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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31381-8.txt b/31381-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba80b18 --- /dev/null +++ b/31381-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9417 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Squire's Daughter, by Archibald Marshall + +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 Squire's Daughter + Being the First Book in the Chronicles of the Clintons + +Author: Archibald Marshall + +Release Date: February 25, 2010 [EBook #31381] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER + + _Being the First Book in the Chronicles of the Clintons_ + + BY ARCHIBALD MARSHALL + +NEW YORK +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY +1920 + +Published October, 1912 +by +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY + +TO +ANSTEY GUTHRIE + + + + +[Illustration: Archibald Marshall.] + + + + +CONTENTS + + +I A Court Ball + +II In the Bay of Biscay + +III The Clintons of Kencote + +IV Clintons Young and Old + +V Melbury Park + +VI A Good Long Talk + +VII The Rector + +VIII By the Lake + +IX The Question of Marriage + +X Town Versus Country + +XI A Wedding + +XII Food and Raiment + +XIII Ronald Mackenzie + +XIV The Plunge + +XV Bloomsbury + +XVI The Pursuit + +XVII The Contest + +XVIII After the Storm + +XIX The Whole House Upset + +XX Mrs. Clinton + +XXI Cicely's Return + +XXII The Life + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A COURT BALL + + +"I recollect the time," said the Squire, "when two women going to a ball +were a big enough load for any carriage. You may say what you like about +crinolines, but I've seen some very pretty women in them in my time." + +There were three people in the carriage passing slowly up the Mall in +the string, with little jerks and progressions. They were the Squire +himself, Mrs. Clinton, and Cicely, and they were on their way to a Court +Ball. + +The Squire, big, florid, his reddish beard touched with grey falling +over the red and gold of his Deputy-Lieutenant's uniform, sat back +comfortably beside his wife, who was dressed in pale lavender silk, with +diamonds in her smooth, grey-yellow hair. She was short and rather +plump. Her grey eyes, looking out on the violet of the night sky, the +trees, and the crowd of hilarious onlookers who had not been invited to +Buckingham Palace, had a patient and slightly wistful expression. She +had not spoken since the carriage had left the quiet hotel in which they +were staying for their fortnight in London. + +Cicely sat on the back seat of the carriage. On such an occasion as this +she might have been expected to be accorded the feminine privilege of +sitting at the side of her mother, but it had not occurred to the Squire +to offer it to her. She was a pretty girl, twenty-two years of age, with +a fair skin and abundant brown hair. She was dressed in costly white +satin, her gown simply cut. As she had stood before her glass, while her +mother's maid had held for her her light evening cloak, her beautiful +neck and shoulders had seemed warmly flushed by contrast with the dead +pallor of the satin. She also had hardly spoken since they had driven +off from their hotel, which was so quiet and private that it was hardly +like an hotel, and where some of the servants had stood in the hall to +see them get into their carriage, just as they might have done at home +at Kencote. + +It was a great occasion for Cicely. Her brothers--Dick, who was in the +Grenadier Guards, and Humphrey, who was in the Foreign Office--were well +enough used to the scenes of splendour offered by a London season, but +Cicely had hardly ever been in London at all. She had been brought up +four years before to be presented, and had been taken home again +immediately. She had seen nothing of London gaieties, either then or +since. Now she was to enjoy such opportunities of social intercourse as +might be open to the daughter of a rich squire who had had all he wanted +of town life thirty years before, and had lived in his country house +ever since. A fortnight was as long as the Squire cared to be away from +Kencote, even in the month of June; and a fortnight was to be the extent +of Cicely's London season. This was to be the crowning night of it. + +The Squire chattered on affably. He had had a good dinner and had not +been hurried over it, or afterwards. That was the worst of those +theatres, he would say; they didn't give you time even to drink your +glass of wine; and he had not been affable with his wife and daughter +the evening before, when driving to the play. But now he was rather +pleased with himself. He did not care for all this sort of thing, of +course; he had had quite enough of it as a subaltern, dancing about +London all night, and going everywhere--all very well for a young +fellow, but you got tired of it. Still, there was a certain flavour +about a Court Ball, even for a one-time subaltern in the Blues, who had +taken part in everything that was going on. Other people scrambled for +such things--they had to if they wanted them, and why they should want +them if they didn't come to them naturally, the Squire couldn't tell. To +a man of the importance of Edward Clinton of Kencote, they came as a +matter of course, and he accepted them as his due, but was pleased, too, +at having his social importance recognised in such a way, without his +stirring a finger. As a matter of cold fact, a finger had been stirred +to procure this particular honour, although it had not been his. But of +that he was not aware. + +The carriage drove slowly with the rest into the big court-yard, where a +military band was playing bright music. Cicely suddenly felt exhilarated +and expectant. They drove up before the great entrance, red-carpeted, +brightly lit, and went through the hall up the stairs into the +cloak-room. Cicely had a flush on her cheeks now as she waited for her +mother, who seemed to be taking an interminable time to settle her lace +and her jewels. Mrs. Clinton looked her over and her eyes brightened a +little. "Are you nervous, darling?" she asked; and Cicely said, "No, +mother, not a bit." The scent of flowers was in her nostrils, the +strains of the music expectantly in her ears. She was going to dance in +a royal palace, and she was such a country mouse that she was excited at +the prospect of seeing royalty at close quarters. She had been far too +nervous to take in anything when she had been presented, and that had +been four years ago. + +They went out and found the Squire waiting for them. He did not ask +them, as he generally did, why they had been so long. + +They seemed to go through interminable wide corridors, decorated in red +and gold, with settees against the walls and beautiful pictures hanging +above them, but came at last to the great ball-room. + +Cicely drew her breath as she entered. This was better than the +Meadshire County Ball, or the South Meadshire Hunt Ball. The women were +mostly in white, or pale colours, but their jewels were beyond anything +she had ever imagined. The lights from the great lustre chandeliers +seemed to be reflected in those wonderful clusters and strings and +devices of sparkling gems. Cold white and cold fire for the women, +colour for the men. Scarlet and gold pre-dominated, but there were +foreign attaches in uniforms of pale blue and silver, and other +unfamiliar colours, eastern robes and dresses encrusted with jewels or +richly embroidered in silks. It was gorgeous, a scene from fairyland. + +There was a sudden ebbing of the tide of chatter. The band in the +gallery began to play "God save the King." Doors were thrown open at the +end of the great room, and the royal party came in slowly, passed down +the open space on the red carpet between the lines of bowing and +curtseying guests, and took their places on the dais. Cicely gazed her +fill at them. They were just as she had seen them a hundred times in +pictures in the illustrated papers, but more royal, and yet, more human. + +They danced their opening quadrille, and after that every one could +dance. But of all the people there Cicely knew no one who would be +likely to dance with her. She sat by her mother on one of the raised +settees that ran in four rows the length of the room. The Squire had +found friends and was talking to them elsewhere. Her brother Dick, who +she knew was to have been there, she had not yet seen. Everything +depended upon him. Surely, people did not come casually late to a Court +Ball! If something had prevented his coming at all, it seemed to her +that she would have to sit there all the evening. + +Her eyes brightened. There was Dick making his way towards them. He +looked very smart in his guardsman's uniform, and very much at home with +himself, as if the King's ball-room was no more to him than any other +ball-room. He was always provokingly leisurely in his movements, and +even now he stopped twice to talk to people whom he knew, and stood with +them each time as if he would stay there for ever. Really, Dick could be +almost as provoking as the Squire, where their womenfolk were concerned. + +But at last he came, smiling very pleasantly. "Hullo, mother!" he said. +"Hullo, Siskin! Now you've seen the Queen in her parlour, eh? Well, how +do you like yourself?" + +He was a good-looking fellow, Dick, with his well-shaped, closely +cropped head, his well-trained moustache, his broad, straight shoulders +and lean waist and hips. He was over thirty, but showed few signs as yet +of the passing of youth. It was quite plain by the way he looked at her +that he was fond of his sister. She was nearly ten years younger than he +and still a child to him, to be patronised and petted, if she was taken +notice of at all. He didn't take much notice of his mother, contenting +himself with telling her that she "looked as smart as any of 'em." But +he stood and talked to Cicely, and his eyes rested on her as if he were +proud of her. + +In the meantime the delicious strains of a valse were swinging through +the great room, and the smooth floor was full of dancers, except in the +space reserved for the royalties, where only a few couples were +circling. Cicely's feet were moving. "Can't we dance, Dick?" she said. + +"Come on," said Dick, "let's have a scurry," and he led her down on to +the floor and floated her out into a paradise of music and movement. +Dick was the best partner she had ever danced with. He had often snubbed +her about her own dancing, but he had danced with her all the same, more +than most brothers dance with their sisters, at country balls, which +were the only balls she had ever been to. He was a kind brother, +according to his lights, and Cicely would have liked to dance with him +all the evening. + +That, of course, was out of the question. Dick knew plenty of people to +dance with to-night, if she didn't. In fact, he seemed to know half the +people in the room, although he gave her the impression that he thought +Court Balls rather mixed affairs. "Can't be certain of meeting your +friends here," he said, and added, "of course," as admitting handsomely +that people might be quite entitled to be asked who did not happen to be +his friends. "You're not the only country cousins, Siskin," he said, +which gave Cicely somehow a higher opinion of herself, his dissociation +of himself in this matter of country cousinhood from his family striking +her as nothing unreasonable. Indeed, it was not unreasonable with regard +to the Clintons, the men taking their part, as a matter of course, in +everything to which their birth and wealth entitled them, so long as +they cared to do so, the women living, for the most part, at home, in a +wide and airy seclusion. + +"Want to dance, eh?" said Dick, in answer to her little plea. "All +right, I'll bring up some young fellows." + +And he did. He brought up a succession of them and delivered them +off-hand to his mother and sister with a slight air of authority, doing +his duty very thoroughly, as a kind brother should. + +Most of them were quite young--as young, or younger than Cicely herself. +Some of them wore the uniform of Dick's own regiment, and were +presumably under his orders, professionally if not in private life. Some +of them were amazingly patronising and self-possessed, and these did not +ask Cicely to dance again. She felt, when they returned her to her +mother, that she had not been a success with them. Others were boyish +and diffident, and with them she got on pretty well. With one, a modest +child of nineteen or so with a high-sounding title, she was almost +maternally friendly, and he seemed to cling to her as a refuge from a +new and bewildering world. They ate ices together--he told her that he +had been brought up at home in Ireland under a priest, and had never +eaten enough ices at a sitting until he had joined his regiment a +fortnight before. He could not dance well, indeed hardly at all, +although he confessed to having taken lessons, and his gratitude when +Cicely suggested that they should go and look at some of the rooms +instead, warmed her heart to him and put their temporary friendship on +the best possible footing. + +They stayed together during three dances, went out on to the terrace, +explored wherever they were permitted to explore, paid two visits to the +buffet, and enjoyed themselves much in the same way as if they had been +school-children surreptitiously breaking loose from an assembly of +grown-ups. The boy became volubly friendly and bubbling over with +unexpected humour and high spirits. He tried to persuade Cicely to stay +away from the ball-room for a fourth dance. Nobody would miss them, he +explained. But she said she must go back, and when they joined the crowd +again her partner was haled off with a frightened look to the royal +circle, and she found her mother standing up before the seat on which +she had sat all the evening searching anxiously for her with her eyes, +and her father by her side. + +An old man, looking small and shrunken in his heavy uniform, but +otherwise full of life and kindliness, with twinkling eyes and a short +white beard, was with them, and she breathed a sigh of relief, for if +she was not frightened of what her mother might say about her long +absence, she rather dreaded the comments her father might be pleased to +pass on it. But her kinsman, Lord Meadshire, Lord-Lieutenant of the +county, a great magnate in the eyes of the world, was to her just a very +kind and playful old man, whose jokes only, because of their inherent +feebleness, caused her any discomfort. Cousin Humphrey would preserve +her from the results of her fault if she had committed one. + +"Well, my dear," he said in an affectionate, rather asthmatical voice, +"you've brought us some of the Meadshire roses, eh, what? Hope you're +enjoying yourself. If you had come a little earlier, I would have asked +you to dance with me." + +"Where have you been so long, Cicely?" asked her mother, but the twinkle +in Lord Meadshire's eyes showed that a joke was in progress, and he +broke in hurriedly, "Forty or fifty years earlier, I mean, my dear," and +he chuckled himself into a fit of coughing. + +The Squire was not looking quite pleased, but whatever the cause of his +displeasure it was not, apparently, Cicely's prolonged absence, for he +also asked if she was enjoying herself, and looked at her with some +pride and fondness. Going home in the carriage, she learned later that +Lord Meadshire, who would have done a great deal more to provide her +with social gaiety if he had not been living, now, mostly in retirement +with an invalid wife, had procured those commands which had brought them +up to London, and are not generally bestowed unasked on the belongings +of a country squire, however important he may be in the midst of his own +possessions. + +Lord Meadshire stayed with them for some little time and pointed out to +her some of the notabilities and the less familiar royalties. Then Dick +came up and took her away to dance again. After that she sat by her +mother's side until the end. She saw the boy with whom she had made +friends eying her rather wistfully. He had danced a quadrille with a +princess, and the experience seemed so to have shattered his nerve that +he was not equal to making his way to her to ask her to bear him company +again, and she could not very well beckon him, as she felt inclined to +do. The ball became rather dull, although she looked a good deal at the +King and Queen and thought how extraordinary it was that she should be +in the same room with them. + +Before she had quite realised that it had begun, the ball was over. The +band played "God save the King" again. Everybody stood up and the royal +procession was formed and went away to supper. With the light of royalty +eclipsed, her own supper seemed an ordinary affair. At country dances +she had shirked it whenever she could, taking advantage of a clearer +floor to dance with some willing partner right through a valse or a +two-step from beginning to end. After supper she danced once or twice, +but as she drove back to the very private hotel at about half-past one, +she only felt as if she had not danced nearly enough, and as she +undressed she hardly knew whether she had enjoyed herself or not. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +IN THE BAY OF BISCAY + + +On the night on which Cicely Clinton was enjoying herself at the Court +Ball, the _Punjaub_ homeward bound from Australia _via_ Colombo and the +Suez Canal was steaming through the Bay of Biscay, which, on this night +of June had prepared a pleasant surprise for the _Punjaub's_ numerous +passengers by lying calm and still under a bright moon. + +Two men were leaning over the side of the upper deck, watching the +phosphorescent gleam of the water as it slid past beneath them, and +talking as intimate friends. They were Ronald Mackenzie, the explorer, +returning home after his adventurous two years' expedition into the +wilds of Tibet, and Jim Graham, whose home was at Mountfield, three +miles away from Kencote, where the Clintons lived. They were not +intimate friends, in spite of appearances. They had joined the ship +together at Colombo, and found themselves occupying the same cabin. But +acquaintanceship ripens so fast on board ship that the most dissimilar +characters may adhere to one another for as long as a voyage lasts, +although they may never meet again afterwards, nor particularly wish to. + +Mackenzie was a tall, ruggedly fashioned man, with greying hair and a +keen, bold face. Jim Graham was more slightly built. He had an open, +honest look; he was rather deliberate in speech, and apparently in +thought, for in conversation he would often pause before speaking, and +he sometimes ignored a question altogether, as if he had not heard it, +or had not understood it. There were those who called him stupid; but it +was usually said of him that he was slow and sure. He had a rather ugly +face, but it was that pleasant ugliness which, with a well-knit athletic +body, clear eyes and a tanned skin, is hardly distinguishable, in a man, +from good looks. + +They were talking about London. "I can smell it and see it," said +Mackenzie. "I hope it will be raining when I get home. I like the wet +pavements, and the lights, and the jostling crowds. Lord! it will be +good to see it again. How I've pined for it, back there! But I'll be out +of it again in a month. It's no place for a man like me, except to get +back to every now and then." + +"That's how most of us take it," said Jim, "unless we have to work +there. I'm glad I haven't to, though I enjoy it well enough for a week +or two, occasionally." + +"Do you live in the country all the year round?" + +"Yes." + +Mackenzie threw him a glance which seemed to take him in from top to +toe. "What do you do?" he asked. + +Jim Graham paused for a moment before replying. "I have a good deal to +do," he said. "I've got my place to look after." + +"That doesn't take you all your time, does it?" + +"It takes a good deal of it. And I'm on the bench." + +"That means sending poor devils to prison for poaching your game, I +suppose." + +"Not quite that," said Jim, without a smile. + +"I suppose what it all does mean is that you live in a big country house +and shoot and hunt and fish to your heart's content, with just enough +work to keep you contented with yourself. By Jove, some men are lucky! +Do you know what my life has been?" + +"I know you have been through many adventures and done big things," said +Jim courteously. + +"Well, I'm obliged to you for putting it like that. Seems to me I didn't +put my idea of your life quite so nicely, eh?" He stood up and stretched +his tall figure, and laughed. "I'm a rough diamond," he said. "I don't +mind saying so, because it's plain enough for any one to see. I +sometimes envy people like you their easy manners; but I've got to be +content with my own; and after all, they have served my turn well +enough. Look at us two. I suppose I'm about ten years older than you, +but I had made my name when I was your age. You were born in a fine +country house." + +"Not so very fine," said Jim. + +"Well, pretty fine compared to the house I was born in, which was the +workhouse. You were educated at Eton and Christchurch, and all that sort +of thing----" + +"I don't want to spoil any comparison you are going to make," said Jim, +"but I was at Winchester and New College." + +"That will do," said Mackenzie. "I was dragged up at the workhouse +school till I was twelve. Then I ran away and sold papers in the +streets, and anything else that I could pick up a few coppers by--except +steal. I never did that. I always made up my mind I'd be a big man some +day, and--I'm glad I didn't steal." + +"I didn't either, you know," said Jim, "although I'm not a big man, and +never shall