise had told him.”</p> +<p>“People who go to the theatre don’t generally notice +the name of the author,” I commented.</p> +<p>“I do,” she said. “I’m interested in the +theatre. I’ve read dozens of plays, in French, mostly. I +don’t think the English comedies are nearly so well done. Of +course, the French have only one subject, but they are so much more +witty. Have you ever read <em>Les Hannetons</em>, for +instance?”</p> +<p>“No. I’ve seen the English version on the +stage,” I said.</p> +<p>I was ashamed of having written <em>The Mulberry Bush</em>, of +having presumed to write any comedy. I felt the justice of her +implied criticism. Indeed, all my efforts seemed to me, just then, +as being worthless and insincere. All my life, even. There was +something definite and keen about this girl of twenty-three that +suddenly illuminated my intellectual and moral flabbiness. She had +already a definite attitude towards social questions that I had +never bothered to investigate. She had shown herself to have a +final pride in the matter of blackmailing old Jervaise. And in half +a dozen words she had exposed the lack of real wit in my attempts +at playwriting. I was humbled before her superior intelligence. Her +speech had still a faint flavour of the uneducated, but her +judgments were brilliantly incisive; despite her inferentially +limited experience, she had a clearer sight of humanity than I +had.</p> +<p>“You needn’t look so depressed,” she +remarked.</p> +<p>“I was thinking what a pity it is that you should go to +Canada,” I returned.</p> +<p>“I want to go,” she said. “I want to feel free +and independent; not a chattel of the Jervaises.”</p> +<p>“But—Canada!” I remonstrated.</p> +<p>“You see,” she said, “I could never leave my +father and mother. Wherever they go, I must go, too. They’ve +no one but me to look after them. And this does, at last, seem, in +a way, a chance. Only, I can’t trust myself. I’m too +impulsive about things like this. Oh! do you think it might kill my +father if he were torn up by the roots? Sometimes I think it might +be good for him, and at others I’m horribly +afraid.”</p> +<p>“Well, of course, I’ve never seen him…” +I began.</p> +<p>“And in any case, you’re prejudiced,” she +interrupted me. Her tone had changed again; it was suddenly light, +almost coquettish, and she looked at me with a challenging lift of +her eyebrows, as if, most astonishingly, she had read my secret +adoration of her and defied me to acknowledge it.</p> +<p>“In what way am I prejudiced?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Hush! here’s Brenda coming back,” she +said.</p> +<p>I regretted extremely that Brenda should have returned at that +moment, but I was tremendously encouraged. Anne seemed in that one +sentence to have sanctioned the understanding that I was in love +with her. Her warning of the interruption seemed to carry some +unspoken promise that I should be given another opportunity.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_XII" id="Ch_XII"></a>XII</h3> +<h2>Conversion</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>Anne had not once moved from her original place by the table in +the course of that long conversation of ours, and she still stood +there, her finger-tips resting on the oak with a powerful effect of +poise when Brenda came into the room.</p> +<p>Brenda’s actions were far more vivacious than her +friend’s. She came in with an air of youthful exuberance, +looked at me with a shade of inquiry, and then sat down opposite +Anne.</p> +<p>“I came back over the hill and through the wood,” +she said, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her +hands. “It’s a topping evening. Poor Arthur; I wish I +could have gone with him. I offered to, but he didn’t want me +to come. I’m not sure he didn’t think they might kidnap +me if I went too near.” She turned to me with a bright smile +as she added, “Could they keep me, Mr. Melhuish; shut me up +or something?”</p> +<p>“I’m not quite sure about that,” I said, +“but they could arrest—Arthur”—(I could not +call him anything else, I found)—“if he ran away with +you. On a charge of abduction, you know.”</p> +<p>“They could make it pretty nasty for us all round, in +fact,” Brenda concluded.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid they could,” I agreed.</p> +<p>She was looking extraordinarily pretty. The bizarre contrast +between her dark eyelashes and her fair hair seemed to find some +kind of echo in the combination of health and fragility that she +expressed in her movements. She appeared at once vital and delicate +without being too highly-strung. I could well understand how the +bucolic strain in Arthur Banks was prostrate with admiration before +such a rare and exciting beauty.</p> +<p>By the side of Brenda, Anne looked physically robust. The +developed lines of her figure emphasised Brenda’s fragility. +And yet Anne’s eyes, her whole pose, expressed a spirituality +that Brenda lacked. Anne, with her amazing changes of mood, her +rapid response to emotion, gave expression to some spirit not less +feminine than Brenda’s, but infinitely deeper. Behind the +moving shadows and sunlight of her impulses there lay always some +reminder of a constant orientation. She might trifle brilliantly +with the surface of life, but her soul was more steadfast than a +star. Brenda might love passionately, but her love would be +relatively personal, selfish. When Anne gave herself, she would +love like a mother, with her whole being.</p> +<p>I came out of my day-dream to find that she was speaking of +me.</p> +<p>“Mr. Melhuish is half asleep,” she was saying. +“And I haven’t got his room ready after all this +time.”</p> +<p>“He didn’t get much sleep last night,” Brenda +replied. “We none of us did for that matter. We were +wandering round the Park and just missing each other like the +people in <em>A Midsummer Night’s Dream</em>.”</p> +<p>“Come and help me to get that room ready,” Anne +said. “Father and mother may be home any minute. They ought +to have been back before.”</p> +<p>Brenda was on her feet in a moment. She appeared glad to have +some excuse for action. She was, no doubt, nervous and excited as +to the probable result of her lover’s mission to the Hall, +and wanted to be alone with Anne in order that they might speculate +upon those probabilities which Banks’s return would presently +transform into certainties.</p> +<p>Anne turned to me before they left the room and indicated three +shelves of books half hidden behind the settle. “You might +find something to read there, unless you’d sooner have a +nap,” she said. “We shan’t be having supper until +eight.”</p> +<p>I preferred, however, to go out and make my own estimate of +probabilities in the serenity of the August evening. My mind was +too full to read. I wanted to examine my own ideas just then, not +those of some other man or woman.</p> +<p>“I’m going for a walk,” I said to Anne. +“I want to think.” And I looked at her with a greater +boldness than I had dared hitherto. I claimed a further recognition +of that understanding she had, as I believed, so recently +admitted.</p> +<p>“To think out that play?” she returned lightly, but +her expression did not accord with her tone. She had paused at the +door, and as she looked back at me, there was a suggestion of +sadness in her face, of regret, or it might even have been of +remorse. She looked, I thought, as though she were sorry for +me.</p> +<p>She was gone before I could speak again.</p> +<hr /> +<p>I found my way out by the back door through which Jervaise and I +had entered all those incalculable hours ago; and I looked up at +the window from which Anne’s beautiful voice had hailed me +out of the night. I wanted to think about her, to recall how she +had looked and spoken—at that window; in the course of her +talk with Frank Jervaise; in the recent scene in the farm +sitting-room when she had ambushed herself so persistently behind +the ear of the settle; and, most of all, I desired to weigh every +tone and expression I could remember in that last long conversation +of ours; every least gesture or attention that might give me a hope +of having won, in some degree, her regard or interest.</p> +<p>But the perplexing initiative of my intelligence would not, for +some reason, permit me to concentrate my thoughts on her at that +moment. My mind was bewilderingly full of Anne, but I could not +think of her. When I fell into the pose of gazing up at her window, +the association suggested not the memory I desired, but the picture +of Frank Jervaise fumbling in the darkness of the porch, and the +excruciating anguish of Racquet’s bark. From that I fell to +wondering why I had not seen Racquet on this occasion of my second +visit? I had not remembered him until then.</p> +<p>I pulled myself up with an effort, and finding the surroundings +of the yard so ineffectual as a stimulus, I wandered down the hill +towards the wood. I suggested to myself that I might meet Banks +returning from the Hall, but my chief hope was that I might revive +the romance of the night.</p> +<p>The sun was setting clear and red, a different portent from the +veiled thing that had finally hidden itself in a huddle of purple +and gray cloud the night before. I had seen it from my bedroom at +the Hall as I dressed for dinner and had mildly regretted the +threat of possible bad weather. I had been a little bored by the +anticipations I had formed of my week-end. The Jervaises, from what +I had seen of them, promised, I thought, to be uncommonly dull. I +had not seen Brenda before dinner.</p> +<p>I roused myself again and made an effort to shift the depression +that was settling upon me, but the mood was not to be exorcised by +any deliberate attempt to revive the glow of adventure that had +warmed my earlier excursions through the wood. The very stillness +of the evening, the air of preparation for repose, the first faint +suggestions of the passage from summer to autumn, all had some +effect of pervading melancholy. I found myself speculating on the +promise of change that my talk with Anne had foreshadowed; of the +uprooting of Farmer Banks, of the family’s emigration, and +the sadness of their farewells to this exquisitely peaceful country +of England.</p> +<p>And then the thought that I had unconsciously feared and +repressed since I had left the farm, broke through all these +artificial abstractions and forced itself upon my attention. I +struggled against it vainly for a few seconds and then braced +myself to meet the realisation of my own failure. For it was that +shadow which had been stalking me since Anne had so obliquely +criticised my comedy. And it seemed to me now that her last strange +expression as she left the room, that look of pity and regret, had +all too surely indicated the certainty that she—I faced it +with a kind of bitter despair—that she despised me. I was +“well-off.” I belonged to the Jervaises’ class. +She had flung those charges at me contemptuously before she had +finally dismissed my one futile claim to distinction by classing me +among the writers of that artificial English comedy which had not +even the redeeming virtue of wit.</p> +<p>Not once in that long conversation with her had she shown the +sudden spark of recognition that had so wonderfully lighted my +parting with her in the night. She had given me her confidence +about her family affairs because she counted me as a new ally, +however ineffective, coming in unexpectedly to fight against the +Jervaises. She had acknowledged my worship of her because she was +too clear-sighted and too honest to shirk my inevitable +declaration. But I could not doubt that she rated me as unworthy of +her serious attention. Her whole attitude proclaimed that her one +instant of reaching out towards me had been a mistake; one of the +many impulses that continually blossomed and died in her close +intercourse with the spirit of life.</p> +<p>And I could not blame her for her contempt of me. I despised +myself. I was a man without a serious interest. I had escaped vice, +but I had always lived among surface activities. My highest +ambition after I left Cambridge had been to have one of my foolish +plays mounted in a West-End theatre. I had wanted to be talked +about, to be a social success. And I had achieved that ambition +without much difficulty. I had had an independent income—left +me by my father who had died when I was in my second year at +Jesus—only three hundred a year, but enough for me to live +upon without working. I had gone often to the theatre in those +days, and had scraped up an acquaintance with a middle-aged actor, +whose chief occupation had been the stage-managing of new +productions. With his help I had studied stagecraft by attending +rehearsals, the best possible school for a would-be dramatist. And +my first accepted play had been written in collaboration with him. +It had not been a great success, but I had gained invaluable +experience, and, after that, success had come to me rapidly and +easily. I found that I had the knack of writing pleasant little +artificial comedies. None of them had run for longer than eight +months, and I had only written five in all, but they had made me +comparatively rich. At that time my investments alone were bringing +me in nearly two thousand a year.