be." + +"Ah, that's where the likes of me scores. You've no call to ambition. +You have everything you can want provided for you." + +"There have been one or two big men born as I was," said Jim. "But +please go on with your story. When did you go on your first journey?" + +"When I was sixteen. I looked much older. I shipped before the mast and +went out to Australia, and home round Cape Horn. By Jove, I shan't +forget that. The devil was in the wind. We were five months coming home, +and nearly starved to death, and worked till we were as thin as hungry +cats. Then I shipped with the Boyle-Geering expedition--you know--North +Pole, and three years trying to get there. Then I tried a change of +climate and went to Central Africa with Freke. I was his servant, got +his bath, shaved him, brushed his clothes--he was always a bit of a +dandy, Freke, and lived like a gentleman, though I don't believe he was +any better than I was when he started; but he could fight too, and there +wasn't his equal with niggers. We had trouble that trip, and the men who +went out with him were a rotten lot. They'd found the money, or he +wouldn't have taken them. He knew a man when he saw one. When we came +home I was second in command. + +"It was easy after that. I led that expedition through Uganda when I was +only twenty-five; and the rest--well, the rest I dare say you know." + +"Yes, I know," said Jim. "You've done a lot." + +"Not so bad, eh, for a workhouse brat?" + +"Not so bad for anybody." + +"I'm up top now. I used to envy lots of people. Now most people envy +me." + +Jim was silent. + +Mackenzie turned to him. "I suppose you've had a pretty easy time +travelling," he said. There was a suspicion of a sneer on his long thin +lips. + +"Pretty easy," said Jim. + +"Ah! Your sort of travelling is rather different from mine. If you had +been roughing it in Tibet for the last two years you would be pretty +glad to be getting back." + +"I'm glad to be getting back as it is." + +Mackenzie turned and leaned over the rail again. "Well, I don't know +that I don't envy you a bit after all," he said. "I've got no friends in +England. I'm not a man to make friends. The big-wigs will take me up +this time. I know that from what I've seen. I shall be a lion. I suppose +I shall be able to go anywhere I like. But there's nowhere I want to go +to particularly, when I've had enough of London. You've got your country +home. Lord, how I've thought of the English country, in summer time! +Thirsted for it. But it has to belong to you, in a way. I've a good mind +to buy a little place--I shall be able to afford it when my book comes +out. But I should want a wife to keep it warm for me. You're not +married, I suppose?" + +"No." + +"Going to be?" + +Jim made no reply. + +Mackenzie laughed. "Mustn't ask questions, I suppose," he said. "I'm a +rough diamond, Graham. Got no manners, you see. Never had any one to +teach 'em to me. I apologise." + +"No need to," said Jim. + +There was silence for a space. The great round moon shone down and +silvered the long ripples on the water. + +"I don't mind answering your question," said Jim, looking out over the +sea. "There are some country neighbours of mine. One of the sons is my +chief pal. We were brought up together, more or less. He's going to +marry my sister. And--well, I hope I'm going to marry his." + +His face changed a little, but Mackenzie, looking straight before him +did not notice it. "Sounds a capital arrangement," he said drily. + +Jim flushed, and drew himself up. "Well, I think I'll be turning in," he +said. + +Mackenzie faced him quickly. "Tell me all about it," he said. "How old +is she? You have known her all your life. When did you first find out +you wanted to marry her? When are you going to be married?" + +Jim looked at him squarely. "You are taking liberties," he said. + +Mackenzie laughed again--his harsh, unamused laugh. "All right," he +said. "One has to be as delicate as a fine lady talking to fellows like +you. It's not worth it. When you live like a savage half your life, you +sort of hunger after hearing about things like that--people living in +the country, falling in love and getting married, and going to church +every Sunday--all the simple, homely things. A man without all the +nonsense about good form and all that sort of thing--a man who'd done +things--he would know why you asked him, and he would know he couldn't +find anybody better to tell his little happy secrets to." + +"Oh, well," said Jim, slightly mollified. + +"I dare say you're right, though," said Mackenzie. "One doesn't blab to +every stranger. Even I don't, and I'm a rough diamond, as I've told +you." + +"Yes, you've told me that." + +"Is the fellow who is going to marry your sister a country gentleman, +too?" + +"No. His father is. He's a younger son. He's a doctor." + +"A doctor! Isn't that a funny thing for a country gentleman's son to +be?" + +"I don't know that it is. He's a clever fellow. He went in for science +at Oxford, and got keen." + +"That's good hearing. I like to hear of men getting keen about a real +job. You might tell me about him, if I'm not taking another liberty in +asking." + +"Oh, look here, Mackenzie, I'm sorry I said that. I didn't understand +why you asked what you did." + +"I've told you. I like to hear about everything that goes on in the +world. It isn't curiosity, and yet in a way it is. I'm curious about +everything that goes on--everywhere. It isn't impertinent curiosity, +anyway." + +"I see that. I'll tell you about Walter Clinton. He's a good chap. His +father has a fine place next to mine. He's a rich man. His family has +been there since the beginning of all things. Walter is just my age. +We've always been a lot together." + +"Is there a large family? What do his brothers do?" + +"There's Dick, the eldest son. He's in the Guards. There's Humphrey in +the Foreign Office, and a younger son, a sailor. And--and there are +three girls--two of them are children--twins." + +"Well, now, aren't I right in saying it's odd for a son in a family like +that to become a doctor?" + +"Oh, well, I suppose in a way you are, though I can't see why he +shouldn't be. The fact is that they wanted to make a parson of +him--there's a rather good family living. But he wasn't taking any." + +"Ah! I thought I knew something about your country gentry. Well, I +admire the doctor. Was there a row?" + +"His father was rather annoyed. Perhaps it's not to be wondered at. His +half-brother is Rector at Kencote now, and when he dies they'll have to +give the living to a stranger. Of course they would rather have one of +the family." + +"It's like a chapter in a book--one of the long, easy ones, all about +country life and the squire and the parson. I love 'em. And the doctor +is going to marry your sister. Can I give 'em a skin for a wedding +present?" + +"I'm sure they would be gratified. You'd better come down and make their +acquaintance." + +"I'll do that. I'd like to come and see you, Graham; and you mustn't +mind my roughness peeping out occasionally. I haven't had many chances +in life." + +There was a pause, and then Jim said, "Walter Clinton's sister comes +next to him in the family. She's six or seven years younger. Of course, +I've known her ever since she was a baby. When I came back from Oxford +one summer vac., I found her almost grown up. She seemed quite different +somehow. I was always over there all the summer, or she was with my +sister. We fixed it up we would get married some day. They laughed at +us, and said we had better wait a few years; but of course they were +pleased, really, both my people and hers, though they thought it a bit +premature; she was only seventeen. When I went back to Oxford and +thought it over I said to myself it wasn't quite fair to tie her down at +that age. I would wait and see. So we fell back to what we had been +before." + +He stopped suddenly. "Is that all?" asked Mackenzie in some surprise. + +"It's all at present." + +There was a long pause. "It's disappointing, somehow," said Mackenzie. +"I suppose I mustn't ask questions, but there are a lot I'd like to +ask." + +"Oh, ask away. When the ice is once broken one can talk. It does one +good to talk sometimes." + +"Women talk to each other about their love affairs. Men don't--not the +real ones--except on occasions." + +"Well, we'll let this be an occasion, as you have started the subject." +He laughed lightly. "You've got a sort of power, Mackenzie. If any one +had told me yesterday that I should be talking to you to-night about a +thing I haven't mentioned to a soul for five years--except once or twice +to Walter Clinton--I should have stared at them. I'm not generally +supposed to be communicative." + +"It's impersonal," said Mackenzie, "like telling things to a priest. I'm +not in the same world as you. Five years, is it? Well, now, what on +earth have you been doing ever since? She's not too young to marry now." + +"No. I was at Oxford a year after what I told you of. Then I went for a +year to learn estate management on my uncle's property. When I came home +I thought I would fix it up with my father--he was alive then. He said, +wait a year longer. He was beginning to get ill, and I suppose he didn't +want to face the worry of making arrangements till he got better. But he +never got better, and within a year he died." + +"And then you were your own master. That's two years ago, isn't it? And +here you are coming back from a year's trip round the world. You seem to +be pretty slow about things." + +"One doesn't become one's own master immediately one succeeds to the +ownership of land. These death duties have altered all that. I shan't be +free for another year. Then I hope you will come to my wedding, +Mackenzie." + +"Thanks. Didn't the young lady object to keeping it all hanging on for +so long?" + +Jim did not reply for a moment. Then he said a little stiffly, "I wrote +to her from Oxford when I had thought things over. I thought it wasn't +fair to tie her up before I was ready to marry, and she so young." + +"And that means that you have never allowed yourself to make love to her +since." + +"Yes, it means that." + +"And yet you have been in love with her all the time?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, it shows a greater amount of self-control than most people +possess--certainly a good deal more than I possess, I suppose you are +sure of her." + +Jim did not reply to this, but he said presently, "If it wasn't for the +death duties I should have hoped to be married before this." + +"I'll tell you what I don't understand," said Mackenzie. "I suppose you +live in much the same way as your father did before you." + +"Yes. My mother lives with me, and my sister." + +"Well, surely you _could_ get married if you wanted to. You've got your +house and everything, even if there isn't quite so much money to spend +for a bit. And as for ready money--it doesn't cost nothing to travel for +a year as you're doing." + +"Oh, an uncle of mine paid for that," said Jim. "I got seedy after my +father's death. There was a lot of worry, and--and I was fond of the old +man. The doctors told me to go off. I'm all right now. As for the +rest--well, there are such things as jointures and dowries. No, I +couldn't marry, giving my wife and my mother and sister everything they +ought to have, before another year. Even then it will be a close thing; +I shall have to be careful." + +They fell silent. The dark mass of the ship's hull beneath them slipped +on through the water, drawing ever nearer towards home. The moon climbed +still higher into the sky. "Well, we've had an interesting talk," said +Mackenzie, drawing himself up. "What you have told me is all so entirely +different from anything that would ever happen in my life. If I wanted +to marry a girl I should marry her, and let the money go hang. She'd +have to share and share. But I dare say when I want a thing I want it +for the moment a good deal more than you do; and, generally, I see that +I get it. Now I think I shall turn in. Give me ten minutes." + +He went down to the cabin they both occupied. As he undressed he said to +himself, "Rather a triumph, drawing a story like that from a fellow like +that. And Lord, _what_ a story! He deserves to lose her. I should like +to hear her side of it." + +Jim Graham smoked another cigarette, walking round the deck. He felt +vaguely dissatisfied with himself for having made a confidant of +Mackenzie, and at the same time relieved at having given vent to what he +had shut up for so long in the secret recesses of his mind. + +A day or two later the two men parted at Tilbury. They had not again +mentioned the subject of their long conversation in the Bay of Biscay. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CLINTONS OF KENCOTE + + +Cicely was returning home with her father and mother after her short +taste of the season's gaieties. It was pleasant to lean back in a corner +of the railway carriage and look at the rich Meadshire country, so +familiar to her, running past the window. She had not wanted to go home +particularly, but she was rather glad to be going home all the same. + +The country in South Meadshire is worth looking at. There are +deep-grassed water-meadows, kept green by winding rivers; woods of beech +and oak; stretches of gorse and bracken; no hills to speak of, but +gentle rises, crowned sometimes by an old church, or a pleasant-looking +house, neither very old nor very new, very large nor very small. The big +houses, and there are a good many of them, lie for the most part in what +may be called by courtesy the valleys. You catch a glimpse of them +sometimes at a little distance from the line, which seems to have shown +some ingenuity in avoiding them, standing in wide, well-timbered parks, +or peeping from amongst thicker trees, with their court of farm and +church and clustered village, in dignified seclusion. For the rest, +there are picturesque hamlets; cottages with bright gardens; children, +and fluttering clothes-lines; pigs and donkeys and geese on the cropped +commons; a network of roads and country lanes; and everywhere a look of +smiling and contented well-being, which many an English county of higher +reputation for picturesque scenery might envy. + +The inhabitants of South Meadshire will tell you that it is one of the +best counties for all-round sport. Game is preserved, but not +over-preserved, and the mixture of pasture and arable land and frequent +covert, while it does not tempt the fox-hunting Londoner, breeds stout +foxes for the pleasure of those who know every inch of it; and there is +enough grass, enough water, and stiff enough fences to try the skill of +the boldest, and to provide occasionally such a run as from its +comparative rarity accords a gratification unknown to the frequenter of +the shires. Big fish are sometimes caught in the clear streams of South +Meadshire, and they are caught by the people who own them, or by their +friends. For in this quiet corner of England the life of the hall and +the village still goes on unchanged. At the meets--on lawn, at +cross-road, or by covert-side--everybody knows everybody else, at least +by sight; neighbours shoot with one another and not with strangers; and +the small fry of the countryside get their share of whatever fun is +going on. + +In the middle of this pleasant land lies the manor of Kencote, and a +good many fat acres around it, which have come to the Clintons from time +to time, either by lucky marriages or careful purchase, during the close +upon six hundred years they have been settled there. For they are an old +family and in their way an important one, although their actual +achievements through all the centuries in which they have enjoyed wealth +and local consideration fill but a small page in their family history. + +The Squire had, in the strong room of the Bathgate and Medchester Bank, +in deed-boxes at his lawyers, and in drawers and chests and cupboards in +his house, papers worthy of the attention of the antiquary. From time to +time they did engage the antiquary's attention, and, scattered about in +bound volumes of antiquarian and genealogical magazines, in the +proceedings of learned societies, and in county histories, you may find +the fruits of much careful and rewarding research through these various +documents. When the Squire was approached by some one who wished to +write a paper or read a paper, or compile a genealogy, or carry out any +project for the purposes of which it was necessary to gain access to the +Clinton archives, he would express his annoyance to his family. He would +say that he wished these people would let him alone. The fact was that +there were so few really old families left in England, that people like +himself who had lived quietly on their property for eight or nine +hundred years, or whatever it might be, had to bear all the brunt of +these investigations, and it was really becoming an infernal nuisance. +But he would always invite the antiquary to Kencote, give him a bottle +of fine claret and his share of a bottle of fine port, and every +facility for the pursuit of his inquiries. + +_A History of the Ancient and Knightly Family of Clinton of Kencote in +the County of Meadshire_, was compiled about a hundred years ago by the +Reverend John Clinton Smith, M.A., Rector of Kencote, and published by +Messrs. Dow and Runagate of Paternoster Row. It is not very accurate, +but any one interested in such matters can, with due precaution taken, +gain from it valuable information concerning the twenty-two generations +of Clintons who have lived and ruled at Kencote since Sir Giles de +Clinton acquired the manor in the reign of Edward I. + +The learned Rector devoted a considerable part of his folio volume to +tracing a connection between the Clintons of Kencote and other families +of Clintons who have mounted higher in the world. It is the opinion of +later genealogists that he might have employed his energies to better +purpose, but, in any case, the family needs no further shelter than is +supplied by its own well-rooted family tree. You will find too, in his +book, the result of his investigations into his own pedigree, in which +the weakest links have to bear the greatest strain, as is often the case +with pedigrees. + +It remains only to be said that the Squire, Edward Clinton, had +succeeded his grandfather, Colonel Thomas, of whom you may read in +sporting magazines and memoirs, at the age of eighteen, and had always +been a rich man, and an honest one. + +Kencote lies about six miles to the south-west of the old town of +Bathgate. The whole parish, and it is an exceptionally large one, +belongs to the Squire, with a good deal more land besides in +neighbouring parishes. Kencote House is a big, rather ugly structure, +and was built early in the eighteenth century after the disastrous fire +which destroyed the beautiful old Tudor hall and nearly all its hoarded +treasures. This catastrophe is worth a brief notice, for nowadays an +untitled family often enjoys some consideration from the possession of +an old and beautiful house, and the Clintons of Kencote would be better +known to the world at large if they did not live in a comparatively new +one. + +It happened at the dead of a winter night. Young William Clinton had +brought home his bride, Lady Anne, only daughter and heiress of the Earl +of Beechmont, that afternoon, and there had been torches and bonfires +and a rousing welcome. Nobody knew exactly how it happened, but they +awoke to find the house in flames, and most of the household too +overcome by the results of their merry-making to be of any use in saving +it. The house itself was burnt to a shell, but it was long enough in the +burning to have enabled its more valuable contents to have been saved, +if the work had been set about with some method. The young squire, in +night-cap, shirt, and breeches, whether mindful of his pedigree at that +time of excitement, or led by the fantastic spirit that moves men in +such crises, threw as much of the contents of his muniment room out of +the window as he had time for, and the antiquarians bless him to this +day. Then he went off to the stables, and helped to get out his horses. +My Lady Anne, who was only sixteen, saved her jewels and one or two of +her more elaborate gowns, and then sat down by the sun-dial and cried. +The servants worked furiously as long as the devouring flames allowed +them, but when there was nothing left of Kencote Hall but smouldering, +unsafe walls, under a black, winter sky, and the piled-up heap of things +that had been got out into the garden came to be examined, it was found +to be made up chiefly of the lighter and less valuable pieces of +furniture, a few pictures and hangings, many tumbled folios from the +library, kitchen and house utensils, and just a few pieces of plate and +other valuables to salt the whole worthless mass. + +So perished in a night the chief pride of the Clintons of Kencote, and +the noble house, with its great raftered hall, its carved and panelled +chambers, its spoil of tapestries and furniture, carpets, china, silver, +pictures, books, all the possessions that had been gathered from many +lands through many years, was only a memory that must fade more and more +rapidly as time went on. + +The young couple went back to her ladyship's father, not many miles +away, and Kencote was left in its ruins for ten years or so. Then my +Lord Beechmont died, sadly impoverished by unfortunate dealings with the +stock of the South Sea Company, the house and land that remained to him +were sold, and Kencote was rebuilt with the proceeds, much as it stands +to-day, except that Merchant Jack, the father of Colonel Thomas, bitten +with the ideas of his time, covered the mellow red brick with a coating +of stucco and was responsible for the Corinthian