</p> +<p>I was thirty-two, now, and it seemed to me looking back, that I +had never had one worthy ambition in all those years. I had never +even been seriously in love. Most deplorable of all I had never +looked forward to a future that promised anything but repetitions +of the same success.</p> +<p>What had I to live for? I saw before me a life of idleness with +no decent occupation, no objects, but the amassing of more money, +the seeking of a wider circle of acquaintances, dinner-parties at +more select houses, an increasing reputation as a deviser of +workmanlike, tolerably amusing plays. If I had had vices such as a +promiscuous love of women, I might have found the anticipation of +such a future more tolerable. There might, then, have been some +incitement to new living, new experience. But I had nothing.</p> +<p>Yet until that evening in the wood I had hardly paused to +consider what would presently become of me. The gradual increase in +my scale of personal luxury had brought sufficient diversion and +satisfaction. I had lived in the pleasures of the moment, and had +only rarely been conscious that those pleasures were growing stale; +that the crust of life upon which I had so diligently crawled, was +everywhere and always the same.</p> +<p>Now it was as if that monotonous surface had amazingly split. My +crawling was paralysed and changed to a terrified stillness. I had +paused, horrified, at the mouth of a pit, and gazed down with a +sick loathing at the foundations of my life that had been so +miraculously revealed. I did, indeed, stand suddenly stock still in +the wood, and staring down the darkening vista of the path, saw not +the entranced twilight that was sinking the path in a pool of olive +green shadows, but a kind of bioscopic presentation of my own +futile, monotonous existence.</p> +<p>If Anne would have nothing to do with me, what, I asked myself, +did the world hold that could conceivably make my life worth +living?</p> +<p>I suppose most men and women have asked themselves the same +question when they have been unexpectedly stirred by a great love. +The sense of unworthiness comes with a shock of surprise that seems +violently to tear open the comfortable cloak of self-satisfaction. +I had been content with my life, even a little vain of my +achievement, until that last conversation with Anne; now I loathed +the thought of my own inefficiency and all my prospects of success +appeared unendurably tame. I was in the spiritual state of a +religious convert, suddenly convinced of sin.</p> +<p>And yet somehow in the depths of my consciousness there was a +sensible stir of resentment. The artificial being I had created +during my thirty-two years of life had an existence of its own and +protested against this threat of instant annihilation. I wanted to +defend myself, and I was petulantly irritable because I could find +no defence.</p> +<p>For the strange Fate that had planned this astounding revelation +to me, had apparently led up to it by the subtlest arrangement of +properties and events. My disgrace at the Jervaises’ had +prepared me for this moment. My responses to humiliation had been, +as it were, tested and strained by that ordeal. And at the same +time I had been powerfully influenced to despise the life of the +Jervaises and all that they stood for, socially and ethically. +Then, almost without a pause, a new ideal of life had been +presented to me; and the contrast had been so vivid as to awaken +even my dulled powers of apprehension. The Jervaise type was more +or less familiar to me; their acceptance of security as an +established right, their lack of anything like initiative, their +general contentment with themselves, their standards of judgment +and their surroundings, represented the attitude towards life with +which I was most familiar. It had been my own attitude. I had even +dreamed of re-establishing the half-ruined home of the elder branch +of the Melhuish family in Derbyshire!</p> +<p>And the contrast afforded by the lives and ambitions of Anne and +her brother had been so startling that I believe I must have been +stirred by it to some kind of awakening even had I not fallen in +love with Anne. I had been given so perfect an opportunity to enter +into their feelings and views by my strange and intimate +association with their antagonism to all that was typified by the +rule of the Hall. By reason of my sympathy with the Banks I had +been able to realise the virtue of struggle and the evils of the +almost unlimited and quite indiscriminating power wielded by such +landowners as old Jervaise. And in condemning him and his family, I +must condemn myself also. We were all of us so smug and +self-satisfied. We had blindly believed that it was our birthright +to reap where we had not sown.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, though the truth was so plain to me in that +moment, I accepted it grudgingly. The voice of my artificial self +clamoured for a hearing. But these things were so, had always been +so, it protested; what could I do to change them? And probably, if +it had not been for the force of the thrilling passion of reverence +and admiration for Anne that had suddenly illuminated my whole +being, the cultivated inertia of a life-time would finally have +conquered me. I should have thrust the problem away from me and +returned with a sensual satisfaction to the familiar way of life I +understood. I should have consoled myself with the reflection that +mine was not the temperament to face the ardours and +disappointments of struggle.</p> +<p>As it was, I longed so furiously to justify myself before Anne; +to win, by some heroic measure, her good opinion, that the +incentive of my passion bore me triumphantly over the first +re-actions of inertia and protest. I could never return to my old +complacency, although the mechanical, accustomed habit of my +thought had for me, as yet, no suggestion other than some change in +the ideal and manner of my writing. I thought vaguely of attempting +some didactic drama to illustrate the tragic contrast between +gentle and simple that had been so glaringly illuminated for me by +recent experience. Yet, even as I played with that idea, I +recognised it as a device of my old self to allay my discontent. I +caught myself speculating on the promise of the play’s +success, on the hope of winning new laurels as an earnest student +of sociology. I thrust that temptation from me with a sneer at my +own inherent hypocrisy.</p> +<p>“But what else can you do?” argued my old self and +my only reply was to bluster. I bullied myself. I treated myself as +a foolish child. The new spirit in me waved its feeble arms and +shouted wildly of its splendid intentions. I could be immensely +valiant in the presence of this single listener, but the thought of +Anne humiliated and subdued even this bright new spirit that had so +amazingly taken possession of me. I wondered if I might not submit +my problem to her ask her what she would have me to do. +Nevertheless, I knew that if I would win her esteem, I must act on +my own initiative.</p> +<p>My conflict and realisation of new desires had had, however, one +salutary effect. The depression of my earlier mood had fallen from +me. When I looked round at the widening pool of darkness that +flowed and deepened about the undergrowth, I found that it produced +no longer any impression of melancholy.</p> +<p>I lifted my head and marched forward with the resolution of a +conqueror.</p> +<hr /> +<p>I was nearly clear of the wood when I saw Banks coming towards +me. He was carrying my suit-case, and behind him Racquet with a +sprightly bearing of the tail that contradicted the droop of his +head, followed with the body of a young rabbit.</p> +<p>“Loot from the Hall?” I asked when I came within +speaking distance.</p> +<p>“Yes, he’s been poaching again,” Banks said, +disregarding the application of my remark to the suit-case. +“Well, he can, now, for all I care. He can have every blessed +rabbit and pheasant in the Park if he likes. I’m done with +’em.”</p> +<p>“Things gone badly?” I asked, stretching out my hand +for the suit-case.</p> +<p>“I’ll carry it,” he said, ignoring my +question. “John had it ready packed when I got +there.”</p> +<p>I remembered with a passing qualm that John had not been tipped, +but put that thought away as a matter of no pressing importance. +“Had he?” I commented. “Well, you’ve +carried it half-way, now, I’ll carry it the other +half.”</p> +<p>“I can do it,” he said.</p> +<p>“You can but you won’t,” I replied. +“Hand it over.” I regarded the carrying of that +suit-case as a symbol of my new way of life. I hoped that when we +arrived at the Farm, Anne might see me carrying it, and realise +that even a writer of foolish comedies, who was well off and +belonged to the Jervaises’ class, might aspire to be the +equal of her brother.</p> +<p>“It’s all right,” Banks said, and his manner +struck a curious mean between respect and friendship.</p> +<p>I laid hold of the suit-case and took it from him almost by +force.</p> +<p>“You see, it isn’t so much a suit-case as a +parable,” I explained.</p> +<p>He looked at me, still reluctant, with an air of perplexity.</p> +<p>“A badge of my friendship for you and your family,” +I enlarged. “You and I, my boy, are pals, now. I take it +you’ve left the Jervaises’ service for good. Imagine +that this is Canada, not an infernal Park with a label on every +blade of grass warning you not to touch.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” he agreed. “But +it’s extraordinary how it hangs about you. You know—the +feeling that they’ve somehow got you, everywhere. Damn it, if +I met the old man in the wood I don’t believe I could help +touching my hat to him.”</p> +<p>“Just habit,” I suggested.</p> +<p>“A mighty strong one, though,” he said.</p> +<p>“Wait till you’re breathing the free air of Canada +again,” I replied.</p> +<p>“Ah! that’s just it,” he said. “I may +have to wait.”</p> +<p>I made sounds of encouragement.</p> +<p>“Or go alone,” he added.</p> +<p>“They’ve cut up rough, then?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“Young Frank has, anyway,” he said with a brave +assumption of breaking away from servility.</p> +<p>“You didn’t see the old man?”</p> +<p>“Never a sight of him.”</p> +<p>“And young Frank…?”</p> +<p>“Shoved it home for all he was worth. Threatened me with +the law and what not. Said if I tried to take Her with me +they’d have us stopped and take an action against me for +abduction. I suppose it’s all right that they can do +that?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid it is,” I said; “until she +comes of age.”</p> +<p>“Glad I’d taken the car back, anyhow,” Banks +muttered, and I guessed that young Frank’s vindictiveness had +not been overestimated by Anne. No doubt, he would have been glad +enough to complicate the issue by alleging Banks’s theft of +that car.</p> +<p>“Well, what do you propose to do now?” I asked, +after a short interval of silence.</p> +<p>“<em>I</em> don’t know,” Banks said +desperately, and then added, “It depends chiefly on +Her.”</p> +<p>“She’ll probably vote for an elopement,” I +suggested.</p> +<p>“And if they come after us and I’m +bagged?”</p> +<p>“Don’t let yourself get bagged. Escape +them.”</p> +<p>“D’you think she’d agree to that? Sneaking off +and hiding? Dodging about to get out of the country, +somehow?” His tone left me uncertain whether he were asking a +question or spurning the idea in disgust.</p> +<p>“Well, what’s the alternative?” I replied.</p> +<p>“We might wait,” he said. “She’ll be of +age in thirteen months’ time.”</p> +<p>I had no fear but that Banks would wait thirteen months, or +thirteen years, for Brenda. I was less certain about her. Just now +she was head over ears in romance, and I believed that if she +married him his sterling qualities would hold her. But I mistrusted +the possible effect upon her of thirteen months’ absence. The +Jervaises would know very well how to use their advantage. They +would take her away from the Hall and its associations, and plunge +her into the distractions of a society that could not yet have lost +its glamour for her. I could picture Brenda looking back with +wonder at the foolishness of the girl who had imagined herself to +be in love with her father’s chauffeur. And even an hour +earlier, so recent had been my true conversion, I should have +questioned the advisability of a hasty, secret marriage between +these two temporarily infatuated people. Now I was hot with the +evangelising passion of a young disciple. I wanted to deliver +Brenda from the thrall of society at any price. It seemed to me +that the greatest tragedy for her would be a marriage with some one +in her own class—young Turnbull, for instance.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wait,” I said decidedly.</p> +<p>“Why not?” he asked with a touch of resentment, as +if he had guessed something of my mistrust of Brenda.</p> +<p>“All very well, in a way, for you,” I explained. +“But think what an awful time she’d have, with all of +them trying to nag her into a marriage with young Turnbull, or +somebody of that kind.”</p> +<p>“He isn’t so bad as some of ’em,” Banks +said, evading the main issue. “She’d never marry him +though. She knows him too well, for one thing. He’s been +scouring the county in a dog-cart all the morning—went to +Hurley to make inquiries before breakfast, and all over the place +afterwards. John’s been telling me. He heard ’em +talking when young Turnbull turned up at tea-time. He’s got +guts all right, that fellow. I believe he’d play the game +fair enough if they tried to make her marry him. Besides, as I +said, she’d never do it.”