porch, and the +ornamental parapet surmounted by Grecian urns. + +Merchant Jack had been a younger son and had made his fortune in the +city. He was modern in his ideas, and a rich man, and wanted a house as +good as his neighbours. Georgian brick, and tall, narrow, small-paned +windows had gone out of fashion. So had the old formal gardens. Those at +Kencote had survived the destruction of the house, but they did not +survive the devastating zeal of Merchant Jack. They were swept away by a +pupil of Capability Brown's, who allowed the old walls of the kitchen +garden to stand because they were useful for growing fruit, but +destroyed walls and terraces and old yew hedges everywhere else, brought +the well-treed park into relation, as he thought, with the garden, by +means of sunk fences, planted shrubberies, laid down vast lawns, and +retired very well pleased with himself at having done away with one more +old-fashioned, out-of-date garden, and substituted for it a few more +acres of artificial ugliness. + +He did just one thing that turned out well; he made a large lake in a +hollow of the park and ringed it with rhododendrons, which have since +grown to enormous size. At the end of it he caused to be built a stucco +temple overhung with weeping ashes, designed "to invite Melancholy." +There is no showing that Merchant Jack had any desire to respond to such +an invitation, but it was the fashion of the time, and no doubt he was +pleased with the idea. + +Merchant Jack also refurnished the house when his architect had had his +way with it and the workmen had departed. A few good pieces he kept, but +most of the furniture, which had been brought into the house when it was +rebuilt after the fire, disappeared, to make way for heavy mahogany and +rosewood. Some of it went down to the dower house, a little Jacobean +hall in a dark corner of the park, and there is reason to fear that the +rest was sold for what it would fetch. + +In all these lamentable activities, good, rich, up-to-date Merchant Jack +was only improving his property according to the ideas of his time, and +had no more idea of committing artistic improprieties than those people +nowadays who buy a dresser from a farm-house kitchen to put in their +drawing-room, and plaster the adjacent walls with soup plates. His +memorial tablet in Kencote church speaks well of him and his memory must +be respected. + +But we have left Edward Clinton with his wife and daughter sitting for +so long in the train between Ganton and Kencote, that we must now return +to them without any further delay. + +Having got into the railway carriage at the London terminus as a private +gentleman, of no more account than any other first-class passenger, and +weighed only by his potential willingness to pay handsomely for +attentions received, as the successive stages of his journey were +accomplished, he seemed to develop in importance. At Ganton, where a +change had to be made, although it was twenty miles and more from his +own parcel of earth, peaked caps were touched to him, and the +station-master himself, braided coat and all, opened his carriage door, +expressing, as he did so, a hope that the present fair weather would +continue. One might almost, until one had thought it over, have imagined +him to be appealing to the Squire as one who might take a hand in its +continuance if he were so minded, at any rate in the neighbourhood of +Kencote. + +At Kencote itself, so busy was the entire station staff in helping him +and his belongings out of the train, that the signal for starting was +delayed a full minute, and then given almost as an after-thought, as if +it were a thing of small importance. Heads were poked out of carriage +windows, and an impertinent stranger, marking the delay and its cause, +asked the station-master, as he was carried past him, where was the red +carpet. The answer might have been that it was duly spread in the +thoughts of all who conducted the Squire from the train to his carriage, +and was as well brushed as if it had been laid on the platform. + +The Squire had a loud and affable word for station-master and porters +alike, and another for the groom who stood at the heads of the two fine +greys harnessed to his phaeton. He walked out into the road and looked +them over, remarking that they were the handsomest pair he had seen +since he had left home. Then he took the reins and swung himself up on +to his seat, actively, for a man of his age and weight. Mrs. Clinton +climbed up more slowly to her place by his side, Cicely sat behind, and +with a jingle and clatter the equipage rolled down the road, while the +groom touched his hat and went back to the station omnibus in which Mrs. +Clinton's maid was establishing herself in the midst of a collection of +wraps and little bags. For, unless it was unavoidable, no servant of the +Clintons sat on the same seat of a carriage as a member of the family. + +It was in the drowsiest time in the afternoon. The sun shone on the +hay-fields, from which the sound of sharpened scythes and the voices of +the hay-makers came most musically. Great trees bordered the half-mile +of road from the station to the village, and gave a grateful shade. The +gardens of the cottages were bright with June flowers, and the broad +village street, lined with low, irregular buildings, picturesque, but +not at all from neglected age, seemed to be dozing in the still, hot +air. A curtsy at the lodge gates, a turn of the Squire's wrist, and they +were bowling along the well kept road through the park. + +A minute more, and they had clattered on to the stones under the big +porch. + +"Well, here we are again, Probin," said the Squire to his head coachman, +who himself took the reins from his hands. "And here, please God, we'll +stay for the present." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +CLINTONS YOUNG AND OLD + + +The family tradition of the Clintons, whereby the interests and +occupations of the women were strictly subordinated to those of the men, +had not yet availed to damp the spirits or curb the activities of Joan +and Nancy, of whom Mrs. Clinton had made a simultaneous and somewhat +belated present to the Squire thirteen years before. Frank, the sailor, +the youngest son, had been seven at the time the twins were born, and +Dick a young man at Cambridge. Joan and Nancy were still the pets of the +household, strong and healthy pets, and unruly within the limits +permitted them. Released from their schoolroom, they now came rushing +into the hall, and threw themselves on to their parents and their sister +with loud cries of welcome. + +The Squire kissed them in turn--they approached him first as in duty +bound. It had taken him three or four years to get used to their +presence, and during that time he had treated them as the sort of +unaccountable plaything a woman brings into a house and a male +indulgently winks his eye at, a thing beneath his own notice, like a new +gown or a new poodle, or a new curate, but one in which she must be +permitted, in the foolish weakness of her sex, to interest herself. Then +he had gradually begun to "take notice" of them, to laugh at their +childish antics and speeches, to quote them--he had actually done this +in the hunting-field--and finally to like to have them pottering about +with him when duties of investigation took him no further than the +stables or the buildings of the home farm. He had always kept them in +order while they were with him; he had never lost sight of the fact that +they were, after all, feminine; and he had never allowed them to +interfere with his more serious pursuits. But he had fully accepted them +as agreeable playthings for his own lighter hours of leisure, just as he +might have taken to the poodle or the curate, and so treated them still, +although their healthy figures were beginning to fill out, and if they +had been born Clintons of a generation or two before they would have +been considered to be approaching womanhood. + +He now greeted them with hearty affection, and told them that if they +were good girls they might come and look at the pheasants with him when +he had read his letters and they had had their tea, and then took +himself off to his library. + +Mrs. Clinton's greeting was less hearty, but not less affectionate. She +lingered just that second longer over each of them which gives an +embrace a meaning beyond mere convention, but she only said, "I must go +and see Miss Bird. I suppose she is in the schoolroom." She gathered up +her skirts and went upstairs, but when the twins had given Cicely a +boisterous hug, they went back to their mother, and walked on either +side of her. She was still the chief personage in their little world, +although their father and even their brothers were of so much more +importance in the general scheme of things. And not even in the presence +of their father and brothers did they "behave themselves" as they did +with their mother. + +The schoolroom was at the end of a long corridor, down two steps and +round a corner. It was a large room, looking on to the park from two +windows and on to the stableyard from a third. There were shelves +containing the twins' schoolbooks and storybooks, a terrestrial and a +celestial globe, purchased many years ago for the instruction of their +great-aunts, and besides other paraphernalia of learning, signs of more +congenial occupations, such as bird-cages and a small aquarium, boxes of +games, a big doll's house still in tenantable repair though seldom +occupied, implements and materials for wood-carving, and in a corner of +the room a toy fort and a surprising variety of lead soldiers on foot or +on horseback. Such things as these might undergo variation from time to +time. The doll's house might disappear any day, as the rocking-horse had +disappeared, for instance, a year before. But the furniture and other +contents of the room were more stable. It was impossible to think of +their being changed; they were so much a part of it. The Squire never +visited the room, but if he had done so he would have recognised it as +the same room in which he had been taught his own letters, with +difficulty, fifty years before, and if any unauthorised changes had been +made, he would certainly have expressed surprise and displeasure, as he +had done when Walter had carried off to Oxford the old print of Colonel +Thomas on his black horse, Satan, with a view of Kencote House, on a +slight eminence imagined by the artist, in the background. Walter had +had to send the picture back, and it was hanging in its proper place +now, and not likely to be removed again. + +Miss Bird, commonly known as "the old starling," to whom Mrs. Clinton +had come to pay an immediate visit upon entering the house, as in duty +bound, was putting things away. She was accustomed to say that she spent +her life in putting things away after the twins had done with them, and +that they were more trouble to her than all the rest of the family had +been. For Miss Bird had lived in the house for nearly thirty years, and +had acted as educational starter to the whole race of young Clintons, to +Dick, Humphrey, Walter, Cicely, and Frank, and had taken a new lease of +life when the twins had appeared on the scene with the expectation of a +prolonged period of service. She was a thin, voluble lady, as old as the +Squire, to whom she looked up as a god amongst mankind; her educational +methods were of an older generation and included the use of the globes +and the blackboard, but she was most conscientious in her duties, her +religious principles were unexceptionable, and she filled a niche at +Kencote which would have seemed empty without her. + +"O Mrs. Clinton I am so glad to see you back," she said, almost +ecstatically, "and you too Cicely dear--oh my a new hat and such a +pretty one! You look quite the town lady, upon my word and how did you +enjoy the ball? you must tell me all about it every word now Joan and +Nancy I will not put away your things for you once more and that I +declare and you hear me say it you are the most shockingly untidy +children and if I have told you that once I have told you a hundred +times O Mrs. Clinton a new bonnet too and I declare it makes you look +five years younger _at_ least." + +Mrs. Clinton took this compliment equably, and asked if the twins had +been good girls. + +"Well, good!" echoed the old starling, "they know best whether they have +been good, of their lessons I say nothing and marks will show, but to +get up as you might say in the dead of the night and let themselves down +from a window with sheets twisted into a rope and not fit to be seen +since, all creased, _most_ dangerous, besides the impropriety for great +girls of thirteen if any one had been passing as I have told them and +should be _obliged_ to report this behaviour to you Mrs. Clinton on the +first opportunity." + +Joan and Nancy both glanced at their mother tentatively. "We were only +playing Jacobites and Roundheads," said Joan. "It makes it more real." + +"And it wasn't in the middle of the night," added Nancy. "It was four +o'clock, and quite light." + +"Why, you might have killed yourselves!" exclaimed Cicely. + +"_Exactly_ what I said the very words," corroborated the old starling. + +"We tied the sheets very tight," said Joan. + +"And tested them thoroughly," added Nancy. + +"And we won't do it again, mother," said Joan coaxingly. + +"Really, we won't," said Nancy impressively. + +"But what else will you do?" asked Mrs. Clinton. "You are getting too +big for these pranks. If your father were to hear of it, I am sure I +don't know what he would say." + +She knew pretty well that he would have laughed boisterously, and told +her that he didn't want the children molly-coddled. Time enough for that +by and by when they grew up. And the twins probably knew this too, and +were not unduly alarmed at the implied threat. But there was a quality +in their mother's displeasure, rare as it was, which made them +apprehensive when one of their periodical outbursts had come to light. +They were not old enough to perceive that it was not aroused by such +feats as the one under discussion, which showed no moral delinquency, +but only a certain danger to life and limb, now past. But their +experience did tell them that misbehaviour which caused her displeasure +was not thus referred to their father, and with many embraces and +promises of amendment they procured future oblivion of their escapade. + +"Well, I have done my duty," said the old starling, "and very unpleasant +it was to have to welcome you home with such a story, Mrs. Clinton, and +now it is all over and done with I will say and am glad to say that it +is the only _blot_. And that is what I said to both Joan and Nancy that +it was _such_ a pity to have spoilt everything at the last moment, for +otherwise two better behaved children it would have been impossible to +find anywhere." + +At which Joan and Nancy both kissed the old starling warmly, and she +strained them to her flat but tender bosom and called them her precious +pets. + +They went with Cicely into her bedroom while she "took off her things." +They betrayed an immense curiosity for every detail of her recent +experiences, particularly that crowning one of the Court Ball. She was +exalted in their eyes; she had long been grown up, but now she seemed +more grown up than ever, a whole cycle in advance of their active, +sexless juvenility. + +"I don't know," said Joan doubtfully, fingering the new hat which Cicely +had taken off, "but I almost think it must be rather fun to wear pretty +things sometimes." + +But Nancy, the younger by some minutes, rebuked that unwholesome +weakness. "What rot, Joan," she said indignantly. "Sis, we have made up +our minds to ask mother if we may wear serge knickerbockers. Then we +shall be able to do what we like." + +When this sartorial revolution had been discussed, Cicely asked, "Has +Muriel been over while I have been away?" + +"Yes," replied Joan. "Walter was at Mountfield on Sunday, and they came +over in the afternoon. They prowled about together. Of course they +didn't want us." + +"But they had us all the same," said Nancy, with a grin. "We stalked +them. They kissed in the Temple, and again in the peach-house." + +"But there were lucid intervals," said Joan. "They have made up their +minds about something or other; we couldn't quite hear what it was. They +were in the kitchen garden, and we were on the other side of the wall." + +"You weren't listening, darling?" hazarded Cicely. + +"Oh, rather not! We wouldn't do such a thing. But Nancy and I like to +pace up and down the yew walk in contemplation, and of course if they +liked to pace up and down by the asparagus beds at the same time, we +couldn't help hearing the murmur of their voices." + +"It is something very serious," said Nancy. "Walter is going to tackle +Edward about it at once. And Muriel is quite at one with him in the +matter. She said so." + +"How they do go on together, those two!" said Joan. "You would think +they had never met in their lives until they got engaged six months ago. +When they came out of the peach-house Nancy said, 'And this is love!' +Then she ran away." + +"Only because Walter ran after me," said Nancy. + +"And Muriel put her arm round my neck," continued Joan, "and said, 'O +Joan, _darling_! I am so happy that I don't care _who_ sees me.' +Positively nauseating, I call it. You and Jim don't behave like that, +Sis." + +"I should think not," said Cicely primly. + +"Well, you're engaged--or as good as," said Nancy. "But I do rather +wonder what Walter is going to tackle Edward about. It can't be to hurry +on the wedding, for it's only a month off now." + +"We shall know pretty soon," said Joan. "Father doesn't keep things to +himself." + +"No, I expect Edward will make a deuce of a row," said Nancy. + +"Nancy!" said Cicely sharply, "you are not to talk like that." + +"Darling!" said Nancy in a voice of grieved expostulation. "It is what +Walter said to Muriel. I thought there _couldn't_ be any harm in it." + +The twins--they were called "the twankies" by their brothers--went off +after tea in the schoolroom to see the young pheasants with their +father. They were lively and talkative, and the Squire laughed at them +several times, as good-humoured men do laugh at the prattle of innocent +childhood. Arrived at the pens he entered into a long and earnest +conversation with his head keeper, and the twins knew better than to +interrupt him with artless prattle at such a time as that. But going +home again through the dewy park, he unbent once more and egged Nancy on +to imitate the old starling, at which he roared melodiously. He was a +happy man that evening. He had come back to his kingdom, to the serious +business of life, which had a good deal to do with keepers and broods of +pheasants, and to his simple, domestic recreations, much enhanced by the +playful ways of his "pair of kittens." + +The mellow light of the summer evening lay over the park, upon the thick +grass of which the shadows of the trees were lengthening. Sheep were +feeding on it, and it was flat round the house and rather uninteresting. +But it was the Squire's own; he had known every large tree since the +earliest days of his childhood, and the others he had planted, seeing +some of them grow to a respectable height and girth. He would have been +quite incapable of criticising it from the point of view of beauty. The +irregular roofs of the stables and other buildings, the innumerable +chimneys of the big house beyond them, seen through a gap in the trees +which hemmed it in for the most part on three sides, were also his own, +and objects so familiar that he saw them with eyes different from any +others that could have been turned upon them. The sight of them gave +him a sensation of pleasure quite unrelated to their æsthetic or even +their actual value. They meant home to him, and everything that he +loved in the world, or out of it. The pleasure was always there +subconsciously--not so much a pleasure as an attitude of mind--but this +evening it warmed into something concrete. "There's plenty of little +dicky-birds haven't got such a nest as my two," he said to the twins, +who failed to see that this speech, which they wriggled over, but +privately thought fatuous, had the elements of both poetry and religion. + +In the meantime Cicely had made her way over the park in another +direction to visit her aunts in the dower-house, for she knew they would +be itching for an account of her adventures, and she had not had time to +write to them from London. + +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura were the only surviving representatives of the +six spinster daughters of Colonel Thomas Clinton, the Squire's +grandfather. One after the other Aunt Mary, Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Anna +and Aunt Caroline had been carried out of the dark house in which they +had ended their blameless days to a still darker and very narrow house +within the precincts of Kencote church, and the eldest sister, now an +amazingly aged woman, but still in the possession of all her faculties, +and the youngest, who although many years her junior, was well over +seventy, were all that were left of the bevy of spinster ladies. + +On their father's death, now nearly forty years ago, they had removed in +a body from the big house in which they had lived in a state of subdued +self-repression to the small one in which, for the first time, they were +to taste independence. For their father had been a terrible martinet +where women were concerned, and would as readily have ordered Aunt Ellen +to bed, at the age of fifty, if he had been displeased with her, as if +she had been a child of ten. And if he had ordered her she would have +gone. + +Some of the rooms in the dower-house had been occupied