</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose she would,” I said, humouring +him—it was no part of my plan to disturb his perfect faith in +Brenda—“I only said that she’d have a rotten bad +time during those thirteen months.”</p> +<p>“Well, we’ve got to leave that to her, haven’t +we?” Banks returned.</p> +<p>I thought not, but I judged it more tactful to keep my opinion +to myself.</p> +<p>“We shall be quite safe in doing that,” I said as we +turned into the back premises of the Home Farm.</p> +<p>Banks had forgotten about my suit-case, and I bore the burden of +it, flauntingly, up the hill. Racquet followed us with an air of +conscious humility.</p> +<p>And it was Racquet that Anne first addressed when she met us at +the door of the house.</p> +<p>“Whose rabbit is that?” she asked sternly.</p> +<p>Racquet instantly dropped his catch and slowly approached Anne +with a mien of exaggerated abasement.</p> +<p>“If you were an out and out socialist, I shouldn’t +mind,” Anne continued, “but you shouldn’t do +these things if you’re ashamed of them afterwards.”</p> +<p>Racquet continued to supplicate her with bowed head, but he gave +one surreptitious flick of his stumpy tail, that to me had the +irresistible suggestion of a wink.</p> +<p>“Hypocrite!” Anne said, whereupon Racquet, correctly +judging by her tone that his forgiveness was assured, made one +splendid leap at her, returned with an altogether too patent +eagerness to his rabbit, picked it up, and trotted away round the +corner of the house.</p> +<p>“Isn’t he a humbug?” Anne asked looking at me, +and continued without waiting for my confirmation of the epithet, +“Why didn’t you let Arthur carry that?”</p> +<p>“He carried it half the way,” I said. “He and +I are the out and out kind of socialist.”</p> +<p>She did not smile. “Father and mother are home,” she +said, turning to her brother. “I can see by your face the +sort of thing they’ve been saying to you at the Hall, so I +suppose we’d better have the whole story on the carpet over +supper. Father’s been asking already what Brenda’s here +for.”</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_XIII" id="Ch_XIII"></a>XIII</h3> +<h2>Farmer Banks</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>Anne showed me up to my room as soon as we entered the house, +but her manner was that of the hostess to a strange guest. She was +polite, formal, and, I thought, a trifle nervous. She left me +hurriedly as soon as she had opened the door of the bedroom, with +some apology about having to “see to the supper.” (The +smell of frying bacon had pervaded the staircase and passages, and +had helped me to realise that I was most uncommonly hungry. Except +for a very light lunch I had eaten nothing since breakfast.)</p> +<p>I got my first real feeling of the strangeness of the whole +affair while I was unpacking my suit-case in that rather stiff, +unfriendly spare-room. Until then the sequence of events had +followed a hot succession, in the current of which I had had no +time to consider myself—my ordinary, daily self—in +relation to them. But the associations of this familiar position +and occupation, this adaptation of myself for a few hours to a +strange household, evoked the habitual sensations of a hundred +similar experiences. Twenty-four hours earlier I had been dressing +for dinner at Jervaise Hall, and despite my earnest affirmations +that in the interval my whole life and character had changed, I was +very surely aware that I was precisely the same man I had always +been—the man who washed, and changed his tie, and brushed his +hair in just this same manner every day; who looked at himself in +the glass with that same half-frowning, half-anxious expression, as +if he were uncertain whether to resent or admire the familiar +reflection. I was confronted by the image of the Graham Melhuish to +whom I had become accustomed; the image of the rather well-groomed, +rather successful young man that I had come to regard as the +complete presentation of my individuality.</p> +<p>But now I saw that that image in the glass could never have done +the things that I had done that day. I could not imagine that +stereotyped creature wanting to fight Frank Jervaise, running away +from the Hall, taking the side of a chauffeur in an intrigue with +his master’s daughter, falling in love with a woman he had +not known for twenty-four hours, and, culminating wonder, making +extraordinary determinations to renounce the pleasures and comforts +of life in order to … I could not quite define what, but the +substitute was something very strenuous and difficult and +self-sacrificing.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, some one had done all these things, and if it were +not that conventional, self-satisfied impersonation now staring +back at me with a look of perplexed inquiry, where was I to find +his outward likeness? Had I looked a different man when I was +talking to Anne in the Farm parlour or when I had communed with +myself in the wood? Or if the real Graham Melhuish were something +better and deeper than this fraudulent reflection of him, how could +he get out, get through, in some way or other achieve a permanent +expression to replace this deceptive mask? Also, which of us was +doing the thinking at that moment? Did we take it turn and turn +about? Five minutes before the old, familiar Melhuish had +undoubtedly been unpacking his bag in his old familiar way, and +wondering how he had come to do all the queer things he +unquestionably had been doing in the course of this amazing +weekend. Now, the new Melhuish was uppermost again, speculating +about the validity of his soul—a subject that had certainly +never concerned the other fellow, hitherto.</p> +<p>But it was the other fellow who was in the ascendant when I +entered the farm sitting-room in answer to the summons of a +falsetto bell. I was shy. I felt like an intruder. I was afraid +that Farmer Banks would treat me as a distinguished visitor, and +that my efforts to attain the happy freedom of an equal +might—in the eyes of Anne—appear condescending. The new +self I had so lately discovered was everybody’s equal, but, +just then, I was out of touch with my new self.</p> +<p>Nor did Farmer Banks’s natural courtesy tend to put me at +ease. He and Arthur were alone in the room when I came down and it +was Arthur who, with an evident self-consciousness, introduced +me.</p> +<p>“Mr. Melhuish, father,” was all he said, and I had +no idea how much of the story the old man had, as yet, been +told.</p> +<p>He made a kind of stiff bow and held out his hand. +“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Melhuish,” he said, and his +manner struck a mean between respectfulness and self-assertion. It +was the kind of manner that he might have shown to a titled +canvasser just before an election.</p> +<p>He was a notably handsome man, tall and broad, with regular, +impassive features and blue eyes exactly the colour of +Arthur’s. Save that his back was slightly rounded and that +his closely-cropped hair was iron-gray, he showed little mark of +his sixty years. He seemed to me the very type of an English +yeoman, not markedly intelligent outside his own speciality, and +conservative to the point of fanaticism. When I thought of trying +to persuade him to forsake the usage of a lifetime and begin again +in a foreign country under new conditions, my heart failed me. +Upstairs, before the looking-glass, I had had my doubts of the +possibility of ever ousting the old Graham Melhuish; but those +doubts appeared the most childish exaggerations of difficulty when +compared with my doubts of persuading the man before me to alter +his habits and his whole way of life. It seemed to me that the +spirit of Farmer Banks must be encrusted beyond all hope of +release.</p> +<p>I mumbled some politeness in answer to his unanswerable opening, +and started the one possible topic of the weather. I was grossly +ignorant of the general requirements of agriculture in that or any +other connection, but any one knows a farmer wants fine weather for +harvest.</p> +<p>He took me up with a slightly exaggerated air of relief, and I +dare say we could have kept the subject going for ten minutes if it +had been necessary, but he had hardly begun his reply before the +three women for whom we had been waiting came into the room +together.</p> +<p>When I met Mr. Banks I felt, at once, that I might have inferred +him with nice accuracy from what I already knew of him. Mrs. Banks +was a surprise. I had pictured her as tall and slight, and inclined +to be sombre. Anne’s hints of the romantic side of her +mother’s temperament had, for some reason, suggested that +image to me, and I was quite absurdly dumfounded for the moment +when I saw this little, roundabout, dark-haired Frenchwoman, as +typically exotic as her husband was home-grown, voluble, brisk +despite the handicap of her figure, and with nothing English about +her unless it were her accent.</p> +<p>Fortunately she gave me no time to display the awkwardness of my +surprise. She came straight at me, talking from the instant she +entered the door. “Discussing the crops already?” she +said. “You must forgive us, Mr. Melhuish, for being so +interested in the weather. When one’s fortune depends upon +it, one naturally thinks of little else.” She gave me her +small plump hand with an engaging but, as it were, a breathless +smile. “And you must be starving,” she continued +rapidly. “Anne tells me you had no tea at all anywhere, and +that the people at the Hall have been treating you outrageously. +So! will you sit there and Anne next to you, and those two dreadful +children who won’t be separated, together on the other +side.”</p> +<p>She was apparently intent only upon this business of getting us +into our places about the supper-table, and not until I had sat +down did I realise that her last sentence had been an announcement +intended for her husband.</p> +<p>“What did you say, Nancy?” he asked with a puzzled +air. He was still standing at the head of the table and staring +with obvious embarrassment at his wife.</p> +<p>She waved her hands at him. “Sit down, Alfred,” she +commanded him, and in her pronunciation of his name I noticed for +the first time the ripple of a French “r.” Possibly her +manner of speaking his name was a form of endearment. “All in +good time, you shall hear about it directly. Now, we are all very +hungry and waiting for you.” And without the least hint of a +pause she turned to me and glided over an apology for the nature of +the meal. “We call it supper,” she said, “and it +is just a farm-house supper, but better in its way, don’t you +think, than a formal dinner?” She took me utterly into her +confidence with her smile as she added, “Up at the Hall they +make so much ceremony, all about nothing. I am not surprised that +you ran away. But it was very original, all the same.” She +introduced me to the first course without taking breath, +“Eggs and bacon. So English. Isn’t there a story of a +man who starved to death on a walking-tour because he could no +longer endure to eat eggs and bacon? And when you have eaten +something you must tell us what you have all four been doing while +my husband and I were away. So far as I can understand you have +turned the universe completely inside out. We came back believing +that we return to the Farm, but I think it has become a +Fortress….”</p> +<p>I ventured a glance at her husband. These flickering allusions +of hers to the tragedy that was threatening him, seemed to me +indiscreet and rather too frivolous. But when I saw his look of +puzzled wonder and admiration, I began to appreciate the subtlety +and wisdom of her method. Using me as a convenient intermediary, +she was breaking the news by what were, to him, almost +inappreciable degrees. He took in her hints so slowly. He was not +sure from moment to moment whether or not she was in earnest. +Nevertheless, I recognised, I thought, at least one cause for +perturbation. He had been perceptibly ruffled and uneasy at the +reference to an understanding between his son and Brenda. Probably +the fear of that complication had been in his mind for some time +past.</p> +<p>Mrs. Banks had slid away to the subject of local scenery.</p> +<p>“It is beautiful in its own way,” she was saying, +“but I feel with Arthur that it has an air of being +so—preserved. It is so proper, well-adjusted, I forget the +English word …”</p> +<p>I suggested “trim” as a near translation of +“propre” and “bien-ajusté.”</p> +<p>“Trim, yes,” she agreed enthusiastically. “My +daughter tells me you are an author. There are three lime trees in +the pasture and the cattle have eaten the branches as high as they +can reach, so that now the trees have the precise shape of a bell. +Even the trees in the Park, you see, are trim—not, it is +true, like Versailles, where the poor things are made to grow +according to plan—but all the county is one great landscape +garden; all of England, nearly. Don’t you agree with me? One +feels that there must always be a game-keeper or a policeman just +round the corner.”</p> +<p>She waited for my answer this time, and something in the +eagerness of her expression begged me to play up to her lead.