by the agent to +the Kencote estate who at that time was a bachelor, and the rest had +been shut up. The six sisters spent the happiest hours they had hitherto +known in the arrangement of their future lives and of the beautiful old +furniture with which the house was stocked. The lives were to be active, +regular, and charitable. Colonel Thomas, who had allowed them each +twenty pounds a year for dress allowance and pocket-money during his +lifetime, had astonished everybody by leaving them six thousand pounds +apiece in his will, which had been made afresh a year before his death. +He had just then inherited the large fortune of his younger brother, who +had succeeded to the paternal business in Cheapside, lived and died a +bachelor, and saved a great deal of money every year. By his previous +will they would have had a hundred a year each from the estate, and the +use of the dower-house. But even that would have seemed wealth to these +simple ladies as long as they remained together, and all of them alive. +For Colonel Thomas had forgotten, in that first will, to make provision +for the probability of one of them outliving the rest and being reduced +to a solitary existence on a hundred pounds a year. However, with +fifteen hundred a year or so between them, and no rent to pay, they were +exceedingly well off, kept their modest carriage, employed two men in +their garden, and found such pleasures in dividing their surplus wealth +amongst innumerable and deserving charities that the arrival by post of +a nurseryman's catalogue excited them no more than that of an appeal to +subscribe to a new mission. + +The beautiful old furniture, huddled in the disused rooms and in the +great range of attics that ran under the high-pitched roof, gave them +immense happiness in the arrangement. They were not in the least alive +to its value at that time, though they had become so in some degree +since, but kept rather quiet about it for fear that their nephew might +wish to carry some of it off to the great house. They thought it very +old-fashioned and rather absurd, and they also held this view of the +beautifully carved and panelled rooms of their old house, which were +certainly too dark for perfect comfort. But they disposed everything to +the best advantage, and produced without knowing it an effect which no +diligent collector could have equalled, and which became still more +delightful and satisfying as the years went on. + +Cicely walked across the level park and went through a deep wood, +entering by an iron gate the garden of the dower-house, which seemed to +have been built in a clearing, although it was older than the oldest of +the trees that hemmed it round. On this hot summer afternoon it stood +shaded and cool, and the very fragrance of its old-fashioned garden +seeming to be confined and concentrated by the heavy foliage. There was +not a leaf too many. But in the autumn it was damp and close and in the +winter very dark. A narrow drive of about a hundred yards led straight +from the main road to the porch and showed a blue telescopic glimpse of +distant country. If all the trees had been cut down in front to the +width of the house it would have stood out as a thing of beauty against +its green background, air and light would have been let into the best +rooms and the pleasant view of hill and vale opened up to them. But the +Squire, tentatively approached years before by his affectionate and +submissive aunts, had decisively refused to cut down any trees at all, +and four out of the six of them had taken their last look of this world +out of one or other of those small-paned windows and seen only a great +bank of laurels--even those they were not allowed to cut down--across a +narrow space of gravel, and the branches of oaks not quite ripe for +felling, above them. + +Cicely went through a garden door opening on to a stone-floored passage +which ran right through the house, and opened the door of her aunts' +parlour. They were sitting on either side of the fireless grate with +their tea-table not yet cleared between them. Aunt Ellen, ninety-three +years of age, with a lace cap on her head and a white silk shawl over +her shoulders, was sitting upright in her low chair, knitting. She wore +no glasses, and her old hands, meagre, almost transparent, with large +knuckles, and skin that looked as if it had been polished, fumbled a +little with her needles and the thick wool. Her eyesight was failing, +though in the pride of her great age she would not acknowledge it; but +her hearing was almost perfect. Aunt Laura, who was seventy-five, +looked, except for her hair, which was not quite white, the older of the +two. She was bent and frail, and she had taken to spectacles some years +before, to which Aunt Ellen alluded every day of her life with contempt. +They said the same things to each other, on that and on other subjects, +time after time. Every day for years Aunt Ellen had said that if dear +Edward had only been able to cut down the trees in front of the house it +would give them more light and open up the view, and she had said it as +if it had only just occurred to her. And Aunt Laura had replied that she +had thought the same thing herself, and did Ellen remember how dear +Anne, who was always one to say out what she wanted, had asked him if he +thought it might be done, but he had said--quite kindly--that the trees +had always been there, and there they would stay. + +The two old ladies welcomed Cicely as if she had been a princess with +whom it was their privilege to be on terms of affectionate intimacy. She +was, in fact, a princess in their little world, the daughter of the +reigning monarch, to whom they owed, and gave, loyal allegiance. Aunt +Laura had been up to the house that morning and heard that they were to +return by the half-past four o'clock train. They had been quite sure +that Cicely would come to see them at once and tell them all her news, +and they had debated whether they would wait for their own tea or not. +They had, in fact, waited for a quarter of an hour. They told her all +this in minute detail, and only by painstaking insistence was Aunt Ellen +herself prevented from rising to ring the bell for a fresh supply to be +brought in. "Well, my dear, if you are quite sure you won't," she said +at last, "I will ring for Rose to take the things away." + +Cicely rang the bell, and Rose, who five-and-thirty years before had +come to the dower-house as an apple-cheeked girl from the village +school, answered the summons. She wore a cap with coloured ribbons--the +two sisters still shook their heads together over her tendency to +dressiness--and dropped a child's curtsey to Cicely as she came in. She +had been far too well-trained to speak until she was spoken to, but Aunt +Ellen said, "Here is Miss Clinton returned from London, Rose, where she +has seen the King and Queen." And Rose said, "Well, there, miss!" with a +smile at Cicely, and before she removed the tea-tray settled the white +shawl more closely round Aunt Ellen's shoulders. + +"Rose is a good girl," said Aunt Ellen, when she had left the room, "but +I am afraid more fond of admiration than she should be. Well, dear, now +tell us all about what you have seen and done. But, first of all, how is +your dear father?" + +"Oh, quite well, thank you, Aunt Ellen," replied Cicely, "and very +pleased to get home, I think." + +"Ah!" said Aunt Ellen. "We have all missed him sorely. I am sure it is +wonderful how he denies himself all kinds of pleasure to remain here and +do his duty. It is an example we should all do well to follow." + +"When he was quite a young man," said Aunt Laura, "there was no one who +was gayer--of course in a _nice_ way--and took his part in everything +that was going on in the higher circles of the metropolis. Your dear +Aunt Elizabeth used to cut out the allusions to him in the _Morning +Post_, and there was scarcely a great occasion on which his name was not +mentioned." + +"But after two years in his regiment he gave it all up to settle down +amongst his own people," said Aunt Ellen. "All his life has been summed +up in the word 'duty.' I wish there were more like him, but there are +not." + +"It seems like yesterday," said Aunt Laura, "that he joined the Horse +Guards Blue. We all wished very much to see him in his beautiful +uniform, which so became him, and your dear Aunt Anne, who was always +the one to make requests if she saw fit, asked him to bring it down to +Kencote and put it on. Dear Edward laughed at her, and refused--quite +kindly, of course--so we all took a little trip to London--it was the +occasion of the opening of the International Reformatory Exhibition at +Islington by the Prince of Wales, as he was then--and your dear father +was in the escort. How noble he looked on his black horse! I assure you +we were all very proud of him." + +Cicely sat patiently silent while these reminiscences, which she had +heard a hundred times before, were entered upon. She looked at Aunt +Ellen, fumbling with her knitting-needles, and wondered what it must be +like to be so very old, and at Aunt Laura, who was also knitting, with +quick and expert fingers, and wondered if she had ever been young. + +"Did the King show your dear father any special mark of esteem?" asked +Aunt Ellen. "It did occur to your Aunt Laura and myself that, not +knowing how heavy are the duties which keep him at Kencote, His Majesty +might have been--I will not say annoyed, because he would not be +that--but perhaps disappointed at not seeing him more often about his +Court. For in the days gone by he was an ornament of it, and I have +always understood, though not from him, that he enjoyed special +consideration, which would only be his due." + +"The King didn't take any notice of father," said Cicely, with the +brusque directness of youth, and Aunt Ellen seemed to be somewhat +bewildered at the statement, not liking to impute blame to her +sovereign, but unable for the moment to find any valid excuse for him. + +"I thought," she said hesitatingly, "that sending specially--the +invitation for all of you--but I suppose there were a great many people +there." + +Cicely took her opportunity, and described what she had seen and done, +brightly and in detail. She answered all her aunts' questions, and +interested them deeply. Her visits, and those of her mother, or the +twins with Miss Bird, were the daily enlivenment of the two old ladies, +and were never omitted. The Squire seldom went to the dower-house, but +when he did look in for a minute or two, happening to pass that way, +they were thrown into a flutter of pleasure and excitement which lasted +them for days. + +When Cicely took her leave an hour later, Aunt Ellen said: "The +consideration with which dear Edward's family treats us, sister, is +something we may well be thankful for. I felt quite sure, and I told +you, that some one would come to see us immediately upon their return. +Cicely is always so bright and interesting--a dear girl, and quite takes +after her father." + +"Dear Anne used to say that she took after her mother," said Aunt Laura; +to which Aunt Ellen replied: "I have not a word to say against Nina; she +has been a good wife to dear Edward, though we all thought at the time +of their marriage that he might have looked higher. But compared with +our nephew, quiet and unassuming as she is, she has very little +character, while Cicely _has_ character. No, sister, Cicely is a +Clinton--a Clinton through and through." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +MELBURY PARK + + +Family prayers at Kencote took place at nine o'clock, breakfast +nominally at a quarter past, though there was no greater interval +between the satisfaction of the needs of the soul and those of the body +than was necessary to enable the long string of servants to file out +from their seats under the wall, and the footmen to return immediately +with the hot dishes. The men sat nearest to the door and frequently +pushed back to the dining-room against the last of the outflowing tide; +for the Squire was ready for his breakfast the moment he had closed the +book from which he had read the petition appointed for the day. If there +was any undue delay he never failed to speak about it at once. This +promptness and certainty in rebuke, when rebuke was necessary, made him +a well-served man, both indoors and out. + +Punctuality was rigidly observed by the Clinton family. It had to be; +especially where the women were concerned. If Dick or Humphrey, when +they were at home, missed prayers, the omission was alluded to. If +Cicely, or even Mrs. Clinton was late, the Squire spoke about it. This +was more serious. In the case of the boys the rebuke hardly amounted to +speaking about it. As for the twins, they were never late. For one thing +their abounding physical energy made them anything but lie-abeds, and +for another, they were so harried during the ten minutes before the gong +sounded by Miss Bird that there would have been no chance of their +overlooking the hour. If they had been late, Miss Bird would have been +spoken to, and on the distressing occasions when that had happened, it +had put her, as she said, all in a twitter. + +When it still wanted a few minutes to the hour on the morning after the +return from London, Cicely was standing by one of the big open windows +talking to Miss Bird, the twins were on the broad gravel path +immediately outside, and two footmen were putting the finishing touches +to the appointments of the table. + +It was a big table, although now reduced to the smallest dimensions of +which it was capable, for the use of the six people who were to occupy +it. But in that great room it was like an island in the midst of a waste +of Turkey carpet. The sideboards, dinner-wagon, and carving-table, and +the long row of chairs against the wall opposite to the three windows +were as if they lined a distant shore. The wallpaper of red flock had +been an expensive one, but it was ugly, and faded in places where the +sun caught it. It had been good enough for the Squire's grandfather +forty years before, and it was good enough for him. It was hung with +portraits of men and women and portraits of horses, some of the latter +by animal painters of note. The furniture was all of massive mahogany, +furniture that would last for ever, but had been made after the date at +which furniture left off being beautiful as well as lasting. The +mantelpiece was of brown marble, very heavy and very ugly. + +At one minute to nine Mrs. Clinton came in. She carried a little +old-fashioned basket of keys which she put down on the dinner-wagon, +exactly in the centre of the top shelf. Cicely came forward to kiss her, +followed by Miss Bird, with comma-less inquiries as to how she had spent +the night after her journey, and the twins came in through the long +window to wish her good morning. She replied composedly to the old +starling's twittering, and cast her eye over the attire of the twins, +which was sometimes known to require adjustment. Then she took her seat +in one of the big easy-chairs which stood on either side of the +fireplace, while Porter, the butler, placed a Bible and a volume of +devotions, both bound in brown leather, before the Squire's seat at the +foot of the table, and retired to sound the gong. + +It was exactly at this moment that the Squire, who opened his letters in +the library before breakfast, was accustomed to enter the room, and, +with a word of greeting to his assembled family, perch his gold-rimmed +glasses on his fine straight nose, and with the help of two book-markers +find the places in the Bible and book of prayers to which the year in +its diurnal course had brought him. The gong would sound, either +immediately before or immediately after he had entered the room, the +maids and the men who had been assembling in the hall would file in, he +would throw a glance towards them over his glasses to see that they were +all settled, and then begin to read in a fast, country gentleman's voice +the portion of Scripture that was to hallow the day now officially +beginning. + +The gong rolled forth its sounding reverberation, Miss Bird and the +three girls took their seats, and then there was a pause. In a house of +less rigid habits of punctuality it would have been filled by small +talk, but here it was so unusual that when it had lasted for no more +than ten seconds the twins looked at one another in alert curiosity and +Cicely's eyes met those of her mother, which showed a momentary +apprehension before they fixed themselves again upon the shining steel +of the fire bars. Another ten seconds went by and then the library door +was heard to open and the Squire's tread, heavy on the paved hall. + +Four pairs of eyes were fixed upon him as he entered the room, followed +at a short but respectful interval by the servants. Mrs. Clinton still +looked inscrutably at the grate. The Squire's high colour was higher +than its wont, his thick grizzled eyebrows were bent into a frown, and +his face was set in lines of anger which he evidently had difficulty in +controlling. He fumbled impatiently with the broad markers as he opened +the books, and omitted the customary glance towards the servants as he +began to read in a voice deeper and more hurried than usual. When he +laid down the Bible and took up the book of prayers he remained +standing, as he sometimes did if he had a touch of rheumatism; but he +had none now, and his abstention from a kneeling position amounted to a +declaration that he was willing to go through the form of family prayers +for routine's sake but must really be excused from giving a mind to it +which was otherwise occupied. + +It was plain that he had received a letter which had upset his +equanimity. This had happened before, and the disturbance created made +manifest in much the same way. But it had happened seldom, because a man +who is in possession of an income in excess of his needs is immune from +about half the worries that come with the morning's post, and any +annoyance arising from the administration of his estate was not usually +made known to him by letter. The Squire's letter-bag was normally as +free of offence as that of any man in the country. + +The twins, eying one another with surreptitious and fearful pleasure, +conveyed in their glances a knowledge of what had happened. The thing +that Walter and Muriel had made up their minds about, whatever it +was--that was what had caused the Squire to remain behind a closed door +until he had gained some slight control over his temper, and led him now +to prefer the petitions appointed in the book bound in brown leather in +a voice between a rumble and a bark. Perhaps everything would come out +when Porter and the footman had brought in the tea and coffee service +and the breakfast dishes, and left the room. If it did not, they would +hear all about it later. Their father's anger held no terrors for them, +unless it was directed against themselves, and even then considerably +less than might have been supposed. He was often angry, or appeared to +be, but he never did anything. Even in the memorable upheaval of seven +years before--when Walter had finally refused to become a clergyman and +announced his determination of becoming a doctor--which had been so +unlike anything that had ever happened within their knowledge that it +had impressed itself even upon their infant minds, and of which they had +long since worried all the details out of Cicely, he had made a great +deal of noise but had given way in the end. He would give way now, +however completely he might lose his temper in the process. The twins +had no fear of a catastrophe, and therefore looked forward with +interest, as they knelt side by side, with their plump chins propped on +their plump hands, to the coming storm. + +The storm broke, as anticipated, when the servants had finally left the +room, and the Squire had ranged over the silver dishes on the side-table +for one to his liking, a search in which he was unsuccessful. + +"I wish you would tell Barnes that if she can't think of anything for +breakfast but bacon, and scrambled eggs, and whiting, and mushrooms, she +had better go, and the sooner the better," he said, bending a terrifying +frown on his wife. "Same thing day after day!" But he piled a plate with +bacon and eggs and mushrooms and carried it off to his seat, while his +daughters and Miss Bird waited round him until he had helped himself. + +"I have just had a letter from Walter," he began directly he had taken +his seat, "which makes me so angry that, 'pon my word, I scarcely know +what to do. Nina, this milk is burnt. Barnes shall go. She sends up food +fit for the pig-tub. Why can't you see that the women servants do their +duty? I can't take _everything_ on my shoulders. God knows I've got +enough to put up with as it is." + +"Joan, ring the bell," said Mrs. Clinton. + +"Oh--God's sake--no, no," fussed the Squire. "I don't want the servants +in. Give me some tea. Miss Bird, here's my cup, please. Take it, please, +_take_ it, Miss Bird. I don't know when I've felt so annoyed. You do all +you can and put yourself to an infinity of trouble and expense for the +sake of your children, and then they behave like this. Really, Walter +wants a good thrashing to bring him to his senses. If I had nipped all +this folly of doctoring in the bud, as I ought to have done, I might +have been able to live my life in peace. It's too bad; 'pon my word, +it's too bad." + +The twins, sustaining their frames diligently with bacon and eggs and +mushrooms--the whiting was at a discount--waited with almost too obvious +expectation for the full disclosure of Walter's depravity. Cicely, +alarmed for the sake of Muriel, ate nothing and looked at her father +anxiously. Miss Bird was in a state of painful confusion because she had +not realised effectively that the Squire had wanted his cup of coffee +exchanged for a cup of tea, and might almost be said to have been +"spoken to" about her stupidity. Only with Mrs. Clinton did it rest to +draw the fire which, if she did it unskilfully, might very well be +turned upon herself. A direct question would certainly have so turned +it. + +"I am sorry that Walter has given you any further cause of complaint, +Edward," she said. + +This was not skilful enough. "Cause of complaint!" echoed the Squire +irritably. "Am I accustomed to complain about anything without good +reason? You talk as if I am the last man in the world to have the right +to expect my wishes to be consulted. Every one knows that I gave way to +Walter against my better judgment. I allowed him to take up this +doctoring because he had set his mind on it, and I have never said a +word against it since. And how now does he reward me when he has got to +the point at which he might begin to do himself and his family some +credit? Coolly writes to me for money--_to me_--_for money_--to enable +him to buy a practice at Melbury Park, if you please. Melbury _Park_! +Pah!!" + +The Squire pushed his half-emptied plate away from him in uncontrollable +disgust. He was really too upset to eat his breakfast. The utterance of +the two words which summed up Walter's blind, infatuated stampede from +respectability brought back all the poignant feelings with which he had +first read his letter. For the moment he was quite beside himself with +anger and disgust, and unless relief had been brought to him he would +have left his breakfast unfinished and stalked out of the room. + +Nancy brought the relief with the artless question, "Where is Melbury +Park, father?" + +"Hold your tongue," said the Squire promptly, and then drew a lurid +picture of a place delivered over entirely to the hovels of nameless +people of the lower middle classes, and worse, a place in which you +would be as effectually cut off from your fellows as if you went to live +in Kamschatka. Indeed, you would not be so cut off if you went to +Kamschatka, for you might be acknowledged to be living there, but to +have it said that you lived at Melbury Park would _stamp_ you. It would +be as easy to say you were living in Halloway Goal. It was a place they +stopped you at when you came into London on the North Central Railway, +to take your tickets. The Squire mentioned this as if a place where they +took your tickets was of necessity a dreadful kind of a place. "Little +have I ever thought," he said, "when I have been pulled up there, and +looked at those streets and streets of mean little houses, that a son of +mine would one day want to go and _live_ there. 'Pon my word, I think +Walter's brain must be giving way." + +It was Cicely who asked why Walter wanted to live at Melbury Park, and +what Muriel said about it. + +"He doesn't say a word about Muriel," snapped the Squire. "I suppose +Muriel is backing him up. I shall certainly speak to Jim and Mrs. Graham +about it. It is disgraceful--positively disgraceful--to think of taking +a girl like Muriel to live in such a place. She wouldn't have a soul to +speak to, and she would have to mix with all sorts of people. A doctor's +wife can't keep to herself like other women. Oh, I don't know why he +wants to go there. Don't ask me such questions. I was ready to start him +amongst nice people, whatever it had cost, and he might have been in a +first-class position while other men of his age were only thinking about +it. But no, he must have his own silly way. He shan't have his way. I'll +put my foot down. I won't have the name of Clinton disgraced. It has +been respected for hundreds of years, and I don't know that I've ever +done anything to bring it down. It's a little too much that one of my +own sons should go out of his way to throw mud at it. I've stood enough. +I won't stand any more. Melbury Park! A pretty sort of _park_!" + +Having thus relieved his feelings the Squire was enabled to eat a fairly +good breakfast, with a plateful of ham to follow his bacon and eggs and +mushrooms, a spoonful or two of marmalade, and some strawberries to +finish up with. It came out further that Walter was coming down by the +afternoon train to dine and sleep, and presumably to discuss the +proposal of which he had given warning, and that the Squire proposed to +ask Tom and his wife to luncheon, or rather that Mrs. Clinton should +drop in at the Rectory in the course of the morning and ask them, as he +would be too busy. + +Then Cicely asked if she might have Kitty, the pony, for the morning, +and the Squire at once said, "No, she'll be wanted to take up food for +the pheasants," after which he retired to his room, but immediately +returned to ask Cicely what she wanted the pony for. + +"I want to go over to Mountfield," said Cicely. + +"Very well, you can have her," said the Squire, and retired again. + +Mrs. Clinton made no comment on the disclosures that had been made, but +took up her basket of keys and left the room. + +"Now, Joan and Nancy, do not linger but get ready for your lessons at a +quarter to ten punctually," Miss Bird broke forth volubly. "Every +morning I have to hunt you from the breakfast table and my life is spent +in trying to make you punctual. I am sure if your father knew the +trouble I have with you he would speak to you about it and then you +would see." + +"Melbury Park!" exclaimed Nancy in a voice of the deepest disgust, as +she rose slowly from the table. "'Pon my word, Joan, it's too bad. I +spend my life in trying to make you punctual and then you want to go to +Melbury Park! Pah! A nice sort of a _park_!" + +"Are you going to see Muriel, Cicely?" asked Joan, also rising +deliberately. "Starling, _darling_! Don't hustle me, I'm coming. I only +want to ask my sister Cicely a question." + +"Yes," said Cicely. "If I couldn't have had Kitty I should have walked." + +"How unreasonable you are, Cicely," said Nancy. "The pony is wanted to +take chickweed to the canaries at Melbury Park." + +"Find out all about it, Cis," said Joan in process of being pushed out +of the room. "Oh, take it, Miss Bird, _please_, take it." + +Cicely drove off through the park at half-past ten. Until she had passed +through the lodge gates and got between the banks of a deep country +lane, Kitty went her own pace, quite aware that she was being driven by +one whose unreasonable inclinations for speed must subordinate +themselves to the comfort of pony-flesh as long as she was in sight of +house or stables. Then, with a shake of her head, she suddenly quickened +her trot, but did not escape the cut of a whip which was always +administered to her at this point. With that rather vicious little cut +Cicely expressed her feelings at a state of things in which, with +fourteen or fifteen horses in the stable and half a dozen at the home +farm, the only animal at the disposal of herself and her sisters was +always wanted for something else whenever they asked for it. + +The Squire had four hunters--sometimes more--which nobody but himself +ever used, and the price of a horse that would carry a man of his weight +comfortably ran into treble figures more often than not. Dick kept a +couple always at Kencote, even Walter had one, and Humphrey and Frank +could always be mounted whenever they wanted a day with the South +Meadshire. There were nine or ten horses, standing in stalls or loose +boxes or at grass, kept entirely for the amusement of her father and +brothers, besides half a dozen more for the carriages, the station +omnibus, the luggage cart, and all the dynamic demands of a large +household. The boys had all had their ponies as soon as their legs could +grip a saddle. This very pony that she was driving was really Frank's, +having been rescued for him from a butcher's cart in Bathgate fourteen +years before, and nobody knew how old she was. She was used for the +mowing machine and for every sort of little odd job about the garden, +and seemed as if she might go on for ever. It was only when Cicely or +the twins drove her that the reminder was given that she was not as +young as she had been, and must not be hustled. + +And she was all they were ever allowed to drive, and then only when she +was not wanted for something else. It was a Clinton tradition, deriving +probably from Colonel Thomas and his six stay-at-home daughters, that +the women of the family did not hunt. They were encouraged to drive and +allowed to ride to the meets of hounds if there was anything to carry +them, and in Cicely's childhood there had been other ponies besides +Kitty, left-offs of her elder brothers, which she had used. But she had +never been given a horse of her own, and the hunters were far too +precious to be galled by a side-saddle. What did she want to ride for? +The Squire hated to see women flying about the country like men, and he +wasn't going to have any more horses in the stable. The men had more +than enough to do as it was. It was part of the whole unfair scheme on +which life at Kencote was based. Everything was done for the men and +boys of the family, and the women and girls must content themselves with +what was left over. + +Pondering these and other things, Cicely drove along the country lanes, +between banks and hedges bright with the growth of early summer, through +woods in which pheasants, reared at great expense that her father and +brothers and their friends might kill them, called one another hoarsely, +as if in a continual state of gratulation at having for a year at least +escaped their destined end; between fields in which broods of partridges +ran in and out of the roots of the green corn; across a bridge near +which was a deep pool terrifically guarded by a notice-board against +those who might have disturbed the fat trout lying in its shadows; +across a gorse-grown common, sacred home of an old dog-fox that had +defied the South Meadshire hounds for five seasons; and so, out of her +father's property on to that of Jim Graham, in which blood relations of +the Kencote game and vermin were protected with equal care, in order +that the Grahams might fulfil the destiny appointed for them and the +Clintons and the whole race of squirearchy alike. + +The immediate surroundings of Mountfield were prettier than those of +Kencote. The house stood at the foot of a wooded rise, and its long +white front showed up against a dark background of trees. It was older +in date than Georgian Kencote, and although its walls had been stuccoed +out of all resemblance to those of an old house, its high-pitched roof +and twisted chimney stacks had been left as they were. The effect was so +incongruous that even unæsthetic Alexander Graham, Jim's father, had +thought of uncovering the red brick again. But the front had been +altered to allow for bigger windows and a portico resembling that at +Kencote, and the architect whom he had consulted, had pressed him to +spend more money on it than he felt inclined to. So he had left it alone +and spent none; and Jim, who was not so well off as his father by the +amount of Muriel's portion and the never-to-be-forgiven Harcourt duties, +was not likely to have a thousand pounds to spare for making his rooms +darker for some years to come. + +The old stable buildings, untouched by the restorer, flanked the house +on one side and the high red brick wall of the gardens on the other. The +drive sloped gently up from the gates through an undulating park more +closely planted than that of Kencote. There were some very old trees at +Mountfield and stretches of bracken here and there beneath them. It was +a pity that the house had been spoilt in appearance, but its amenities +were not wholly destroyed. Cicely knew it almost as well as she knew +Kencote, but she acknowledged its charm now as she drove up between the +oak and the young fern. Under the blue June sky strewn with light +clouds, it stood for a peaceful, pleasant life, if rather a dull one, +and she could not help wondering whether her friend would really be +happier in a house of her own in Melbury Park, which, if painted in +somewhat exaggeratedly dark colours by Cicely's father, had not struck +her, when she had seen it from the railway, as a place in which any one +could possibly live of choice. Perhaps Walter had over-persuaded her. +She would know very soon now, for Muriel told her everything. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A GOOD LONG TALK + + +Mrs. Graham--she was the Honourable Mrs. Graham, a daughter of the +breeder of Jove II. and other famous shorthorns--came out of the door +leading to the stableyard as Cicely drove up. She had been feeding young +turkeys, and wore a shortish skirt of brown tweed, thick boots and a +green Tyrolean hat, and was followed by three dogs--a retriever, a +dachshund, and one that might have been anything. She was tall and +spare, with a firm-set, healthy face, and people sometimes said that she +ought to have been a man. But she was quite happy as a woman, looking +after her poultry and her garden out of doors, and her dogs and her +household within. She had hardly moved from Mountfield since her +marriage thirty years before, and the only fly in the ointment of +content in which she had embalmed herself was that she would have to +leave it when Jim married. But she greeted Cicely, who was expected to +supplant her, with bright cordiality, and lifted up a loud voice to +summon a groom to lead off Kitty to the stable. + +"My dear," she said; "such a nuisance as this wedding is you never knew. +It's as much as I can do to keep the birds and the animals fed, and how +_I_ shall look in heliotrope and an aigrette the Lord only knows. But I +suppose nobody will look at me, and Muriel will be a picture. Have you +heard that Walter is going to take her to live at Melbury Park? It seems +a funny place to go to live in, doesn't it? But I suppose they won't +mind as long as they are together. I never saw such a pair of +love-birds." + +"Walter wrote to father about it this morning," said Cicely, "and he is +coming down this afternoon. Father is furious with him." + +"Well, I'm sure I don't know why," said Mrs. Graham equably. "I +shouldn't care to live in Melbury Park myself, and I don't suppose Mr. +Clinton would. But nobody asks him to. If _they_ want to, it's their own +affair. I'm all for letting people go their own way--always have been. I +go mine." + +"Why does Walter choose such a place as that to take Muriel to?" asked +Cicely, who had not remained quite unimpressed by the Squire's diatribe +against the unfortunate suburb. + +"Oh, it's convenient for his hospital and gives him the sort of practice +he wants for a year or two. _I_ don't know. They won't live there for +ever. I don't suppose it will kill them to know a few people you +wouldn't ask to dinner. It hasn't killed me. I get on with farmers' +wives better than anybody--ought to have been one." + +"Father is going to ask you to put your foot down and say Muriel shan't +go there," said Cicely. + +"Well then, I won't," replied Mrs. Graham decisively. "I'm not a snob." +Then she added hurriedly, "I don't say that your father is one either; +but he does make a terrible fuss about all that sort of thing. I should +have thought a Clinton was good enough to be able to know anybody +without doing himself any harm. But you had better go and talk to Muriel +about it, my dear. You will find her upstairs, with her clothes. Oh, +those clothes! I must go and look after the gardeners. They are putting +liquid manure on the roses, and I'm afraid they will mix it too strong." + +Mrs. Graham went off to attend to her unsavoury but congenial task, and +Cicely went indoors and up to Muriel's room, where she found her friend +with a maid, busy over some detail of her trousseau. They greeted one +another with coolness but affection, the maid was sent out of the room, +and they settled down in chintz-covered easy-chairs by the window for +the usual good long talk. + +Muriel was a pretty girl, less graceful than Cicely, but with her big +brown eyes and masses of dark hair, a foil to her friend's fair beauty. +She had her mother's sensible face, but was better-looking than her +mother had ever been. + +"Now you must tell me every word from the beginning," she said. "You +said nothing in your letters. You didn't make me see the room, or any +one in it." + +Cicely had a good deal to say about her late experiences, but her +friend's own affairs were of more recent interest. "But I want to hear +about Walter and Melbury Park first," she said. "There is a rare to-do +about it at Kencote, I can tell you, Muriel." + +"Is there?" said Muriel, after a short pause, as if she were adjusting +her thoughts. "That was what Walter was afraid of." + +"Don't you mind going to live in a place like that?" asked Cicely. +"Father thinks it is a shame that Walter should take you there." + +"O my dear," said Muriel, with a trifle of impatience, "you know quite +well what I think about all that sort of thing. We have talked it over +hundreds of times. Here we are, stuck down in the middle of all this, +with nothing in the world to do but amuse ourselves, if we can, and +never any chance of pushing along. We have _got_ it all; there is +nothing to go for. That's what I first admired about my darling old +Walter. He struck out a line of his own. If he had been content just to +lop over the fence into Kencote Rectory, I don't think I should ever +have fallen in love with him. I don't know, though. He _is_ the sweetest +old dear." + +"Oh, don't begin about Walter," urged Cicely. + +"Yes, I will begin about Walter," replied Muriel, "and I'll go on with +Walter. He says now that the only thing he is really keen about--except +me--is his work. He always liked it, in a way, but when he made up his +mind to be a doctor it was only because he knew he must have some +profession, and he thought he might as well have one that interested +him. But now it takes up all his thoughts, except when he comes down +here for a holiday, and you know how the old pet enjoys his holidays. +Well, I'm going to do all I can to help him to get on. He says this +practice at Melbury Park is just what he wants, to get his hand in; he +won't be worried with a lot of people who aren't really ill at all, but +have to be kept in a good humour in case they should go off to another +doctor. It will be hard, sound work, and he will be in touch with the +hospital all the time. He is immensely keen about it. I don't want to +say anything against Mr. Clinton, but why _can't_ he see that Walter is +worth all the rest of your brothers put together, because he has set out +to do something and they are just having a good time?" + +"Oh, well, Muriel, I can't allow that," said Cicely. "Dick is quite a +good soldier. He got his D.S.O. in the war. And besides, his real work +is to look after the property, and he knows as much about that as +father. And Humphrey _has_ to go about a lot. You must, in the Foreign +Office. And Frank--he is doing all right. He was made doggy to his +Admiral only the other day." + +"Well, at any rate," replied Muriel, "they start from what they are. And +you can't say that their chief aim isn't to have a good time. Walter has +gone in against men who _have_ to work, whether they want to or not, and +he has done as well as any of them. He owes nothing to being the son of +a rich man. It has been against him, if anything." + +"Father hoped he was going to set up as a consulting physician," said +Cicely. + +"Yes, and why?" asked Muriel. "Only because he wants him to live amongst +the right sort of people. He doesn't care a bit whether he would make a +good consultant or not. Walter says he isn't ready for it. He wants more +experience. It will all come in time. He is not even quite sure what he +wants to specialise on, or if he wants to specialise at all. At present +he only wants to be a G.P., with plenty of work and time for the +hospital." + +"What is a G.P.?" asked Cicely. + +"Oh, a general practitioner. It's what Walter calls it." + +"Then why can't he be a G.P. in a nicer place than Melbury Park? It is +rather hard on you, Muriel, to take you to a place where you can't know +anybody." + +"O my dear, what _do_ I care for all that nonsense about knowing people? +Surely there's enough of that here! Is this person to be called on, who +has come to live in a house which nobody ever called at before, or that +person, because nobody has ever heard of her people? I'm sick of it. +Even mother won't call on Bathgate people, however nice they may be, and +she's not nearly so stuck up as most of the county women." + +"Yes, I know all that, and of course it's nonsense. But you must admit +that it is different with people who aren't gentle-people at all." + +"I'm not a fool, and I don't pretend that I'm going to make bosom +friends of all Walter's patients, though I _am_ going to do what I can +to make things pleasant all round. We shall see our friends in London, +of course. Jim is going to give us a jolly good motor-car, and we shall +be able to dine out and go to the play and all that if we want to, and +people ask us. But it is all so unimportant, Cicely, that side of it. +Walter wants to get out of it. He'll be very busy, and the best times we +shall have will be in our own little house alone, or going right away +when we get a holiday." + +"I dare say you are quite right," said Cicely. "Of course it will be +jolly to have your own house and do what you like with it. Has Walter +got a house yet?" + +"There is quite a decent one we can have where the man who wants to sell +the practice lives. It is really bigger than we want, although it's only +a semi-detached villa. I should be able to have my friends to stay with +me. Cicely, you _must_ come directly we move in, and help to get things +straight, if we go there." + +"Oh, you'll