</p> +<p>“I know exactly what you mean,” I said, intensely +aware of Anne’s proximity. “I was thinking something of +the same kind, only this evening, when I went to meet Arthur in the +wood. He and I were discussing it, too, as we came back. That sense +of everything belonging to some one else, of having no right, +hardly the right to breathe without the Jervaises’ +permission.”</p> +<p>Her gesture finally confirmed the fact that perfect confidence +was established between us. I felt as if she had patted my +shoulder. But she may have been afraid that I might blunder into +too obvious a statement, if I were permitted to continue, for she +abruptly changed her tactics by saying to Brenda,—</p> +<p>“So you ran away in the middle of the dance?”</p> +<p>“Well, we’d finished dancing, as a matter of +fact,” Brenda explained.</p> +<p>Mr. Banks shifted uneasily in his chair. “Ran away, Miss +Brenda?” he asked. “Did you say you’d run +away?”</p> +<p>She flattered him with a look that besought his approval. +“I simply couldn’t stand it any longer,” she +said.</p> +<p>“But you’ll be going back?” he returned, after +a moment’s pause.</p> +<p>She shook her head, still regarding him attentively with an air +of appeal that implied submission to his judgment.</p> +<p>He had stopped eating, and now pushed his chair back a little +from the table as though he needed more space to deal with this +tremendous problem.</p> +<p>“You’ll be getting us into trouble, Miss +Brenda,” he warned her gravely. “It wouldn’t do +for us to keep you here, if they’re wanting you to go back +home.”</p> +<p>“Well, Alfred, we’ve as much right to her as they +have,” Mrs. Banks put in.</p> +<p>The effect upon him of that simple speech was quite remarkable. +He opened his fine blue eyes and stared at his wife with a blank +astonishment that somehow conveyed an impression of fear.</p> +<p>“Nancy! Nancy!” he expostulated in a tone that +besought her to say no more.</p> +<p>She laughingly waved her hands at him, using the same gesture +with which she had commanded him to sit down. “Oh! +we’ve got to face it, Alfred,” she said. “Arthur +and Brenda believe they’re in love with one another, and +that’s all about it.”</p> +<p>Banks shook his head solemnly, but it seemed to me that his +manner expressed relief rather than the added perturbation I had +expected. “No, no, it won’t do. That’d never +do,” he murmured. “I’ve been afraid of this, Miss +Brenda,” he continued; “but you must see for yourself +that it’d never do—our position being what it is. Your +father’d never hear of such a thing; and you’d get us +all into trouble with him if he thought we’d been encouraging +you.”</p> +<p>He drew in his chair and returned to his supper as if he +regarded the matter as being now definitely settled. “I +don’t know what Mr. Melhuish will be thinking of us,” +he added as an afterthought.</p> +<p>“Oh! Mr. Melhuish is on our side,” Mrs. Banks +returned gaily.</p> +<p>“Nancy! Nancy!” he reproved her. “This is too +serious a matter to make a joke about.”</p> +<p>I was watching Mrs. Banks, and saw the almost invisible lift of +the eyebrows with which she passed on the conduct of the case to +Anne.</p> +<p>“Mother isn’t joking, dear,” Anne said, +accepting the signal without an instant’s hesitation. +“Really serious things have been happening while you were +away.”</p> +<p>Her father frowned and shook his head. “This isn’t +the place to discuss them,” he replied.</p> +<p>“Well, father, I’m afraid we must discuss them very +soon,” Anne returned; “because Mr. Jervaise might be +coming up after supper.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Jervaise? Coming here?” Banks’s tone of +dismay showed that he was beginning, however slowly, to appreciate +the true significance of the situation.</p> +<p>“Well, we don’t know that he is,” Arthur put +in. “I just thought it was possible he and Mr. Frank might +come up this evening.”</p> +<p>“They will certainly come. Have no doubt of that,” +Mrs. Banks remarked.</p> +<p>The old man turned to his son as if seeking a refuge from the +intrigues of his adored but incomprehensible womenfolk.</p> +<p>“What for?” he asked brusquely.</p> +<p>“To take her back to the Hall,” Arthur said with the +least possible inclination of his head towards Brenda.</p> +<p>Banks required a few seconds to ponder that, and his wife and +daughter waited in silence for his reply. I had a sense of them as +watching over, and at once sheltering and directing him. +Nevertheless, though I admired their gentle deftness, I think that +at that point of the discussion some forcible male element in me +sided very strongly with old Banks. I was aware of the pressure +that was so insensibly surrounding him as of a subtly entangling +web that seemed to offer no resistance, and yet was slowly +smothering him in a million intricate intangible folds. And, after +all, why should he be torn away from his root-holds, exiled to some +forlorn unknown country where his very methods of farming would be +inapplicable? Brenda and Arthur were young and capable. Let them +wait, at least until she came of age. Let her be tried by an ordeal +of patient resistance. If she were worthy she could fight her +family for those thirteen months and win her own triumph without +injuring poor Banks.</p> +<p>And whether because I had communicated my thought to her by some +change of attitude or because she intuitively shared my sympathy +for her father, Anne turned to me just before she spoke, with a +quick little, impatient gesture as if beseeching me not to +interfere. I submitted myself to her wish with a distinct feeling +of pleasure, but made no application of my own joy in serving her +to the case of her father.</p> +<p>He was speaking again, now, with a solemn perplexity, as if he +were confusedly challenging the soft opposition of his +women’s influence.</p> +<p>“But, of course, she must go back to the Hall,” he +said. “You wouldn’t like to get us into trouble, would +you, Miss Brenda? You see,” he pushed his chair back once +more, in the throes of his effort to explain himself, “your +father would turn me out, if there was any fuss.”</p> +<p>He was going on, but his wife, with a sudden magnificent +violence, scattered the web she and her daughter had been +weaving.</p> +<p>“And that might be the best thing that could happen to us, +Alfred,” she said. “Oh! I’m so sick and tired of +these foolish Jervaises. They are like the green fly on the rose +trees. They stick there and do nothing but suck the life out of us. +You are a free man. You owe them nothing. Let us break with them +and go out, all of us, to Canada with Arthur and Brenda. As for me, +I would rejoice to go.”</p> +<p>“Nancy! Nancy!” he reproached her for the third +time, with a humouring shake of his head. They were past the +celebration of their silver wedding, but it was evident that he +still saw in her the adorable foolishness of one who would never be +able to appreciate the final infallibility of English standards. He +loved her, he would make immense personal sacrifices for her, but +in these matters she was still a child, a foreigner. Just so might +he have reproached Anne at three years old for some infantile +naughtiness.</p> +<p>“It may come to that,” Arthur interjected, +gloomily.</p> +<p>“You’re talking like a fool, Arthur,” his +father said. “What’d I do at my age—I’ll be +sixty-one next month—trapesing off to Canada?” He felt +on safer ground, more sure of his authority in addressing his son. +He was English. He might be rebellious and need chastisement, but +he would not be swayed by these whimsical notions that sometimes +bewitched his mother and sister.</p> +<p>“But, father, we may <em>have</em> to go,” Anne +softly reminded him.</p> +<p>“Have to? Have to?” he repeated, with a new note of +irritability sounding in his voice. “He hasn’t been +doing anything foolish, has he? Nothing as can’t be got +over?”</p> +<p>It was his wife who replied to that. “We’ve had our +time, Alfred,” she said. “We have to think of them now. +We must not be selfish. They are young and deeply in love, as you +and I were once. We cannot separate them because we are too lazy to +move. And sixty? Yes, it is true that you are sixty, but you are +strong and your heart is still young. It is not as if you were an +old man.”</p> +<p>Arthur and Brenda looked acutely self-conscious. Brenda blushed +and seemed inclined to giggle. Arthur’s face was set in the +stern lines of one who hears his own banns called in church.</p> +<p>Banks leaned back in his chair and stared apprehensively at his +wife. “D’ye mean it, Nancy…?” he asked, +and something in his delivery of the phrase suggested that he had +come down to a familiar test of decision. I could only infer that +whenever she had confessed to “meaning it” in the past, +her request had never so far been denied. I guessed, also, that +until now she had never been outrageous in her demands.</p> +<p>“What else can be done, dear?” she replied gently. +“There is no choice otherwise, except for them to +separate.”</p> +<p>He looked at the culprits with an expression of bewilderment. +Why should their little love affair be regarded as being of such +tragic consequence, he seemed to ask. What did they mean to him and +his wife and daughter? Why should they be considered worthy of what +he could only picture as a supreme, and almost intolerable +sacrifice? These young people were always having love affairs.</p> +<p>He thrust his inquiry bluntly at Brenda. “Are you in +earnest, then, Miss Brenda?” he asked. “D’you +tell me that you want to marry him—that you’re set on +it?”</p> +<p>“I mean to marry him whatever happens,” Brenda +replied in a low voice. She was still abashed by this public +discussion of her secrets. And it was probably with some idea of +diverting him from this intimate probing of her desires that she +continued more boldly. “We would go off together, without +your consent, you know, if we thought it would do any good. But it +wouldn’t, would it? They’d probably be more spiteful +still, if we did that. Even if they could keep it dark, +they’d never let you stay on here. But do you really think it +would be so awful for us all to go to Canada together? It’s a +wrench, of course, but I expect it would be frightfully jolly when +we got there. Arthur says it is.”</p> +<p>He turned from her with the least hint of contempt to look at +his son. “You’ve lost <em>your</em> place +a’ready, I suppose?” he said, trying to steady himself +by some familiar contact, an effort that would have been absurd if +it had not been so pathetic.</p> +<p>Arthur nodded, as stolid as an owl.</p> +<p>His father continued to search him with the same half-bewildered +stare.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do, then?” he asked.</p> +<p>“She and I are going back, whatever happens.” Arthur +said.</p> +<p>“And suppose they won’t let her go?”</p> +<p>“They’ll have to.”</p> +<p>“Have to!” Banks recited, raising his voice at the +repetition of this foolish phrase. “And how in the world are +you going to make ’em?”</p> +<p>“The Jervaises aren’t everybody,” Arthur +growled.</p> +<p>“You’ll find they’re a sight too strong for +the like of us to go against,” Banks affirmed +threateningly.</p> +<p>Arthur looked stubborn and shook his head. “They +aren’t what you think they are, father,” he began, and +then, seeing the incredulity on the old man’s face, he went +on in a slightly raised voice, “Well, I know they +aren’t. I’ve been up there twice to-day. I saw Mr. +Jervaise this morning; went to the front door and asked for him, +and when I saw him I put it to him straight that I meant +to—that we were going to get married.”</p> +<p>“You did,” murmured Banks in an undertone of grieved +dismay.</p> +<p>“I did, father,” Arthur proceeded; “and if it +hadn’t been for young Mr. Frank, we’d have come to some +sort of understanding. Mr. Jervaise didn’t actually say +‘No,’ as it was.”</p> +<p>“And you went up again this evening?” Banks prompted +him.</p> +<p>“Yes; I only saw Mr. Frank, then,” Arthur replied, +“and he was in such a pad, there was no talking to him. Anne +can tell you why.”</p> +<p>Banks did not speak but he turned his eyes gravely to his +daughter.</p> +<p>Anne lifted her head with the movement of one who decides to +plunge and be done with it. “He’d been making love to +me in the morning,” she said; “and I—played with +him for Arthur’s sake. I thought it might help, and +afterwards I showed him that I’d been letting him make a fool +of himself for nothing, that’s all.”</p> +<p>The old man made no audible comment, but his head drooped a +little forward and his body seemed to shrink a little within the +sturdy solidity of his oak armchair. Anne, also, had betrayed him. +Perhaps, he looked forward and saw the Home Farm without +Anne—she could not stay after that—and realised that +the verdict of his destiny was finally pronounced.</p> +<p>I turned my eyes away from him, and I think the others, too, +feigned some preoccupation that left him a little space of +solitude. We none of us spoke, and I knew by the sound of the quick +intake of her breath that Mrs. Banks was on the verge of +weeping.</p> +<p>I looked up, almost furtively, when I heard the crash of +footsteps on the gravel outside, and I found that the other three +with the same instinctive movement of suspense were turning towards +Mrs. Banks.</p> +<p>She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and nodded to Anne, +a nod that said plainly enough, “It’s them—the +Jervaises.”</p> +<p>And then we were all startled by the sound of the rude and +unnecessary violence of their knock at the front door. No doubt, +Frank was still “in a pad.”</p> +<p>Yet no one moved until the old man at the head of the table +looked up with a deep sigh, and said,—</p> +<p>“They’d better come in and be done with it, +Nancy.”</p> +<p>His glance was slowly travelling round the room as if he were +bidding those familiar things a reluctant farewell. All his life +had been lived in that house.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_XIV" id="Ch_XIV"></a>XIV</h3> +<h2>Mrs. Banks</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>The insulting attack upon the front door was made again with +even greater violence while we still waited, united, as I believe, +in one sympathetic resolve to shield the head of the house from any +unnecessary distress. He alone was called upon to make sacrifice; +it was our single duty and privilege to encircle and protect him. +And if my own feelings were representative, we fairly bristled with +resentment when this vulgar demand for admittance was repeated. +These domineering, comfortable, respectability-loving Jervaises +were the offenders; the sole cause of our present anxiety. We had a +bitter grievance against them and they came swaggering and +bullying, as if the threat to their silly prestige were the +important thing.</p> +<p>“You’d better go, dear,” Mrs. Banks said with +a nod to Anne. The little woman’s eyes were bright with the +eagerness for battle, but she continued to talk automatically on +absurdly immaterial subjects to relieve the strain of even those +few seconds of waiting.</p> +<p>“Our maid is out, you see, Mr. Melhuish,” she +explained quickly, and turning to Brenda, continued without a +pause, “So Anne has even had to lend you a dress. +You’re about of a height, but you’re so much slighter. +Still, with very little alteration, her things would fit you very +well. If we should be obliged …” She broke off +abruptly as Anne returned, followed by Mr. Jervaise and the +glowering, vindictive figure of his son.</p> +<p>Anne’s manner of entrance alone would have been sufficient +to demonstrate her attitude to the intruders, but she elected to +make it still more unmistakable by her announcement of them.</p> +<p>“The Jervaises, mother,” she said, with a +supercilious lift of her head. She might have been saying that the +men had called for the rent.</p> +<p>Little Mrs. Banks looked every inch an aristocrat as she +received them. The gesture of her plump little white hands as she +indicated chairs was almost regal in its authority.</p> +<p>Old Jervaise, obviously nervous, accepted the invitation, but +Frank, after closing the door, stood leaning with his back against +it. The position gave him command of the whole room, and at the +same time conveyed a general effect of threat. His attitude said, +“Now we’ve got you, and none of you shall leave the +room until you’ve paid in full for your impertinence.” +I had guessed from his knock that he had finally put his weakness +for Anne away from him. He was clever enough to realise just how +and why she had fooled him. His single object, now, was +revenge.</p> +<p>Banks brooded, rather neglected and overlooked in a corner by +the window. He appeared to have accepted his doom as assured, and +being plunged into the final gulf of despair, he had, now, no heart +even to be apologetic. The solid earth of his native country was +slipping away from him; nothing else mattered.</p> +<p>There was one brief, tense interval of silence before old +Jervaise began to speak. We all waited for him to state the case; +Frank because he meant to reserve himself for the dramatic moment; +we others because we preferred to throw the onus of statement upon +him. (I do believe that throughout that interview it is fair to +speak of “we others,” of the whole six of us, almost as +of a single mind with a single intention. We played our individual +parts in our own manners, but we were subject to a single will +which was, I firmly believe, the will of Mrs. Banks. Even her +husband followed her lead, if he did it with reluctance, while the +rest of us obeyed her with delight.)</p> +<p>Old Jervaise fumbled his opening. He looked pale and tired, as +if he would be glad to be out of it.</p> +<p>“We have called,” he began, striving for an effect +of magisterial gravity; “we have come here, Mrs. Banks, to +fetch my daughter. I understand that you’ve been away from +home—you and your husband—and you’re probably not +aware of what has taken—has been going on in your +absence.”</p> +<p>“Oh! yes, we know,” Mrs. Banks put in +disconcertingly. She was sitting erect and contemptuous in her +chair at the foot of the table. For one moment something in her +pose reminded me of Queen Victoria.</p> +<p>“Indeed? You have heard; since your return?” +faltered old Jervaise. “But I cannot suppose for one moment +that either you or your husband approve of—of your +son’s gross misbehaviour.” He got out the accusation +with an effort; he had to justify himself before his son. But the +slight stoop of his shoulders, and his hesitating glances at Mrs. +Banks were propitiatory, almost apologetic. It seemed to me that he +pleaded with her to realise that he could say and do no less than +what he was saying and doing; to understand and to spare him.</p> +<p>“But that is new to me,” Mrs. Banks replied. +“I have heard nothing of any gross misbehaviour.”</p> +<p>She was so clearly mistress of the situation that I might have +been sorry for old Jervaise, if it had not been for the presence of +that scowling fool by the door.</p> +<p>“I—I’m afraid I can describe your son’s +conduct as—as nothing less than gross misbehaviour,” +the old man stammered, “having consideration to his +employment. But, perhaps, you have not been properly informed of +the—of the offence.”</p> +<p>“Is it an offence to love unwisely, Mr. Jervaise?” +Mrs. Banks shot at him with a sudden ferocity.</p> +<p>He blustered feebly. “You <em>must</em> see how impossible +it is for your son to dream of marrying my daughter,” he +said. The blood had mounted to his face; and he looked as if he +longed to get up and walk out. I wondered vaguely whether Frank had +had that eventuality in mind when he blockaded the door with his +own gloomy person.</p> +<p>“Tchah!” ejaculated Mrs. Banks with supreme +contempt. “Do not talk that nonsense to me, but listen, now, +to what I have to say. I will make everything quite plain to you. +We have decided that Arthur and Brenda shall be married; but we +condescend to that amiable weakness of yours which always demands +that there shall be no scandal. It must surely be your motto at the +Hall to avoid scandal—at any cost. So we are agreed to make a +concession. The marriage we insist upon; but we are willing, all of +us, to emigrate. We will take ourselves away, so that no one can +point to the calamity of a marriage between a Banks and a Jervaise. +It will, I think, break my husband’s heart, but we see that +there is nothing else to be done.”</p> +<p>Old Jervaise’s expression was certainly one of relief. He +would, I am sure, have agreed to that compromise if he had been +alone; he might even have agreed, as it was, if he had been given +the chance. But Frank realised his father’s weakness not less +surely than we did, and although this was probably not the precise +moment he would have chosen, he instantly took the case into his +own hands.</p> +<p>“Oh! no, Mrs. Banks, certainly not,” he said. +“In the first place we did not come here to bargain with you, +and in the second it must be perfectly plain to you that the +scandal remains none the less because you have all gone away. We +have come to fetch my sister home, that’s the only thing that +concerns you.”</p> +<p>“And if she will not go with you?” asked Mrs. +Banks.</p> +<p>“She must,” Frank returned.</p> +<p>“And still, if she will not go?”</p> +<p>“Then we shall bring an action against you for abducting +her.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Banks smiled gently and pursed her mouth “To avoid a +scandal?” she asked.</p> +<p>“If you persist in your absurd demands, there will be a +scandal in any case,” Frank replied curtly.</p> +<p>“I suppose my wishes don’t count at all?” +Brenda put in.</p> +<p>“Obviously they don’t,” Frank said.</p> +<p>“But, look here, father,” Brenda continued, turning +to old Jervaise; “<em>why</em> do you want me to come back? +We’ve never got on, I and the rest of you. <em>Why</em> +can’t you let me go and be done with it?”</p> +<p>Jervaise fidgeted uneasily and looked up with a touch of appeal +at his son. He had begun to mumble some opening when Frank +interposed.</p> +<p>“Because we won’t,” he said, “and +that’s the end of it. There’s nothing more to be said. +I’ve told you precisely how the case stands. Either you come +back with us without a fuss, or we shall begin an action at +once.”</p> +<p>I know now that Frank Jervaise was merely bluffing, and that +they could have had no case, since Brenda was over eighteen, and +was not being detained against her will. But none of us, probably +not even old Jervaise himself, knew enough of the law to question +the validity of the threat.</p> +<p>Little Mrs. Banks, however, was not depending on her legal +knowledge to defeat her enemies. What woman would? She had been +exchanging glances with her husband during the brief interval in +which she had entrusted a minor plea to her junior, and I suppose +she, now, considered herself free to produce her trump card. Banks +had turned his back on the room—perhaps the first time he had +ever so slighted his landlord and owner—and was leaning his +forehead against the glass of the window. His attitude was that of +a man who had no further interest in such trivialities as this +bickering and scheming. Perhaps he was dimly struggling to +visualise what life in Canada might mean for him?</p> +<p>His wife’s eyes were still shining with the zest of her +present encounter. She was too engrossed by that to consider just +then the far heavier task she would presently have to undertake. +She shrugged her shoulders and made a gesture with her hands that +implied the throwing of all further responsibility upon her +antagonists. “If you will have it,” she seemed to say, +“you must take the consequences.” And old Jervaise, at +all events, foresaw what was coming, and at that eleventh hour made +one last effort to avert it.</p> +<p>“You know, Frank…” he began, but Mrs. Banks +interrupted him.</p> +<p>“It is useless, Mr. Jervaise,” she said. “Mr. +Frank has been making love to my daughter and she has shown him +plainly how she despises him. After that he will not listen to you. +He seeks his revenge. It is the manner of your family to make love +in that way.”</p> +<p>“Impertinence will not make things any easier for you, +Mrs. Banks,” Frank interpolated.</p> +<p>“Impertinence? From me to you?” the little woman +replied magnificently. “Be quiet, boy, you do not know what +you are saying. My husband and I have saved your poor little family +from disgrace for twenty years, and I would say nothing now, if it +were not that you have compelled me.”</p> +<p>She threw one glance of contempt at old Jervaise, who was +leaning forward with his hand over his mouth, as if he were in +pain, and then continued,—</p> +<p>“But it is as well that you should know the truth, and +after all, the secret remains in good keeping. And you understand +that it is apropos to that case you are threatening. It might be as +well for you to know before you bring that case against +us.”</p> +<p>“Well,” urged Frank sardonically. He was, I think, +the one person in the room who was not tense with expectation. +Nothing but physical fear could penetrate that hide of his.</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Frank,” she did not deign to imitate him, +but she took up his word as if it were a challenge. “Well, it +is as well for you to know that Brenda is not your mother’s +daughter.” She turned as she spoke to Brenda herself, with a +protective gesture of her little hand. “I know it will not +grieve you, dear, to hear that,” she continued. “It is +not as if you were so attached to them all at the +Hall…”</p> +<p>“But who, then…?” Brenda began, evidently too +startled by this astonishing news to realise its true +significance.</p> +<p>“She was my step-sister, Claire Sévérac, +dear,” Mrs. Banks explained. “She was Olive’s +governess. Oh! poor Claire, how she suffered! It was, perhaps, a +good thing after all that she died so soon after you were born. Her +heart was broken. She was so innocent; she could not realise that +she was no more than a casual mistress for your father. And then +Mrs. Jervaise, whom you have believed to be your mother, was very +unkind to my poor Claire. Yet it seemed best just then, in her +trouble, that she should go away to Italy, and that it should be +pretended that you were Mrs. Jervaise’s true daughter. I +arranged that. I have blamed myself since, but I did not understand +at the time that Mrs. Jervaise consented solely that she might keep +you in sight of your father as a reminder of his sin. She was +spiteful, and at that time she had the influence. She threatened a +separation if she was not allowed to have her own way. So! the +secret was kept and there were so few who remember my poor Claire +that it is only Alfred and I who know how like her you are, my +dear. She had not, it is true, your beautiful fair hair that is so +striking with your dark eyes. But your temperament, yes. She, too, +was full of spirit, vivacious, gay—until +afterwards.”