go there all right, if Walter has made up his mind about +it," said Cicely. "Father thinks he will hold out, but he knows, really, +that he won't. That's what makes him so wild." + +Both the girls laughed. "He is a funny old thing," said Muriel +apologetically, "but he has been very nice to me." + +"Only because you have got ten thousand pounds, my dear, and are the +right sort of match for Walter. He wouldn't be very nice to you if +Walter had found you at Melbury Park; not even if you had your ten +thousand pounds. Oh dear, I wish I had ten thousand pounds." + +"What would you do with it?" + +"I should travel. At any rate I should go away from Kencote. Muriel, I +am sick to death of it." + +"Ah, that is because it seems dull after London. You haven't told me a +word about all that you have been doing, and I have been talking about +myself all the time." + +"I didn't care a bit about London. I didn't enjoy it at all--except the +opera." + +"Don't try to be _blasée_, my dear girl. Of course you enjoyed it." + +"I tell you I didn't. Look here, Muriel, really it _is_ unfair the way +the boys have everything in our family and the girls have nothing." + +"I do think it is a shame you are not allowed to hunt." + +"It isn't only that. It is the same with everything. I have seen it much +more plainly since I went to London." + +"Well, my dear, you went to a Court Ball, and to all the best houses. +The boys don't do more than that. I shouldn't do as much if I went to +London in the season." + +"Yes, I went. And I went because Cousin Humphrey took the trouble to get +cards for us. He is an old darling. Do you suppose father would have +taken the smallest trouble about it--for me and mother?" + +"He knows all the great people. I suppose a Clinton is as good as +anybody." + +"Yes, a _man_ Clinton. That is just it. Dick and Humphrey go everywhere +as a matter of course. I saw enough of it to know what society in London +means. It is like a big family; you meet the same people night after +night, and everybody knows everybody else--that is in the houses that +Cousin Humphrey got us invited to. Dick and Humphrey know everybody like +that; they were part of the family; and mother and I were just country +cousins who knew nobody." + +"Well, of course, they are there all the time and you were only up for a +fortnight. Didn't they introduce you to people?" + +"O yes. Dick and Humphrey are kind enough. They wanted me to have a good +time. But you are not supposed to want introductions in London. You are +supposed to know enough men to dance with, or you wouldn't be there. And +the men don't like it. I often heard Dick and Humphrey apologising to +their friends for asking them to dance with me. You know the sort of +thing, Muriel: 'You might take a turn with my little sister, old man, if +you've nobody better. She's up here on the spree and she don't know +anybody.'" + +"O Cicely, they wouldn't give you away like that." + +"Perhaps not quite as bad as that. Dick and Humphrey are nice enough as +brothers, and I believe they're proud of me too, in a way. They always +danced with me themselves, and they always noticed what I was wearing, +and said I looked a topper. I know I looked all right, but directly I +opened my mouth I gave myself away, just like a maid in her mistress's +clothes." + +"O Cicely!" + +"Well, it was like that. I had nothing to talk about. I don't know +London; I can't talk scandal about people I don't know. Of course I had +to tell them I had always lived in the country, and then they began to +talk about hunting at once. Then I had to say that I didn't hunt, and +then they used to look at me through their eyeglasses, and wonder what +the deuce I did do with myself. The fact is, that I can't do anything. +Even the ones with brains--there _were_ a few of them--who tried me with +things besides hunting, couldn't get anything out of me, because there +is nothing to get. I've never been anywhere or seen anything. I don't +know anything--nothing about books or pictures or music or plays. Why on +earth _should_ they want to talk to me? Hardly any of them did twice, +unless it was those who thought I was pretty and wanted to flirt with +me. I felt such a _fool_!" + +She was almost in tears. Her pretty face under its white motor-cap was +flushed; she twisted her gloves in her slender hands. + +"O Cicely, darling!" said Muriel sympathetically, "you are awfully +bright and clever, really. You've many more brains than I have." + +"I'm not clever, but I've got as many brains as other girls. And what +chance have I ever had of learning anything? Dick and Humphrey and +Walter were all sent to Eton and Oxford or Cambridge. They have all had +the most expensive education that any boys could have, and as long as +they behaved themselves pretty well, nobody cared in the least whether +they took advantage of it or not. What education have _I_ had? Miss +Bird! I don't suppose she knows enough to get a place as teacher in a +village school. I suppose I know just about as much as the girls who do +go to a village school. I haven't even had lessons in drawing or music, +or anything that I might perhaps have been good at. I'm an ignorant +_fool_, and it's all father's fault, and it isn't fair." + +She had talked herself into actual tears now. Muriel said, in a dry +voice which did not accord with her expression of face, "This sudden +rage for learning is a new thing, my dear." + +Cicely dabbed her eyes impatiently and sat up in her chair. "I dare say +I am talking a lot of nonsense," she said, "but I have been wondering +what I _do_ get for being the daughter of a rich country gentleman; +because father _is_ rich, as well as being the head of an important +family, as he is always reminding us, though he pretends to think +nothing of it. He has never gone without anything he wanted in the whole +of his life, and the boys have everything they want too, that can be got +for money." + +"Your allowance was just twice as much as mine, when father was alive," +Muriel reminded her. + +"Oh, I know I can have plenty of nice clothes and all that," said +Cicely, "and I have nice food too, and plenty of it, and a nice room, +and a big house to live in. But I don't call it living, that's all. +Father and the boys can live. We can't. Outside Kencote, we're nobody at +all--I've found that out--and mother is of no more importance than I am. +We're just the women of the family. Anything is good enough for us." + +"I don't think you are quite fair, Cicely. Mrs. Clinton doesn't care for +going about, does she? It would depend more upon her than your father +and brothers." + +"What would depend on her?" + +"Well, I mean you grumble at Dick and Humphrey knowing more people than +you do." + +"I suppose what you do mean is that the Birkets aren't as good as the +Clintons." + +There was the slightest pause. Then Muriel said, a little defiantly, +"Well, the Grahams aren't as good as the Conroys." + +"I know that mother isn't only as good as father; she is a great deal +better." + +Cicely spoke with some heat, and Muriel made a little gesture with her +hands. "Oh, all right, my dear," she said, "if you don't want to talk +straight." It was a formula they used. + +Cicely hesitated. "If you mean," she began, but Muriel interrupted her. +"You know quite well what I mean, and you know what I don't mean. You +know I would never say that Mrs. Clinton wasn't as good as anybody in +the world, in the sense you pretended to take my words. We were talking +of something quite different." + +"Sorry, Muriel," replied Cicely. This was another formula. "We did go to +a dance at Aunt Emmeline's, you know. If I hadn't been to all those +other houses I should have enjoyed it immensely. Well, I did enjoy +it--better, really. Aunt Emmeline saw that I had heaps of partners and I +got on well with them. They were mostly barristers and people like that. +They took the trouble to talk, and some of them even made me talk. It is +a lovely house--of course not like one of the great London houses, but +with two big drawing-rooms, and Iff's band, and everything done very +well. If I had gone straight up from here to that ball, it would have +been one of the best I had ever gone to." + +"Well, Mr. Birket is a famous barrister, and I suppose is very well off +too. I should think he knows as many interesting people as anybody." + +"Interesting people, yes; but there wasn't a soul there that I had seen +at the other houses, except Dick and Humphrey." + +"Were they there?" + +"There!" cried Cicely triumphantly. "You see you are quite surprised at +that." + +"Well," said Muriel firmly, "they _were_ there. And how did they +behave?" + +"Oh, they behaved all right. Humphrey went away early, but Dick stayed +quite a long time. Dick can be very sweet if he likes, and he doesn't +give himself airs, really--he only takes it for granted that he is a +great personage. And so he is; you would say so if you saw him in +London. Do you know, Muriel, I was next to the Duchess of Pevensey at +Dunster House, and I heard her whisper to her daughter, quite sharply, +'Evelyn, keep a valse for Captain Clinton, in case he asks you.' Of +course she hadn't an idea that I was Captain Clinton's sister. She had +looked down her nose at me just before, and wondered what I was doing +there." + +"I suppose she didn't say so." + +"Her nose did. You should have seen her face when Dick came up the +moment after and said, 'Here you are, Siskin; come and have a spin'; and +didn't take any notice of dear Evelyn, who must have been at least +thirty." + +"Well, go on about Mrs. Birket's." + +"Yes, well, Dick said, 'Now, Siskin, I don't know any of the pretty +ladies here, and I'm going to dance with you.' But when Aunt Emmeline +came up and insisted upon introducing him to a lot of girls, he went off +as nicely as possible and danced with the whole lot of them. And, you +know, a man like Dick isn't supposed to have to do that sort of thing." + +Muriel laughed; and Cicely, who had recovered her good humour, laughed +too. "Of course, it wasn't anything to fuss about, really," she said, +"but you see what I mean, Muriel, don't you?" + +"No, I don't," said Muriel, "unless you mean exactly what I said just +now, and you bit my head off for. Mr. Clinton is what some people call a +swell, and Dick is a swell too. The Grahams aren't swells, and the +Birkets aren't either. And if you want it quite straight, my dear, +neither you nor I are swells; we're only what they call county." + +"You're so sensible, Muriel darling!" said Cicely. + +"And you've had your head turned, Cicely darling!" retorted Muriel. "You +have been taken up by your great relations, and you have come back to +your simple home discontented." + +"It's all very well, though," said Cicely, becoming serious again, "but +I'm a Clinton just as much as the boys are, and just as much as you are +a Graham. You say the Grahams are not swells--you do use horrible +language, Muriel dear--but I suppose Lord Conroy is, and so, according +to your argument, you ought to be." + +"Uncle Blobs isn't a swell--he's only a farmer with a title." + +"Oh! then I don't know what you mean by a swell." + +"Well, of course the Conroys _are_ swells in a way, but they don't care +about swelling. If mother had liked--and father had let her--she could +have been a fashionable lady, and dear Muriel could have been a +fashionable girl, with her picture in the illustrated papers, sitting in +front of a lattice window with a sweet white frock and a bunch of +lilies. 'We give this week a charming photograph of Miss Muriel Graham, +the only daughter of the Honourable Mrs. Graham. Mrs. Graham is a +daughter of' and so on. As it is, dear Muriel is just the daughter of a +country squire." + +"That is all dear Cicely is, though you said just now that father was a +swell. I don't see, really, that he is much more of a swell than Mr. +Graham was--here." + +"No--he isn't--here. That's just it. That is what you are running your +head against, my dear. Perhaps he isn't really a swell at all, now. But +he could be if he liked, and he was when he was young. It is because he +likes being a country squire best that you have got to put up with being +a country squire's daughter. I'm sorry for you, as you seem to feel it +so much, but I'm afraid there's no help for it. I don't think, really, +you have much to grumble at, but I suppose if you live for a fortnight +exclusively amongst dukes and duchesses, you _are_ apt to get a little +above yourself. Now tell me all about the Court Ball." + +Cicely told her all about the Court Ball; then they talked about other +things, and Muriel said, "You have never asked about Jim. His ship is +due in London next Wednesday and he will be home the day after." + +"Dear old Jim," said Cicely--she was at work on some embroidery for +Muriel. "It will be jolly to see him back again. But it doesn't seem +like a year since he went away." + +"_You_ don't seem to have missed him much." + +"O yes, I have. But it was like when the boys went back to school or to +Cambridge--frightfully dull at first, and then you got used to it, and +they were back before you knew where you were." + +"Yes, I know. But I don't feel like that about Walter now. I don't know +what I should do if he were to go off for a year." + +"Oh, that's quite different. You are deeply in love, my dear." + +"So were you once." + +"Never in the world, Muriel, and you know that quite well. I was a +little donkey. I had only just put my hair up and I thought it a fine +thing to be engaged. Not that that lasted long. Dear old Jim soon +repented, and I don't blame him." + +"Jim is pretty close about things, but I sometimes doubt whether he has +repented." + +"You mean that he still cherishes a tender passion for sweet Cicely +Clinton." + +"I shouldn't wonder." + +"Well, I should. Anyway, it isn't returned. I love Jim, but if I heard +that he had come home engaged, as I dare say he will, I shouldn't mind +in the very least. I should be the first to congratulate him." + +"No, you wouldn't. He would tell mother and me first. And you needn't +give yourself airs, you know. Jim would be a very good match for you. +You would be mistress of Mountfield. I'm not making half such a +brilliant alliance." + +"Brilliant! I'm quite sure you would rather be going to marry somebody +who had his way to make, like Walter, than trickle off from one big, +dull country house to another. Wouldn't you, now?" + +"Well, yes, I would. But it wouldn't make any difference to me, really, +if I had Walter. If Dick were to die, which I'm sure I hope he won't, +and Walter were to succeed to Kencote, I should like it just as much." + +"Well, I dare say it would be all right when one got older. At present I +think it would be burying yourself alive when you ought to have the +chance of doing something and seeing something. No, Muriel, dear. I have +been a squire's daughter all my life, and there's no money in it, as +Humphrey says. The last thing I want to be at present is a squire's +wife. I believe Jim has forgotten all that silliness as much as I have. +If I thought he hadn't, I shouldn't be so glad as I am at the prospect +of seeing him back." + +"I dare say he has. You're not good enough for him." + +"And he isn't good enough for me. I must be going home, or father will +accuse me of over-driving Kitty. I always do over-drive her, but he +doesn't notice unless I am late. Good-bye, Muriel. It has done me good +to talk to you." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE RECTOR + + +The Rector was shown into the library where the Squire was reading the +_Times_, for which a groom rode over to Bathgate every morning at eleven +o'clock, and woe betide him if he ever came back later than half-past +twelve. It was a big room lined with books behind a brass lattice which +nobody ever opened. Though the Squire used it every day, and had used it +for five-and-thirty years, he had never altered its appointments, and +his grandfather had not lived in it. Merchant Jack had furnished it +handsomely for a library, and the Reverend John Clinton Smith, the +historian of Kencote, had bought the books for him, and read most of +them for him too. If he had returned from the tomb in which he had lain +for a hundred years to this room where he had spent some of the happiest +hours of his life, he would only have had to clear out a boxful or two +of papers from the cupboards under the bookshelves and the drawers of +the writing-tables, and remove a few photographs and personal +knick-knacks, and there would have been nothing there that was not +familiar, except the works of Surtees and a few score other books, which +he would have taken up with interest and laid down again with contempt, +in some new shelves by the fireplace. The Squire had no skill with a +room. He hated any alteration in his house, and he had debated this +question of a new bookcase to hold the few books he did read from time +to time with as much care as the Reverend John Clinton Smith, book-lover +as he was, had devoted to the housing of the whole library. + +"Ah, my dear Tom," said the Squire heartily, "I'm glad you came up. I +should have come down to you, but I've been so busy all the morning that +I thought you wouldn't mind a summons. Have you brought Grace?" + +"She is with Nina," said the Rector, and sat heavily down in the +easy-chair opposite to that from which the Squire had risen. He was a +big man, with a big face, clean shaven except for a pair of abbreviated +side whiskers. He had light-blue eyes and a mobile, sensitive mouth. His +clothes were rather shabby, and except for a white tie under a +turned-down collar, not clerical. His voice, coming from so massive a +frame, seemed thin, but it was of a pleasant tenor quality, and went +well with the mild and attractive expression of his face. All the +parishioners of Kencote liked the Rector, though he was not at all +diligent in visiting them. Perhaps they liked him the better on that +account. + +The Rector was the Squire's half-brother. Colonel Thomas Clinton, the +Squire's grandfather, had followed, amongst other traditions of his +family, that of marrying early, and marrying money. His wife was a city +lady, daughter of Alderman Sir James Banket, and brought him forty +thousand pounds. Besides his six daughters, he had one son, who was +delicate and could not support the fatigue of his own arduous pursuit of +sport. He was sent to Eton and to Trinity College, and a cornetcy was +bought for him in the Grenadier Guards. He also married early, and +married, following an alternative tradition, not money, but blood. His +wife was a sister of a brother officer, the Marquis of Nottingham, and +they were happy together for a year. He died of a low fever immediately +after the birth of his son, Edward, that Squire of Kencote with whom we +have to do. + +Colonel Thomas took a great deal more pride in his sturdy grandson than +ever he had been able to take in his weakly son. He taught him to ride +and to shoot, and to tyrannise over his six maiden aunts, who all took a +hand in bringing him up. His own placid, uncomplaining wife had died +years before, and Lady Susan Clinton, tired of living in a house where +women seemed to exist on sufferance, had married again, but had not been +allowed to take her child to her new home. She had the legal right to do +so, of course, but was far too frightened of the weather-beaten, +keen-eyed old man, who could say such cutting things with such a sweet +smile upon his lips, to insist upon it. Her second husband was the +Rector of a neighbouring parish, who grew hot to the end of his days +when he thought of what he had undergone to gain possession of his +bride. He did not keep her long, for she died a year later in giving him +a son. That son was now the Reverend Thomas Beach, Rector of Kencote, to +which preferment the Squire had appointed him nearly thirty years +before, when he was only just of canonical age to receive it. And in the +comfortable Rectory of Kencote, except for a year's curacy to his +father, he had lived all his clerical life. + +The Squire and the Rector were not altogether unlike in appearance. They +were both tall and well covered with flesh, and there was a family +resemblance in their features. But the Squire's bigness and ruddiness +were those of a man who took much exercise in the open air, the Rector's +of a man physically indolent, who lived too much indoors, and lived too +well. + +But if they were not unlike in appearance, they were as dissimilar as +possible in character. The Squire's well-carried, massive frame +betokened a man who considered himself to have a right to hold his head +high and plant his footsteps firmly; the Rector's big body disguised a +sensitive, timorous character, and a soul never quite at ease in its +comfortable surroundings. That ponderous weight of soft flesh, insistent +on warmth and good food and much rest, had a deal to answer for. Spare +and active, with adventures of the spirit not discouraged by the +indolence of the flesh, the Rector of Kencote might have been anything +in the way of a saint that his Church encourages. He would certainly not +have been Rector of Kencote for thirty years, with the prospect of being +Rector of Kencote for thirty years more if he lived so long. He had a +simple, lovable soul. It told him that he did nothing to speak of in +return for his good income and the fine house in which he lived in such +comfort, and troubled him on this score more than it would have troubled +a man with less aptitude for goodness; and it omitted to tell him that +he had more direct influence for righteousness than many a man who would +have consciously exercised all the gifts with which he might have been +endowed. He simply could not bring himself to visit his parish +regularly, two or three afternoons a week, as he had made up his