</p> +<p>She paused with a deep sigh, and I think we all sighed with her +in concert. She had held us with her narrative. She had, as a +matter of fact, told us little enough and that rather allusively, +but I felt that I knew the whole history of the unhappy Claire +Sévérac. Anne had not overrated her mother’s +powers in this direction. And my sigh had in it an element of +relief. Some strain had been mercifully relaxed.</p> +<p>The sound of Frank’s harsh voice came as a gross intrusion +on our silence.</p> +<p>“What evidence have you got of all this?” he asked, +but the ring of certainty had gone from his tone.</p> +<p>Mrs. Banks pointed with a superb gesture at his father.</p> +<p>The old man was leaning forward in his chair with his face in +his hands. There was no spirit in him. Probably he was thinking +less of the present company than of Claire +Sévérac.</p> +<p>Frank Jervaise showed his true quality on that occasion. He +looked down at his father with scowling contempt, stared for a +moment as if he would finally wring the old man’s soul with +some expression of filial scorn, and then flung himself out of the +room, banging the door behind him as a proclamation that he finally +washed his hands of the whole affair.</p> +<p>Old Jervaise looked up when the door banged and rose rather +feebly to his feet. For a moment he looked at Arthur, as though he +were prepared, now, to meet even that more recent impeachment of +his virtue which he had feared earlier in the day. But +Arthur’s face gave no sign of any vindictive intention, and +the old man silently followed his son, creeping out with the air of +a man who submissively shoulders the burden of his disgrace.</p> +<p>I had been sorry for him that morning, but I was still sorrier +for him then. Banks was suffering righteously and might find relief +in that knowledge, but this man was reaping the just penalties of +his own acts.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a name="Ch_XV" id="Ch_XV"></a>XV</h3> +<h2>Remembrance</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>I do not believe that any of them saw me leave the room.</p> +<p>As soon as old Jervaise had gone, all of them had turned with an +instinct of protection towards the head of the family. He, alone, +had been sacrificed. Within an hour his whole life had been +changed, and I began to doubt, as Anne had doubted, whether so old +a tree would bear transplanting. Whatever tenderness and care could +do, would be done for him, but the threat of uprooting had come so +suddenly. In any case, I could not help those gentle foresters +whose work it would be to conduct the critical operation; and I +walked out of the room without offering any perfunctory excuse for +leaving them.</p> +<p>I made my way into the garden by the side door through which I +had first entered the Home Farm; and after one indeterminate +moment, came to a halt at the gate on the slope of the hill. I did +not want to go too far from the house. For the time being I was no +more to the Banks than an inconvenient visitor, but I hoped that +presently some of them—I put it that way to +myself—would miss me, and that Arthur or Anne would come and +tell me what had been arranged in my absence. I should have been +glad to talk over the affair with Arthur, but I hoped that it would +not be Arthur who would come to find me.</p> +<p>For a time my thoughts flickered capriciously over the +astonishing events of my adventurous week-end. I was pleasantly +replete with experience. In all my life I had never before entered +thus completely into any of the great movements of life. I recalled +my first thrills of anticipation amidst the glowing, excited youth +of the resting dancers at the Hall. We had been impatient for +further expression. The dragging departure of the Sturtons had been +an unbearable check upon the exuberance of our desires. In my +thought of the scene I could see the unspent spirit of our vitality +streaming up in a fierce fount of energy.</p> +<p>And with me, at least, that fount, unexpectedly penned by the +first hints of disaster, had still played furiously in my mind as I +had walked with Frank Jervaise through the wood. My intoxicated +imagination had created its own setting. I had gone, exalted, to +meet my wonderful fate. Through some strange scene of my own making +I had strayed to the very feet of enduring romance.</p> +<p>But after that exciting prelude, when the moon had set and slow +dawn, like a lifting curtain, had been drawn to reveal the +landscape of a world outside the little chamber of my own being, I +had been cast from my heights of exaltation into a gloomy pit of +disgrace. Fate, with a fastidious particularity, had hauled me back +to the things of everyday. I was not to be allowed to dream too +long. I was wanted to play my part in this sudden tragedy of +experience.</p> +<p>My thought went off at a tangent when I reached that point of my +reflection. I had found myself involved in the Banks’s drama, +but what hope had I of ever seeing them again after the next day? +What, moreover, was the great thing I was called upon to do? I had +decided only an hour or two before that my old way of life had +become impossible for me, but equally impossible was any way of +life that did not include the presence of Anne.</p> +<p>I looked at my watch, and found that it was after ten +o’clock, but how long I had been standing at the gate, I had +no idea; whether an hour or ten minutes. I had been dreaming again, +lost in imaginative delights; until the reminder of this new +urgency had brought me back to a reality that demanded from me an +energy of participation and of initiative.</p> +<p>I wished that Anne would come—and by way of helping her +should she, indeed, have come out to look for me, I strolled back +to the Farm, and then round to the front of the house.</p> +<p>The windows of the sitting-room had been closed but the blinds +were not drawn. The lamp had been lit and splayed weak fans of +yellow light on to the gravel, and the flower-beds of the grass +plot. The path of each beam was picked out from the diffused +radiance of the moonlight, by the dancing figures of the moths that +gathered and fluttered across the prisms of these enchanted rays. +But I did not approach the windows. In the stillness of the night I +could hear Anne’s clear musical voice. She was still there in +the sitting-room, still soothing and persuading her father. Her +actual words were indistinguishable, but the modulations of her +tone seemed to convey the sense of her speech, as a melody may +convey the ideas of form and colour.</p> +<p>I returned to my vigil at the gate and to thoughts of +Anne—to romantic thoughts of worship and service; of becoming +worthy of her regard; of immense faithfulness to her image when +confronted with the most provocative temptations; to thoughts of +self-sacrifice and bravado, of humility and boasting; of some +transcending glorification of myself that should make me worthy of +her love.</p> +<p>I was arrested in the midst of my ecstatic sentimentalism by the +sight of the Hall, the lights of which were distantly visible +through the trees. The path by the wood was not the direct line +from the Hall to the Farm; the sanctities of the Park were not +violated by any public right of way. The sight of the place pulled +me up, because I was suddenly pierced by the reflection that +perhaps old Jervaise had thus postured to win the esteem of his +daughter’s governess. He, it is true, had had dignity and +prestige on his side, but surely he must have condescended to win +her. Had he, too, dreamed dreams of sacrifice at the height of his +passion? Had he alternately grovelled and strutted to attract the +admiration of his lady? I found the reflection markedly +distasteful. I was sorry again, now, for the old man. He had +suffered heavy penalties for his lapse. I remembered Mrs. +Banks’s hint that his wife had adopted Brenda in the first +place in order that he might have before him a constant reminder of +his disgrace. I could believe that. It was just such a piece of +chicane as I should expect from that timid hawk, Mrs. Jervaise. But +while I pitied the man, I could not look upon his furtive +gratifications of passion with anything but distaste.</p> +<p>No; if my love for Anne was to be worthy of so wonderful an +object, I must not stupefy myself with these vapours of romance. +The ideal held something finer than this, something that I could +not define, but that conveyed the notion, however indeterminately, +of equality. I thought of my fancy that we had +“recognised” each other the night before. Surely that +fancy contained the germ of the true understanding, of the +conceptions of affinity and remembrance.</p> +<p>No tie of our present earth life could be weighed against that +idea of a spirit love, enduring through the ages; a love +transcending and immortal, repeating itself in ever ascending +stages of rapture. The flesh was but a passing instrument of +temporal expression, a gross medium through which the spirit could +speak only in poor, inarticulate phrases of its magnificent +recognition of an eternal bond. … Oh! I was soon high in the +air again, riding my new Pegasus through the loftiest altitudes of +lonely exaltation. I was a conqueror while I had the world to +myself. But when at last I heard the rustle of a woman’s +dress on the path behind me, I was nothing more than a shy, +self-conscious product of the twentieth century, all too painfully +aware of his physical shortcomings.</p> +<hr /> +<p>She came and stood beside me at the gate, without speaking; and +my mind was so full of her, so intoxicated with the splendour of my +imaginings, that I thought she must surely share my newfound +certainty that we had met once more after an age of separation. I +waited, trembling, for her to begin. I knew that any word of mine +would inevitably precipitate the bathos of a civilised +conversation. I was incapable of expressing my own thought, but I +hoped that she, with her magic voice, might accomplish a miracle +that was beyond my feeble powers. Indeed, I could imaginatively +frame for her, speech that I could not, myself, deliver. I knew +what I wanted her to say—or to imply. For it was hardly +necessary for her to say anything. I was ready, wholly sympathetic +and receptive. If she would but give me the least sign that she +understood, I could respond, though I was so unable to give any +sign myself.</p> +<p>I came down from my clouds with a feeling of bitter +disappointment, a sense of waking from perfect dreams to the +realisation of a hard, inimical world, when she said in a formal +voice.</p> +<p>“It’s after eleven. My mother and father have gone +to bed.”</p> +<p>“Is he—is he in any way reconciled?” I asked, +and I think I tried to convey something of resentment by my tone. I +still believed that she must guess.</p> +<p>“In a way,” she said, and sighed rather wearily.</p> +<p>“It must have been very hard for him to make up his mind +so quickly—to such a change,” I agreed politely.</p> +<p>“It was easier than I expected,” she said. “He +was so practical. Just at first, of course, while Mr. Jervaise was +there, he seemed broken. I didn’t know what we should do. I +was almost afraid that he would refuse to come. But afterwards +he—well, he squared his shoulders. He is magnificent. +He’s as solid as a rock. He didn’t once reproach us. He +seemed to have made up his mind; only one thing frightened +him…”</p> +<p>“What was that?” I asked, as she paused.</p> +<p>“That we haven’t any capital to speak of,” she +said. “Even after we have sold the furniture here, we +shan’t have more than five or six hundred pounds so far as we +can make out. And he says it isn’t enough. He says that he +and mother are too old to start again from small beginnings. +And—oh! a heap of practical things. He is so slow in some +ways that it startled us all to find out how shrewd he was about +this. It was his own subject, you see.”</p> +<p>“There needn’t be any difficulty about +capital,” I said eagerly. I had hardly had patience for her +to finish her speech. From her first mention of that word +“capital” I had seen my chance to claim a right in the +Banks’s fortunes.</p> +<p>“I don’t see…” she began, and then +checked herself and continued stiffly, “My father would never +accept help of any kind.”</p> +<p>“Arthur might—from a friend,” I said.</p> +<p>“He thinks we’ve got enough—to begin +with,” she replied. “They’ve been arguing about +it. Arthur’s young and certain. Father isn’t either, +and he’s afraid of going to a strange country—and +failing.”</p> +<p>“But in that case Arthur must give way,” I said.</p> +<p>Anne was silent for a moment and then said in a horribly formal +voice. “Am I to understand, Mr. Melhuish, that you are +proposing to lend Arthur this money?”</p> +<p>“On any terms he likes,” I agreed warmly.</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>I could not mistake her intention. I knew that she expected me +to say that it was for her sake. I was no less certain that if I +did say that she would snub me. Her whole tone and manner since she +had come out to the gate had challenged me.</p> +<p>“Here we are alone in the moonlight,” her attitude +had said. “You’ve been trying to hint some kind of +admiration for me ever since we met. Now, let us get that over and +finished with, so that we can discuss this business of my +father’s.”