mind to +do when he was first ordained. The afternoons always slipped away +somehow, and there were so many of them. The next would always do. So it +had been for the first years of his pastorate, and he had long since +given way altogether to his indolence and shyness in respect of visiting +his flock; but his conscience still troubled him about it. He was a +great reader, but his reading had become quite desultory, and he now +read only for his own entertainment. His sermons were poor; he had no +delivery and no gift of expression; he could not even give utterance to +the ideas that did, not infrequently, act on his brain, nor hardly to +the human tenderness which was his normal attitude towards mankind. But +he did go on writing fresh ones, stilted and commonplace as they were. +Mental activity was less of a burden to him than bodily activity, and he +had kept himself up to that part of what he thought to be his clerical +duty. + +For the rest, he was fond of his books and his garden, fond of his +opulent, well-appointed house, and all that it contained, and fond of +the smaller distractions of a country life, but no sportsman. He had no +children, but a graceful, very feminine wife, who reacted pleasantly on +his intellect and looked well after the needs of his body. He sometimes +went to London for a week or two, and had been to Paris; but he liked +best to be at home. He watched the progress of the seasons with +interest, and knew something about birds, something about flowers and +trees, was a little of a weather prophet, and often thought he would +study some branch of natural science, but had lacked the energy to do +so. He liked the winter as well as the summer, for then his warm house +called him more seductively. He liked to tramp home along muddy country +roads in the gloaming, drink tea in his wife's pretty drawing-room, chat +to her a little, and then go into his cosy, book-lined study and read +till dinner-time. He would have been a happy man as a layman, relieved +of that gnawing conviction that his placid, easy life was rather far +from being apostolic. And nobody, not even his wife, had any idea that +he was not quite contented, and grateful for the good things that he +enjoyed. + +"Well, Tom," said the Squire, "I'm infernally worried again. It's that +boy Walter. What do you think he wants to do now?" He spoke with none of +the heat of the morning. It might have been thought that he had already +accepted the inevitable and was prepared to make the best of it. + +"I don't know, Edward," said the Rector; and the Squire told him. + +"And you have a particular objection to this place, Melbury Park?" +inquired the Rector guilelessly. + +"O my dear Tom," said the Squire impatiently, "have you ever seen the +place?" + +"From the railway only," admitted the Rector; "and chiefly its +back-gardens. It left an impression of washing on my mind." + +"It left an impression of _not_ washing on mine," said the Squire, and +leant back in his chair to laugh heartily at his witticism. + +The Rector also did justice to it, perhaps more than justice, with a +kind smile. "Well, Edward," he said, "it may be so, but it is, +otherwise, I should say, respectable. It is not like a slum. Has Walter +any particular reason for wishing to go there?" + +The Squire gave a grudging summary of the reasons Walter had advanced +for wishing to go there, and made them appear rather ridiculous reasons. +He also produced again such of the arguments he had advanced at +breakfast-time as seemed most weighty, and managed to work himself up +into a fair return of his morning's feeling of being very badly treated. + +"Well, Edward," said the Rector gently, when he had come to an end, "I +think if I were you I should not make any objections to Walter's going +to Melbury Park." + +"You wouldn't?" asked the Squire, rather weakly. + +"No, I don't think I would. You see, my dear Edward, some of us are +inclined to take life too easily. I'm sometimes afraid that I do +myself." + +"You do your duty, Tom. Nobody is asked to do more than that." + +"Well, you may be right, but I am not sure. However, what I was going to +say was that one cannot help respecting--perhaps even envying--a young +fellow like Walter who doesn't want to take life easily." + +"He has stuck to his work," said the Squire. "I will say that for the +boy; and he's never come to me for money to pay bills with, as Humphrey +has, and even Dick--though, as far as Dick goes, he'll have the property +some day, and I don't grudge him what he wants now within reason." + +"You see, Edward, when a man has congenial work which takes up his time, +he is not apt to get into mischief. I think, if I may say so, that you +ought to admit now, however much you may have objected to Walter's +choice of a profession in the first instance, that he has justified his +choice. He put his hand to the plough and he has not looked back. That +is a good deal to say for a young man with Walter's temptations towards +an easy, perhaps idle, life." + +"Well," said the Squire, "I do admit it. I do admit it, Tom. I have my +natural prejudices, but I'm the last man in the world that any one has a +right to call obstinate. I objected to Walter becoming a doctor in the +first instance. It was natural that I should. He ought to have succeeded +you, as Dick will succeed me. And none of our family have ever been +doctors. But I gave way, and I've every wish, now, that he should +succeed in his profession. And the reason I object to this move so +strongly is that as far as my judgment goes it is not a step in the +right direction. It might be so for the ordinary doctor--I don't know +and I can't say--but I'm willing to help a son of mine over some of the +drudgery, and it will be very disagreeable for me to have Walter +settling down to married life in a place like Melbury Park, when he +might do so much better. You must remember, Tom, that he is the first of +the boys to get married. Dick will marry some day soon, I hope and +trust, and Humphrey too, but until they do, Walter's son, if he has one, +will be heir to this property, eventually. He ought _not_ to be brought +up in a place like Melbury Park." + +"There is a good deal in what you say, Edward," replied the Rector, who +privately thought that there was very little; "but the contingency you +mention is a very unlikely one." + +"I don't lay too much stress on it. If I thought that Walter was right +from the point of rising in his profession to go to this place I would +leave all that out of the question." + +"Well, I'll tell you what, Edward," said the Rector, with an engaging +smile, "supposing you keep an open mind on the question until you have +heard what Walter has to say about it. How would that be?" + +The Squire hummed and ha'd, and thought that on the whole it might be +the best thing to do. + +"You see," said the Rector in pursuance of his bright idea, "it is just +possible that there may be reasons which Walter has considered, and may +wish to urge, that _might_ make it advisable for him, even with the +exceptional advantages you could give him, to go through the training +afforded by just such a practice as this. I should let him urge them, +Edward, if I were you. I should let him urge them. You can but repeat +your objections, if they do not appeal to your judgment. You will be in +a better position to make your own views tell, if you dispose your mind +to listen to his. I should take a kindly tone, I think, if I were you. +You don't want to set the boy against you." + +"No, I don't want that," said the Squire. "And I should have done what +you advise, in any case. It's the only way, of course. Let us go in and +have some luncheon. Then you don't think, Tom, that there would be any +serious objection to my giving way on this point, if Walter is +reasonable about it?" + +"Well, Edward, do you know, I really don't think there would," replied +the Rector, as they crossed the hall to the dining-room. + +The ladies were already there. Mrs. Beach was by the window talking to +the twins, who adored her. She was getting on for fifty, but she was +still a pretty woman, and moved gracefully as she came across the room +to shake hands with her brother-in-law. "It is very nice to see you back +again, Edward," she said, with a charming smile. "You do not look as if +London had disagreed with you." + +"My dear Grace," said the Squire, holding her white, well-formed hand in +his big one. "I'll tell you my private opinion of London, only don't let +it go any further. It can't hold a candle to Kencote." Then he gave a +hearty laugh, and motioned her to a seat on his right. The twins cast a +look of intelligence at one another, and Cicely glanced at her mother. +The Squire had recovered his good humour. + +"For these an' all his mercies," mumbled the Squire, bending his +head.--"Oh, beg your pardon, Tom," and the Rector said grace. + +"Have you heard what that silly fellow Walter wants to do, Grace?" asked +the Squire. + +"Nothing except that he hopes to get married next month," replied Mrs. +Beach, helping herself to an omelette, "and I hope that he will make a +better husband than Tom." + +The Rector, already busy, spared her a glance of appreciation, and the +twins giggled at the humour of their favourite. + +"Yes, he is going to be married, and he proposes to take Muriel to live +at Melbury Park, of all places in the world." + +"Then in that case," replied Mrs. Beach equably, "Tom and I will not +give them the grand piano we had fixed upon for a wedding present. They +must content themselves with the railway whistles." + +The twins laughed outright and were ineffectively rebuked by Miss Bird. +That they were to be seen and not heard at table was a maxim she had +diligently instilled into them. But they were quite right to laugh. Aunt +Grace was surpassing herself. She always kept the Squire in a good +humour, by her ready little jokes and the well-disguised deference she +paid him. The deference was not offered to him alone, but to all men +with whom she came in contact, even her husband, and men liked her +immensely. She teased them boldly, but she deferred to their manhood. +Women sometimes grew tired of her sweetness of manner, which was +displayed to them too, and quite naturally. She was a sweet woman, if +also, in spite of her ready tongue, rather a shallow one. Mrs. Clinton +did not like her, but did not show it, except in withholding her +confidence, and Mrs. Beach had no idea that they were not intimate. +Cicely was indifferent towards her, but had loved her as a child, for +the same reason that the twins thought her the most charming of +womankind, because she treated them as if they were her equals in +intelligence, as no doubt they were. It had never occurred to them to +mimic her, which was a feather in her cap if she had known it. And +another was that Miss Bird adored her, being made welcome in her house, +and, as she said, treated like anybody else. + +By the time luncheon was over the Squire had so overcome his bitter +resentment at the idea of Walter's going to live at Melbury Park, that +he could afford to joke about it. Aunt Grace had suggested that they +should all go and live there, and had so amused the Squire with a +picture of himself coming home to his villa in the evening and eating +his dinner in the kitchen in his shirt sleeves, with carpet slippers on +his feet, which was possibly the picture in her mind of "how the poor +live," that he was in the best of humours, and drank two more glasses of +port than his slightly gouty tendency usually permitted. + +The twins persuaded Miss Bird to take them to the station to meet Walter +in the afternoon. They were not allowed to go outside the park by +themselves, and walked down the village on either side of the old +starling, each of them over-topping her by half a head, like good girls, +as she said herself. They wore cool white dresses, and shady hats +trimmed with poppies, and looked a picture. When they reached the +by-road to the station, Joan said, "One, two, three, and away," and they +shot like darts from the side of their instructress, arriving on the +platform flushed and laughing, not at all like good girls, while Miss +Bird panted in their rear, clucking threats and remonstrances, to the +respectful but undisguised amusement of the porter, and the groom who +had preceded them with the dog-cart. + +Walter got out of a third-class carriage when the train drew up and +said, "Hullo, twanky-diddleses! Oh, my adorable _Sturna vulgaris vetus_, +embrace me! Come to my arms!" + +"Now, Walter, do behave," said Miss Bird sharply. "What will people +think and Joan 'n Nancy I shall certainly tell Mrs. Clinton of your +_disgraceful_ behaviour I am quite ashamed of you running off like that +which you _know_ you are not allowed to do you are very _naughty_ girls +and I am seriously displeased with you." + +"Ellen Bird," said Walter, "don't try and put it on to the twankies. I +looked out of the carriage window and saw you sprinting along the +station road yourself. You have had a little race and are annoyed at +being beaten. I shall put you up in the cart and send you home, and I +will walk back with the twankies." And in spite of Miss Bird's almost +frenzied remonstrances, up into the cart she was helped, and driven off +at a smart pace, with cheers from the twins, now entirely beyond her +control. + +"Well, twanky dears," said Walter, starting off at a smart pace with a +twin on either side, "I suppose there's a deuce of a bust up, eh? Look +here, you can't hang on. It's too hot." + +"It wouldn't be too hot for Muriel to hang on," said Joan, her arm +having been returned to her. + +"There was a bust up this morning at breakfast," said Nancy. "Edward +came in purple with passion two minutes late for prayers." + +"Eh?" said Walter sharply. "Look here, you mustn't speak of the governor +like that." + +"It's only her new trick," said Joan. "She'll get tired of it." + +"You're not to do it, Nancy, do you hear?" said Walter. + +"Oh, all right," said Nancy. "Mr. Clinton of Kencote, J.P., D.L., was so +put out that he wouldn't kneel down to say his prayers." + +"Annoyed, eh?" said Walter. + +"Yes," said Joan, "but he's all right now, Walter. Aunt Grace came to +lunch, and beat Bogey." + +"What!" + +"It's only her new trick," said Nancy. "She'll get tired of it. She +means put him in a good humour." + +"Really, you twankies do pick up some language. Then there's nothing +much to fear, what?" + +"No, we are all coming to live at Melbury Park, and Aunt Grace is going +to take in our washing." + +"Oh, that's the line taken, is it?" said Walter. "Well, I dare say it's +all very funny, but I can't have you twankies giving yourselves airs, +you know. I don't know why they talk over things before you. The +governor might have kept it to himself until he had seen me." + +"Mr. Clinton doesn't keep things to himself," said Nancy. "You might +know that by this time; and Joan and I are quite old enough to take an +intelligent interest in family affairs. We do take the deepest interest +in them, and we know a lot. Little pitchers have long ears, you know." + +"So have donkeys, and they get them pinched if they're not careful," +retorted Walter. "How are you getting on with your lessons, twankies?" + +"I believe our progress is quite satisfactory, thank you, Dr. Clinton," +replied Joan. "Perhaps you would like to hear us a few dates, so that +our afternoon walk may not pass entirely unimproved." + +"You had much better look at Joan's tongue," said Nancy. "Starling said +last night that her stomach was a little out of order, and we rebuked +her for her vulgarity." + +"You are a record pair, you two," said Walter, looking at them with +unwilling admiration. "I don't believe any of us led that poor old woman +the dance that you do. Do you want some jumbles, twankies?" + +"Ra-_ther_," said the twins with one voice, and they turned into the +village shop. + +The tea-table was spread on the lawn, and the Squire came out of the +window of the library as Walter reached the garden. "Well, my boy," he +said, "so you're going to settle down at Melbury Park, are you? That's a +nice sort of thing to spring on us; but good luck to you! You can always +come down here when you want a holiday." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +BY THE LAKE + + +Whitsuntide that year fell early in June, and the weather was glorious. +Cicely awoke on Friday morning with a sense of happiness. She slept with +her blinds up, and both her windows were wide open. She could see from +her pillow a great red mass of peonies backed by dark shrubs across the +lawn, and in another part of the garden laburnums and lilacs and +flowering thorns, and all variations of young green from trees and grass +under a sky of light blue. Thrushes and blackbirds were piping sweetly. +She loved these fresh mornings of early summer, and had often wakened to +them with that slight palpitation of happiness. + +But, when she was fully awake, it had generally happened that the +pleasure had rather faded, at any rate of late years, since she had +grown up. In her childhood it had been enough to have the long summer +day in front of her, especially in holiday time, when there would be no +irksome schoolroom restraint, nothing but the pleasures and adventures +of the open air. But lately she had needed more, and more, at Kencote, +had seldom been forthcoming. Moreover she had hardly known what the +"more" was that she had wanted. She had never been unhappy, but only +vaguely dissatisfied, and sometimes bored. + +This morning her waking sense of well-being did not fade as she came to +full consciousness, but started into full pleasure as she remembered +that her cousins, Angela and Beatrice Birket, with their father and +mother, were in the house. And Dick and Humphrey had come down with them +the evening before. Guests were so rare at Kencote that to have a party +of them was a most pleasurable excitement. Dick and Humphrey would see +that there was plenty of amusement provided, quiet enough amusement for +them, no doubt, but for Cicely high pleasure, with something to do all +the day long, and people whom she liked to do it with. + +And--oh yes--Jim had returned home from his travels the day before, and +would be sure to come over, probably early in the morning. + +She jumped out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and went to the window. +The clock from the stable turret struck six, but she really could not +lie in bed on such a morning as this, with so much about to happen. She +would dress and go out into the garden. A still happier thought--she +would go down to the lake and bathe from the Temple of Melancholy. It +was early in the year, but the weather had been so warm for the last +month that it was not too early to begin that summer habit. Perhaps the +twins would come with her. They were early risers. + +She was just about to turn away from the window when she saw the twins +themselves steal round the corner of the house. Their movements were +mysterious. Although there was nobody about, they trod on tiptoe across +the broad gravel path and on to the dewy lawn. Joan--she could always +tell them apart, although to the outside world they were identical in +form and feature--carried a basket which probably contained provisions, +a plentiful supply of which was generally included in the elaborate +arrangements the twins made for their various games of adventure. There +was nothing odd in this, but what was rather odd was that she also held +a long rope, the other end of which was tied around Nancy's neck, while +Nancy's hands were knotted behind her. + +When they got on to the grass they both turned at the same moment to +glance up at the windows of the house, and caught sight of Cicely, who +then perceived that Joan's features were hidden by a mask of black +velvet. She saw them draw together and take counsel, and then, without +speaking, beckon her insistently to join them. She nodded her head and +went back into the room, smiling to herself, while the twins pursued +their mysterious course towards the shrubberies. She thought she would +not bathe after all; but she dressed quickly and went down into the +garden, a little curious to learn what new invention the children were +busying themselves with. + +It proved to be nothing more original than the old game of buccaneers. +Nancy had awakened to find herself neatly trussed to her bed and Joan in +an unfinished state of attire, but wearing the black velvet mask, +brandishing in her face a horse pistol, annexed from the collection of +old-fashioned weapons in the hall. Thus overpowered she had succumbed +philosophically. It was the fortune of war, and if she had thought of it +she might just as well have been kneeling on Joan's chest, as Joan was +kneeling, somewhat oppressively, on hers. Given her choice of walking +the plank from the punt on the lake or being marooned on the +rhododendron island, she had accepted the latter alternative, +stipulating for an adequate supply of food; and a truce having been +called, while pirate and victim made their toilets and raided together +for the necessary rations, she had then allowed herself to be bound and +led off to the shore where the pirate ship was beached. + +All this was explained to Cicely--the search for provisions having no +particular stress laid on it--when she joined them, and she was awarded +the part of the unhappy victim's wife, who was to gaze across the water +and tear her hair in despair at being unable to go to the rescue. + +"You must rend the air with your cries," Joan instructed her, "not too +loud, because we don't want any one to hear. The pirate king will then +appear on the scene, and stalking silently up behind you--well, you'll +see. I won't hurt you." + +Nancy was already comfortably marooned. She could be seen relieved of +her bonds seated amongst the rhododendrons, which were in full flower on +the island and all round the lake, making her first solitary meal off +cold salmon and a macedoine of fruit, and supporting her painful +situation with fortitude. + +Cicely accepted her rôle, but dispensed with the business of tearing her +hair. "O my husband!" she cried, stretching her arms across the water. +"Shall I never see thee more? What foul ruffian has treated thee thus?" + +"Very good," said Nancy, with her mouth full--she was only twenty yards +away--"keep it up, Sis." + +"I will not rest until I have discovered the miscreant and taken his +life," proceeded Cicely. + +"Shed his blood," corrected Nancy. "Say something about my bones +bleaching on the shore." + +"Thy bones will bleach on the shore," Cicely obeyed. "And I, a +disconsolate widow, will wander up and down this cruel strand--oh, +don't, Joan, you are hurting." + +For she found herself in the grip of the pirate king, who hissed in her +ear, "Ha, ha, fair damsel! Thou art mine at last. 