</p> +<p>“Because I like him,” I said. “I haven’t +known him long, of course; only a few hours altogether; +but…” I stopped because I was afraid she would think +that the continuation of the argument might be meant to apply to +her rather than to Arthur; and I had no intention of pleading by +innuendo. When I did speak, I meant to speak directly, and there +was but one thing I had to say. If that failed, I was ready to +admit that I had been suffering under a delusion.</p> +<p>“Well?” she prompted me.</p> +<p>“That’s all,” I said.</p> +<p>“Weren’t you going to say that it wasn’t how +long you’d known a person that mattered?”</p> +<p>“It certainly didn’t matter in Arthur’s +case,” I said. “I liked him from the first moment I saw +him. It’s true that we had been talking for some time before +there was light enough for me to see him.”</p> +<p>“You like him so much that you’d be willing to lend +him all the money he wanted, without security?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, all the money I have,” I said.</p> +<p>“Without any—any sort of condition?”</p> +<p>“I should make one condition,” I replied.</p> +<p>“Which is?”</p> +<p>“That he’d let me come and stay with him, and +Brenda, and all of you—on the farm.”</p> +<p>“And, of course, we should all have to be very nice to +you, and treat you as our benefactor—our proprietor, +almost,” she suggested cruelly.</p> +<p>I was hurt, and for a moment I was inclined to behave much as +young Turnbull had behaved that afternoon, to turn away and sulk, +and show that I had been grievously misunderstood. I overcame that +impulse, however. “I shouldn’t expect you to +curtsey!” I said.</p> +<p>She turned to me with one of her instant changes of mood.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” she asked +passionately.</p> +<p>“The truth <em>you</em> mean hasn’t anything +whatever to do with what we’re talking about now,” I +said.</p> +<p>“Oh! but it has. It must have,” she protested. +“Aren’t you trying to buy my good-will all the time? +All this is so heroic and theatrical. Aren’t you being the +splendid benefactor of one of your own plays—being +frightfully tactful and oh! <em>gentlemanly</em>? It wouldn’t +be the right thing, of course, to—to put any sort of pressure +on me; but you could put us all under every sort of obligation to +you, and afterwards—when you came to stay with +us—you’d be very forbearing and sad, no doubt, and be +very sweet to my mother—she likes you already—but every +one would know just why; and you’d all expect +me—to—to do the right thing, too.”</p> +<p>If I had not been truly in love with her I should have been +permanently offended by that speech. It stung me. What she implied +was woundingly true of that old self of mine which had so recently +come under my observation and censure. I could see that; and yet if +any one but Anne had accused me I should have gone off in high +dudgeon. The hint of red in my hair would not permit me to accept +insult with meekness. And while I was still seeking some way to +avoid giving expression to my old self whose influence was +painfully strong just then, she spoke again.</p> +<p>“Now you’re offended,” she said.</p> +<p>I avoided a direct answer by saying, “What you accused me +of thinking and planning might have been true of me yesterday; it +isn’t true, now.”</p> +<p>“Have you changed so much since yesterday?” she +asked, as if she expected me to confess, now, quite in the familiar +manner. She had given me an opportunity for the proper +continuation. I refused it.</p> +<p>“I have only one claim on you,” I said boldly.</p> +<p>“Well?” she replied impatiently.</p> +<p>“You recognised me last night.”</p> +<p>It was very like her not to fence over that. She had a dozen +possible equivocations, but she suddenly met me with no attempt at +disguise.</p> +<p>“I <em>thought</em> I did,” she said. “Just +for a minute.”</p> +<p>“And now? You know…?”</p> +<p>She leaned her elbows on the gate and stared out over the +moonlit mysteries of the Park.</p> +<p>“You’re not a bit what I expected,” she +said.</p> +<p>I misunderstood her. “But you can’t…” I +began.</p> +<p>“To look at,” she interrupted me.</p> +<p>I felt a thrill of hope. “But neither are you,” I +said.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she commented softly.</p> +<p>“I’ve had romantic visions, too,” I went on; +“of what she would look like when I did meet her. But when I +saw you, I remembered, and all the visions—oh! scattered; +vanished into thin air.”</p> +<p>“If you hadn’t been so successful…” she +murmured.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry for that,” I agreed. “But +I’m going to make amends. I realised it all this afternoon in +the wood when I went to meet Arthur. I’m going to begin all +over again, now. I’m coming to Canada—to work.” +The whole solution of my problem was suddenly clear, although I had +not guessed it until that moment. “I’m going to buy a +farm for all of us,” I went on quickly, “and all the +money that’s over, I shall give away. The hospitals are +always willing to accept money without asking why you give it. +They’re not suspicious, <em>they</em> don’t consider +themselves under any obligation.”</p> +<p>“How much should you have to give away?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Thirty or forty thousand pounds,” I said. “It +depends on how much the farm costs.”</p> +<p>“Hadn’t you better keep a little, in case the farm +fails?” she put in.</p> +<p>“It won’t fail,” I said. “How could +it?”</p> +<p>“And you’d do all that just because +you’ve—remembered me?”</p> +<p>“There was another influence,” I admitted.</p> +<p>“What was that?” she asked, with the sound of new +interest in her voice.</p> +<p>“All this affair with the Jervaises,” I said. +“It has made me hate the possession of money and the power +money gives. That farm of ours is going to be a communal farm. Our +workers shall have an interest in the profits. No one is to be the +proprietor. We’ll all be one family—no scraping for +favours, or fears of dismissal; we’ll all be equal and +free.”</p> +<p>She did not answer that, at once; and I had an unpleasant +feeling that she was testing my quality by some criterion of her +own, weighing the genuineness of my emotion.</p> +<p>“Did you feel like this about things this +afternoon?” she asked, after what seemed to me an immense +interval.</p> +<p>I was determined to tell her nothing less than the truth. +“No,” I confessed, “much of it was a result of +what you said to me. I—I had an illumination. You made me see +what a poor thing my life had been; how conventional, artificial, +worthless, it was. What you said about my plays was so true. I had +never realised it before—I hadn’t bothered to think +about it.”</p> +<p>“I don’t remember saying anything about your +plays,” she interrupted me.</p> +<p>“Oh! you did,” I assured her; “very little; +nothing directly; but I knew what you felt, and when I came to +think it over, I agreed with you.”</p> +<p>“I’ve only seen <em>one</em>,” she +remarked.</p> +<p>“They’re all the same,” I assured her, +becoming fervent in my humility.</p> +<p>“But why go to Canada?” she asked. “Why not +try to write better plays?”</p> +<p>“Because I saw my whole life plainly, in the wood this +afternoon,” was my reply. “I did not know what to do +then. I couldn’t see any answer to my problem. But when you +were speaking to me a minute ago, I realised the whole thing +clearly. I understood what I wanted to do.</p> +<p>“It’s a form of conversion,” I concluded +resolutely.</p> +<p>“I’m sure you mean it all—now,” she +commented, as if she were speaking to herself.</p> +<p>“It isn’t a question of <em>meaning</em> +anything,” I replied. “The experiences of this week-end +have put the whole social question in a new light for me. I could +never go back, now, to the old life. My conscience would always be +reproaching me, if I did.”</p> +<p>“But if you’re rich, and feel like that, +oughn’t you to shoulder your responsibilities?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Do something? Wouldn’t it be rather like running +away to give your money to the hospitals and go to Canada to work +on a farm?”</p> +<p>“That’s my present impulse,” I said. +“And I mean to follow it. I don’t know that I shall +want to stay in Canada for the rest of my life. I may see further +developments after I’ve been there for a few years. +But…”</p> +<p>“Go on,” she urged me.</p> +<p>“But I want to—to stay near you—all of you. I +can’t tell you how I admire your father and mother and Arthur +and—all of you. And you see, I admit that this conversion of +mine has been very sudden. I—I want to learn.”</p> +<p>“Do you always follow your impulses like this?” she +put in.</p> +<p>“I’ve never had one worth following before,” I +said.</p> +<p>“What about wanting to fight Frank Jervaise?” she +asked. “And running away from the Hall? And suddenly taking +Arthur’s side in the row? and all those things? Didn’t +you follow your impulses, then?”</p> +<p>And yet, it had never before occurred to me that I was +impulsive. I had imagined myself to be self-controlled, rather +business-like, practical. I was frankly astonished at this new +light on my character.</p> +<p>“I suppose I did, in a way,” I admitted +doubtfully.</p> +<p>“To say nothing of…” she began, and stopped +with a little, rather embarrassed laugh.</p> +<p>“Of what?” I urged her.</p> +<p>“How many times before have you imagined yourself to be +head over ears in love?” she asked.</p> +<p>I was repaid in that moment for all the self-denials and +fastidious shrinkings of my youth.</p> +<p>“Never once!” I acclaimed triumphantly. +“It’s the one common experience that has passed me by. +I’ve often wondered why I could never fall in love. +I’ve admired any number of women. I’ve tried to fall in +love with them. And I have never been able to, try as I would. I +could deceive myself about other things, but never about that. Now, +I know why.”</p> +<p>I waited for her encouragement, but as she did not speak I went +on with more hesitation. “You’ll think me a romantic +fool, I suppose, if I tell you why?”</p> +<p>“Oh! I know, I know,” she said. “You’ve +told me already in so many words. You mean that you’ve been +waiting for me; that you <em>had</em> to wait for me. You’ve +been very frank. You deserve some return. Shall I tell you just how +I feel? I will. I don’t mind telling you the truth, too. I +did remember you last night. But not since; not even now. But I +like you—I like you very much—as you are this evening. +More than I’ve ever liked any man before. And if you went +away, I should remember you; and want you to come back. But you +must give me time. Lots of time. Don’t make love to me any +more; not yet; not till I’ve really remembered. I think I +shall—in a little while—when you’ve gone away. +You’re so near me, now. And so <em>new</em>. You don’t +belong to my life, yet.”</p> +<p>She paused and then went on in another tone. “But I +believe you’re right about Canada. I’ll explain it all +to the others. We’ll make some kind of arrangement about it. +I expect it will have to be <em>your</em> farm, nominally, for a +time—until we all know you better. I can feel that you +do—that you have taken a tremendous fancy to all of us. I +felt it just now, after supper. I was watching you and—oh! +well, I knew what you were feeling about my father and mother; and +it seemed to be just what I should have liked you to feel. But I +don’t think I would give <em>all</em> my money to the +hospitals, if I were you. Not without thinking it over a bit, +first. Wait until we get to Canada and see—how we get +on.”</p> +<p>“You don’t trust my impulses,” I said.</p> +<p>She laughed. “Wait till to-morrow anyway,” she +replied.</p> +<p>And as she spoke I heard far away, across the Park, the sound of +the stable-clock at the Hall, striking twelve. The artificial sound +of it was mellowed and altered by distance; as different from that +theatrical first striking I had noticed in the exciting atmosphere +of the crowd, as was my present state of mind from that in which I +had expectantly waited the coming of romance….</p> +<p>“To-morrow begins now,” I said.</p> +<p>“And I have to be up before six,” she added, in the +formal voice she knew so well how to assume.</p> +<p>I felt as though she had by that one return to civility +cancelled all that she said, and as we turned back to the house, I +began to wonder whether the promise of my probation was as assured +as I had, a minute earlier, so confidently believed.</p> +<p>We were nearly at the little porch that would for ever be +associated in my mind with the fumbling figure of Frank Jervaise, +when she said,</p> +<p>“One moment. I’ll get you something,” and left +me standing in almost precisely the same spot from which I had +gazed up at her window the night before.</p> +<p>She returned almost immediately, but it was not until we were +inside the house and she had lighted my candle that she gave me the +“something,” pressing it into my hand with a sudden +delicious, girlish embarrassment.</p> +<p>She was gone before I recognised that the precious thing she had +given me was a sprig of Rosemary.</p> +<h3 class="title"><a id="Ch_PS" name="Ch_PS"></a>Postscript</h3> +<h2>The True Story</h2> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of +Contents</a></p> +<p>It was by the merest accident that we gathered that delightful +piece of information—on our first trip to England, not quite +three years after we were married.</p> +<p>I did not know that “<em>The Mulberry Bush</em>” had +been revived for a few weeks as a stop-gap, until we saw the boards +outside the theatre. Anne insisted that we should go in, and the +arbiters of coincidence ordained that I should take seats in the +stalls immediately behind one of those well-informed society women +who know the truth about everything.</p> +<p>We were somewhat amused by her omniscience during the first +interval, but it was not until the second that she came to the +priceless report of our own two selves.</p> +<p>I was not listening to her when she began, but Anne’s +sudden grasp of my arm and the inclination of her head, awoke me to +the fact that the gossip just in front of us must, for some reason +or other, be instantly attended to.</p> +<p>There was a good deal of chatter going on in the auditorium and +I missed an occasional sentence here and there in addition to the +opening, but there could be no doubt as to the application of the +reminiscence I heard.</p> +<p>“Got himself into a scrape and had to leave the +country,” was the first thing that reached me. “As a +matter of fact I had the whole story from some one who was actually +staying in the house at the time.” She dropped her voice as +she added something confidentially of which I only caught the sound +of the name Jervaise. Anne was squeezing my arm violently.</p> +<p>“Yes, his father’s house,” the gossip +continued in answer to a question from her companion. “A +young man of great promise. He took silk last year, and is safe for +a place in the Cabinet sooner or later.”</p> +<p>“Our Frank,” Anne whispered.</p> +<p>I nodded and waited eagerly, although I had not, then, realised +my own connection with the story.</p> +<p>“Oh! yes, that other affair was four years +ago—nothing to do with the dear Jervaises, except for the +unfortunate fact that they were entertaining him at the time. He +ran away with a farmer’s daughter; eloped with her in the +middle of a dance the Jervaises were giving. Never seen her before +that evening, I believe. The father was one of the Jervaises’ +tenants…. A superior kind of young woman in some ways, +I’ve heard; and a friend of the youngest Jervaise girl +… you wouldn’t remember her … she went with her +friend to Australia or somewhere … some quixotic idea of +protecting her, I believe … and married out there. The +farmer’s name was Baggs. The whole family were a trifle +queer, and emigrated afterwards … yes, it was a pity about +Melhuish, in a way. He was considered quite a promising young +dramatist. This thing of his was a distinct success. Very amusing. +But naturally, no one would receive him after he’d married +this Baggs girl. Besides which …”</p> +<p>But at that point the orchestra began, the woman dropped her +voice again, and the only other fragment I heard was, +“… after the disgraceful scene at the dance … +quite impossible….”</p> +<p>I looked at Anne and was surprised to find that she was white +with indignation.</p> +<p>“I must tell them,” she whispered passionately.</p> +<p>“Oh! no, please,” I whispered back. “They +wouldn’t believe you. It would only add another shocking +detail to the next exposition of the scandal.”</p> +<p>“Detestable people,” she said, in a voice that must +have been heard by our gossip, although she evidently did not +realise the application of the description to herself and her +friend.</p> +<p>“Let’s be thankful,” I whispered to Anne, +“that I’m no longer writing this sort of piffle to +amuse them. If it hadn’t been for you…”</p> +<p>The two women had left the theatre before the end of the third +act, but long before that Anne had seen the humour of this true +story of our elopement.</p> +<h2>The End</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>The following pages contain advertisements of a few of the +Macmillan books on kindred subjects.</p> +<hr /> +<h4>MAY SINCLAIR’S NEW NOVEL</h4> +<h3>Mary Olivier: A Life</h3> +<p class="cen">BY MAY SINCLAIR,</p> +<p class="cen">Author of “The Tree of Heaven,” etc.</p> +<p class="rgt">Cloth, 12mo.</p> +<p>No novel of the war period made a more profound impression than +did Miss Sinclair’s “The Tree of Heaven.” The +announcement of a new book by this distinguished author is +therefore most welcome. “Mary Olivier” is a story in +Miss Sinclair’s best manner. Once again she has chosen a +theme of vital interest and has treated it with the superb literary +skill which has put her among the really great of contemporary +novelists.</p> +<p>A woman’s life, her thoughts, sensations and emotions +directly presented, without artificial narrative or analysis, +without autobiography.</p> +<p>The main interest lies in Mary Olivier’s search for +Reality, her relations with her mother, father and three brothers, +and her final passage from the bondage of infancy, the conflicts of +childhood and adolescence, the disenchantments (and other +drawbacks) of maturity, to the freedom, peace and happiness of +middle-age.</p> +<p>The period covered is from 1865 when Mary is two years old to +1910 when she is forty-seven.</p> +<hr /> +<h4>EDEN PHILLPOTTS’ NEW NOVEL</h4> +<h3>Storm in a Teacup</h3> +<p class="cen">BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS</p> +<p class="cen">Author of “The Spinners,” “Old +Delabole,” “Brunel’s Towers,” etc.</p> +<p class="rgt"><em>Cloth, 12mo.</em></p> +<p>This carries on Mr. Phillpotts’ series of novels dealing +with the human side of the different industries. Here the art of +paper making furnishes the background. The theme is somewhat +humorous in nature. A young wife picks a quarrel with her husband +because he is commonplace, and elopes with a man of high +intellectual ability. Finding him, however, extremely prosaic and a +bore, she is glad in the end to return to her first love.</p> +<p>The elopement, it might be explained, was purely a nominal one, +carried out on a high moral basis with the most tender respect for +the lady’s reputation and character. This fact leads to a +number of unusual and frequently amusing situations.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>From Father to Son</h3> +<p class="cen">BY MARY S. WATTS</p> +<p class="cen">Author of “Nathan Burke,” “The +Rise of Jennie Gushing,” “The Boardman Family,” +etc.</p> +<p class="rgt"><em>Cloth, 12 mo.</em></p> +<p>The hero of Mrs. Watts’ new story is a young man belonging +to a very wealthy family, who has had every sort of luxury and +advantage and who, upon entering his father’s office after +leaving college, finds that the huge fortune founded by his +grandfather was mainly made by profiteering on the +grandfather’s part during the Civil War. The question is what +is this young man of the present day to do? He is high-minded and +sensitive and the problem is a difficult one. What, too, is his own +father to do—also a man of sterling character, though of a +sterner type. The theme which grows out of this situation is one of +singular interest and power and involves a moving crowd of +characters.</p> +<p>Among these is the hero’s sister, who marries a German +attaché at the embassy in Washington; and another sister, +who marries a young man of the same social set—and things +happen. There is a drunken scalawag of a relative—who might +be worse, and there are one or two other people whom readers of +Mrs. Watts’ books have met before. The dates of the story are +from 1911 to the present year.</p> +<hr /> +<h4><em>H. G. WELLS’ NEW NOVEL</em></h4> +<h3>Joan and Peter</h3> +<p class="rgt"><em>Cloth, 12mo, $1.75</em></p> +<p>“Never has Mr. Wells spread for such a gorgeous panorama +… a living story … a vivacious narrative +imperturbable in interest on every page, always fresh and personal +and assured…. This is not a novel—it is a library. It +is everything that one needs to know about the public life of the +significant classes in England for last twenty-five +years.”—<em>The Dial</em>.</p> +<p>“Mr Wells, at his highest point of attainment…. An +absorbingly interesting book … consummate artistry … +here is Wells, the story teller, the master of +narrative.”—<em>N.Y. Evening Sun</em>.</p> +<hr /> +<h4><em>A NEW NOVEL BY WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE</em></h4> +<h3>In the Heart of a Fool</h3> +<p class="rgt"><em>Cloth, 12mo, $1.60</em></p> +<p>“A big novel—a book that will profoundly affect the +thoughts and the feelings of the many who will read it…. +Behind this chronicle lies the secret of the next fifty years of +American history. The fruit of this book will be an awakening of +the sleeping consciences in many men and a glimpse of what it is to +live in America to-day.”—<em>N.Y. Sun</em>.</p> +<p>“A great work. In its scope it is one of the most +comprehensive American romances ever written…. An intensely +dramatic story…. We have seen no truer nor more vital +portraiture of distinctive and important American +types.”—<em>N.Y. Tribune</em>.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>Our House</h3> +<p class="cen">BY HENRY S. CANBY</p> +<p class="rgt"><em>Cloth, 12mo.</em></p> +<p>Mr. Canby, known as a teacher of literature and critic, also as +a writer of books on literary subjects, has written a novel, and +one of singular appeal. Its central character is a young man facing +the world, taking himself perhaps over-seriously, but genuinely +perplexed as to what to do with himself. Coming back from college +to a sleepy city on the borders of the South, his problem is, +whether he shall subside into local business affairs, keep up the +home which his father has struggled to maintain, or whether he +shall follow his instinct and try to do something worth while in +literature. This problem is made intensely practical through the +death of his father. The story of what the young man does is +exceedingly interesting. It takes the hero to New York and into the +semi-artificial life of young Bohemia and ultimately brings him +back home, where he finds the real happiness and success.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>All the Brothers Were Valiant</h3> +<p class="cen">BY BEN AMES WILLIAMS</p> +<p class="rgt"><em>Cloth, 12mo.</em></p> +<p>This is a stirring story of the sea somewhat suggestive in +manner of Jack London’s work. It has to do with two brothers +of a sea-going family who go on a cruise with the hope of +ultimately finding their older brother, Mark, who was lost on his +last voyage. The adventures which they have on a mid-sea island, +where Mark, pagan, pirate, pearl-hunter, is found, are absorbing. +Hidden treasure, mutinies, tropic love, all these are here. The +book thrills with its incident and arouses admiration for its +splendid character portrayal.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>The Flaming Crucible: The faith of the Fighting Men</h3> +<p class="cen">BY ANDRE FRIBOURG</p> +<p class="rgt"><em>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50</em></p> +<p>Under the title <em>Croire</em>, this autobiography of a French +infantryman was published in Paris in 1917. It is a revelation of +the French spirit. It is rather a biography of the spirit, than an +account of the amazing experiences M. Fribourg encountered, from +1911 at Agadir, through the fighting on the Meuse, and part of the +campaign in Flanders. The descriptions are memorable for their +beautiful style, their pathos or their elevation. There is a +definite climax toward the end where M. Fribourg returns to a +hospital in Paris, broken and dulled, his faith momentarily +befogged. Gradually he readapts himself, regains and confirms his +faith in the human spirit that was so vivid when he lived with his +fellow soldiers.</p> +<p>“An autobiographical novel, which was a close competitor +for the last Goncourt Academy Prize and which was seriously +considered in connection with the recently awarded Grand Prix of +the French Academy.”</p> +<p>“It emphasizes the benumbing monotony of the ‘life +in a circle’ of billet and trench.”</p> +<p>“It portrays realistically, if a shade too methodically at +times, the racking torments of hunger and thirst, the dreary +importunity of the rain, the loathsomeness of the all-invading mud, +the sickening horror of the carrion smells, the pathetically +inadequate relaxations of the cantonments.”</p> +<p>“It dissects (a shade too scientifically and +cold-bloodedly at times perhaps) the sentiments and emotions +associated with attack and defence; the impulses that eventuate in +heroism; the alternating super-sensitiveness and callousness of the +nerves; fear and the mastery of fear; the ‘hope deferred that +maketh the heart sick’; the devious stratagems of the +terrible ‘cafard’ (blues).”</p> +<p>“It narrates dramatically the outstanding episodes; the +perilous corvée of bringing up fresh supplies of cartridges, +the digging of an advance trench under fire, the pinioning of a +comrade suddenly seized with dementia.”</p> +<p>“All this, with sanity, simplicity, and sincerity and in a +language of almost classical restraint, as a rule, but engagingly +piquant and picturesque and fantastic even upon +occasions.”—<em>Boston Evening Transcript</em>.</p> +<hr /> +<h4>THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</h4> +<p class="cen">Publishers 64-66 Fifth +Avenue New York</p> +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jervaise Comedy, by J. 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