'Twas for love of thee +I committed this deed. Thy lily-livered husband lies at my mercy, and +once in Davy Jones's locker will be out of my path. Then the wedding +bells shall ring and we will sail together over the bounding main. +Gently, gently, pretty dove! Do not struggle. I will not hurt thee." + +"Unhand me, miscreant," cried Cicely. "Think you that I would forget my +brave and gallant husband for such as thou, steeped in crime from head +to foot? Unhand me, I say. Help! Help!" + +"Peace, pretty one!" cooed the pirate king. "Thou art in my power and +thy cries do not daunt me. I have only to lift my voice and my brave +crew will be all around me. Better come with me quietly. There is a +cabin prepared for thee in my gallant barque. None shall molest thee. +Cease struggling and come with me." + +Urged towards the shore by the pirate king, Cicely redoubled her cries +for assistance, but no one was more surprised than she to see an elderly +gentleman in a grey flannel suit and a straw hat bound from behind the +bushes, level a latch-key at the head of the masked bandit, and cry, +"Loose her, perjured villain, or thy brains shall strew the sand." + +Nancy's clear, delighted laugh came from the island, Joan giggled and +said, "O Uncle Herbert!" + +"Uncle me no Herberts," said Mr. Birket. "Put up your hands or I shoot. +(Cicely, if you will kindly swoon in my arms--Thank you.) Know, base +buccaneer, that I represent his Britannic Majesty on these seas, and +wherever the British flag flies there is liberty. Allow me to disarm you +of your weapon." + +"I yield to superior force," said the bold buccaneer in stately tones. + +"Very wise of you. I should fold my arms and scowl if I were you. +Behold, the lady cometh to. She is, yes she is, the daughter I have +mourned these many years. And you, base marauder, though you know it +not, are the long-lost brother of that luckless wight starving, if I +mistake not, to death on the island. Well for you that your hands are +not imbrued in his gore. Put off at once in your stout ship--and be +careful not to tumble overboard--and restore him to his hapless bride." + +"I will obey your bidding," said the pirate king proudly. "The claims of +relationship are paramount." + +"Well put. I have hopes of you yet. I am also hungry. Bring back the +victim's basket, and we will eat together and forget this unfortunate +occurrence." + +Joan punted across to the island and the marooned Nancy was brought to +the mainland with her somewhat depleted store of provisions. Mr. Birket +dropped his rôle while the embarkation proceeded, and mopped his brow +with a bandana handkerchief. He was a short, grey-haired man with a keen +lawyer's face. "Well, my dear," he said to Cicely, "I think that went +off very well, but it is somewhat exhausting." + +Cicely laughed. "The twins will never forget it," she said. "Did you see +them come out?" + +"I saw them come on to the lake. I was in the Temple, getting through a +little work." + +"What ever time did you get up?" + +"Oh, half-past five. My regular hour in the summer. I'm kept pretty +busy, my dear. But I don't generally have such a charming place as this +to work in. Now then, pirate, hurry up with those victuals. Your uncle +is hungry." + +They picnicked on the shore--the twins' provisioning having fortunately +been ample--and Mr. Birket proved himself an agreeable companion. Joan +said to Nancy afterwards that the practice of the law seemed to brighten +people's brains wonderfully. He smoked a cigar, told them stories, and +made them laugh. At half-past eight he fetched his papers from the +Temple and they went indoors to get ready for breakfast. "I think," he +said, as they crossed the lawn, "we had better say nothing about the +startling occurrences of the morning. They might come as a shock to our +elders and betters." And Joan and Nancy, remembering the contents of the +basket and the source from which they had been derived, agreed. + +Herbert Birket was Mrs. Clinton's only brother. Their father had been a +Colonel in the Indian Army, and had retired to end his days in a little +house on the outskirts of Bathgate, desiring nothing more than to read +the _Times_ through every morning and find something in it to disagree +with, walk so many miles a day, see his son well started in the +profession he had chosen, and his daughter well, but not splendidly, +married. He had gained his desires in all but the last item. The young +Squire of Kencote, in all the glory of his wide inheritance and his +lieutenancy in the Household Cavalry, had ridden past the little house +on his way to Bathgate and seen a quiet, unassuming, fair-haired girl +watering her flowers in the garden, had fallen in love with her, met her +at a county ball, fallen still more deeply in love, and finally carried +her off impetuously from the double-fronted villa in the Bathgate Road +to rule over his great house at Kencote. + +South Meadshire had rung with the romance, and old Colonel Birket had +not been altogether delighted with his daughter's good fortune, wishing +to spend his last days in peace and not in glory. The wedding had taken +place in London, with a respectable show of relations on the bride's +side and all the accompaniments of semi-military parade on the +bridegroom's. There was no talk of a misalliance on the part of his +friends, nor was there a misalliance, for the Birkets were good enough +people; but the young Squire's six maiden aunts had returned to the +dower-house at Kencote after the wedding and shaken their respective +heads. No good would come of it, they said, and had, perhaps, been a +little disappointed ever afterwards that no harm had come of it, at any +rate to their nephew. + +The old Colonel had long since been laid in his grave, and the little +house in the Bathgate Road, now in the respectable occupancy of a +retired druggist, would have seemed as strange a dwelling-place to the +daughters of Herbert Birket, who had prospered exceedingly, as to the +children of Mrs. Clinton of Kencote. + +Angela and Beatrice Birket were handsome girls, both of them younger +than Cicely, but with their assured manners and knowledge of the world, +looking older. They had been brought up strictly by their mother, who +had paid great attention to their education. They might have been seen +during their childhood on any reasonably fine afternoon walking in +Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park with a highly priced French governess, +two well, but plainly dressed children with long, straight hair and +composed faces. They never appeared in their mother's drawing-room when +visitors were there, being employed in a room upstairs either at +lessons, or consuming the plainest variety of schoolroom tea. They were +taken sometimes to an afternoon concert, and on very rare occasions to a +play. When they were at home in London, their days were given to their +lessons, with the requisite amount of regular exercise to keep them in +good health. In holiday time, in the summer, at Christmas and at Easter, +they were allowed to run quite wild, in old clothes at some +out-of-the-way seaside place, in country farmhouses, where they +scrambled about on ponies and amongst ducks and chickens, or in the +country houses of their friends and relations, where there were other +children of their age for them to play with. So they had loved the +country and hated London, and had never been so surprised in their lives +as when they were duly presented and launched in society to find that +London was the most amusing place in the world and that all the pains +and drudgery to which they had been put there had prepared them for the +enjoyment of the manifold interests and pleasures that came in their +way. They had developed quickly, and those who had known them in their +rather subdued childhood would hardly have known them now. + +Of all the places in which they had spent their holidays in days gone by +they had liked Kencote best. It had been a paradise of fun and freedom +for them; they and Cicely had been happy from morning till night. The +elder boys home from school or college had been kind to them, and Frank, +the sailor, who was about their own age, and not too proud to make a +companion of his sister and cousins, had led the way in all their happy +adventures. And they had loved the twins, whom they had seen grow up +from babyhood. No, there had been no place like Kencote in the old days, +and the pleasure of a visit there still persisted, although it was no +longer the most congenial house at which they visited. + +All the party assembled for prayers in the dining-room. That was +understood to be the rule. The twins were there, very clean and well +brushed and very demure. Mr. Birket wished them good-morning solemnly +and hoped that they had slept well, at which they giggled and were +rebuked by Miss Bird, when their uncle turned away to ask the same +question of Cicely. As Miss Bird said,--What would their uncle think of +them if they could not answer a civil question without behaving in that +silly fashion? At which they giggled again. Angela and Beatrice, tall +and glossy-haired, dressed in white, made a handsome quartet with Dick +and Humphrey, the one in smart grey flannel, the other in white. + +"This little rest will do you both good," said Dick. "You shall lie +about, and Miss Bird shall read to you. You will go back to the +excitements of the metropolis thoroughly refreshed." + +"Oh, we are going to be very energetic," said Angela. "We want to play +lawn tennis, for one thing. One never gets a chance nowadays, and we +both hate croquet." + +"We'll get up a tournament," said Humphrey, "and invite the +neighbourhood. You'll see some queer specimens. I hear you're writing a +book, Trixie." + +Beatrice laughed, and blushed a little. "I've left off," she said. + +"Ah, I've heard stories about you," said Dick. "Soon have something else +to do, eh? Don't blush. I won't tell anybody. Look here, we'll play golf +this morning. We laid out quite a decent little course in the park last +autumn. And in the afternoon we'll have a picnic." + +"Oh, preserve us!" said Humphrey. + +"Oh, do let us have a picnic," said Angela. + +"It will be like old times," said Beatrice. + +"We'll go to Blackborough Castle," said Dick, "and take the twankies. We +must give them a little fun. Siskin, how about a picnic?" + +Mrs. Birket was telling Mrs. Clinton that Beatrice's engagement would be +announced when they returned to London. "She is young," she said, "but +both the girls are older in mind than in age." + +"You have educated them well," Mrs. Clinton said. She looked across the +room at the two handsome, smiling girls, and at her own pretty daughter, +who had not been very well educated and was not older in mind than in +age. But just then the gong sounded, every one took their seats, the +Squire came in with a hearty "Good-morning! Good-morning!" which +greeting his assembled family and guests might take and divide amongst +them, and the proceedings of the day began. + +Later in the morning Angela and Beatrice, Dick and Humphrey were +actively engaged at lawn tennis. Cicely was sitting under a great lime +on the lawn waiting for her turn. The twins, having discovered an +unusually congenial companion in their uncle, had carried him off +somewhere out of sight, and Cicely was alone for the moment. A voice +behind her, "Hullo, Cicely!" made her start, and then she sprang up. +"Jim!" she cried. "How jolly to see you back! I thought you would come +over this morning." + +The game had to be interrupted while the returned traveller was +welcomed. "You look as fit as a fiddle, old boy," said Dick. "You'll be +able to stay at home and enjoy yourself now, I hope. Will you play when +we've finished this? I can lend you a pair of shoes." + +"No thanks," said Jim. "I'll talk to Cicely." So the others went back on +to the lawn. + +"Come and have a stroll round," Jim suggested; and Cicely, with a +half-regretful glance at the tennis lawn, rose to go with him. + +They went to the rhododendron dell round the lake. It was where every +one went naturally if they wanted to walk and talk at the same time. +Jim's honest, weathered face was very frequently turned towards Cicely's +fair, young one, and there was a light in his eyes which made her turn +hers away a little confusedly when they met it. But Jim's voice was +level enough, and his speech ordinary. "I'm jolly glad to get back +again," he said. "I've never liked Mountfield half so well. I was up at +six o'clock this morning, and out and about." + +"So was I," said Cicely, and she told him, laughing, of the events of +the morning. + +"I expect they've grown, those young beggars," said Jim, alluding thus +disrespectfully to the twins. "I've often thought of them while I've +been away, and of everybody at Kencote--you especially." + +"We've all thought of you, too," said Cicely, "and talked about you. You +haven't been forgotten, Jim." + +"I hoped I shouldn't be," he said simply. "By Jove, how I've looked +forward to this--coming over here the first moment I could. I wish you +hadn't got all these people here, though." + +"All these people!" echoed Cicely. "Why, Jim, you know them as well as +we do." + +"Yes, I'm a selfish beggar. I wanted to have you all to myself." + +Cicely was a little disturbed in her mind. Jim had not talked to her +like this for five years. Ever since that long, happy summer when he and +she had been together nearly every day, when he had made love to her in +his slow, rather ponderous way, and she, her adolescence flattered, had +said "yes" when he had asked her to marry him--or rather ever since he +had written to her from Oxford to say that he must wait for some years +before he could expect to marry and that she was to consider herself +quite free--he had never by word or sign shown whether he also +considered himself free, or whether he intended, when the time came, to +ask her again to be his wife. When he had come back to Mountfield at +Christmas he had been in all respects as he had been up to six months +before, friendly and brotherly, and no more. It made it easier for her, +for her pride had been a little wounded. If he had held aloof, but shown +that, although he had given her her freedom, he hoped she had not +accepted it, she would have felt irked, and whatever unformed love she +had for Jim would quickly have disappeared. But, as it was, his equable +friendship kept alive the affection which she had always felt for him; +only it seemed to make the remembrance of their love passages a little +absurd. She was not exactly ashamed of what had happened, but she never +willingly thought of it, and after a year or so it became as much a part +of her past life as the short frocks and pinafores of her childhood. She +had been mildly chaffed about Jim on occasions, and there was no doubt +that in the minds both of her family and of Jim's the expectation of an +eventual marriage had never altogether subsided. Nor, strangely enough, +had it altogether subsided in hers, although if she had ever asked +herself the question as to whether she was in love with Jim in the +slightest degree she would have answered it forcibly in the negative. +But--there it was, as it is with every young girl--some day she would be +married; and it might happen that she would be married to Jim. + +"Do you remember," Jim asked her when they had walked the length of the +lake and come out in front of the Temple, "how you used to try to teach +me to draw here?" + +Yes, it was obviously Jim's intention to open up a buried subject, and +she was not by any means prepared for that. The sketching lessons had +been a shameless subterfuge for obtaining privacy, for Jim had about as +much aptitude for the arts as a dromedary, and his libels on the lake +and the rhododendrons would have made old Merchant Jack and his +landscape gardener turn in their graves. + +Cicely laughed. "Have you brought back any sketches from your travels?" +she asked. + +"No. I've got lots of photographs, though." Jim was always literal. + +"Angela and Beatrice paint beautifully," Cicely said. "We are going to +make sketches at Blackborough this afternoon. Will you come with us, +Jim? We are all going." + +"Yes, I'll come," said Jim. "Cicely, are you glad to see me home again?" + +"Yes, of course, I'm glad. We have all missed you awfully, Jim." + +"You can't think how bucked up I am to think that I need never leave +Mountfield again as long as I live. That's what's so jolly about having +a place of your own. It's part of you. You feel that, don't you, +Cicely?" + +"Well, as I haven't got a place of my own, Jim, I don't know that I do." + +"When those beastly death duties are paid off," Jim began, but Cicely +would not let him finish. "Anyhow," she said, "I should hate to think I +was going to stay in one place all my life, however much I liked it. Of +course, it is natural that you should feel as you do when you have been +travelling for a year. If I ever have the chance of travelling for a +year perhaps I shall feel like that about Kencote." She laughed and +looked him in the face, blushing a little. "Let us go back and play +tennis," she said. + +His face fell, and he walked by her side without speaking. Cicely little +knew how keen was his disappointment. This was the hour he had been +looking forward to every day for the last year, and this the place, with +the sun glinting through the young green of beech and ash and lighting +up those masses and drifts of brilliant colour everywhere about them. It +was true that he had meant to come to no conclusions with the girl he +loved with all his heart. The time for that would not be for another +year at least, according to the decision he had long since come to. But +he had so hungered for her during his long exile, for such it had seemed +to him in spite of the various enjoyments and interests he had gained +from it, that the thought had grown with him that he would take just a +little of the sweetness that a word from her, to show that she was his +as he was hers, would give him. She had not spoken the word, and Jim's +heart was heavy as he walked back to the garden by her side. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE QUESTION OF MARRIAGE + + +"Blackborough Castle?" said the Squire at luncheon. "Well, if you +like--but you'll take your tea in the company of Dick, Tom and Harry, +and I think you would be more comfortable at home." + +"I don't suppose there'll be anybody else there to-day," said Dick, "and +the spirit of youth cries aloud for tea on the floor." So it was +settled. Mrs. Clinton and Mrs. Birket went in the carriage, Angela rode +with Humphrey, and Dick drove the rest of the party, which did not +include the Squire, in the brake. + +"You look like bean-feasters," said Humphrey, as they drove past him and +Angela. "But you need not behave as such," said Miss Bird to the twins, +who, one on each side of their uncle, were inclined to be a trifle +uproarious. + +They had the old keep of the castle pretty well to themselves, spread +their cloth on the green turf by the battlements, where centuries ago +men-at-arms had tramped the now covered stones, and made merry in true +picnic style. There was a footman to clear away, and the party broke up +into little groups, and explored the ruins, and wandered in the thick +woods which surrounded them. + +Jim looked a little wistfully at Cicely as she went away with her arm in +that of Beatrice Birket, but made no attempt to join her, and presently +allied himself to the storming party which Joan was collecting to rescue +Miss Bird, confined in the deepest dungeon. + +"Now, Trixie, you have got to tell me all about it," Cicely said, when +the two girls were out of hearing of the rest. + +"My dear," said Beatrice, laughing, "I told you last night that he had +asked me and I had said yes, and that I am very happy." + +"Oh, I know. But that was before Angela, and she said we were to have no +raptures. I want raptures, please." + +"Well, I'm afraid you won't get them. I'm too well drilled. You know, +Cicely, I rather envy you being brought up as you were. You're more +natural, somehow, than Angela and I." + +"Well, I envy _you_; so we're quits. But never mind about that now. +Trixie, is Angela just the least bit jealous?" + +"No, not a bit," said Beatrice loyally. "But you see she's a year older, +and ever so much cleverer, and prettier too." + +"She's none of those things except a year older. But she's a dear all +the same, and so are you. I don't wonder at anybody falling in love with +you. Are you very much in love too?" + +"Well, Cicely, I don't mind telling you in strict confidence that I am. +But, perhaps, it's in a way you would not sympathise with particularly." + +"Tell me in what way, and you'll see." + +"Of course George isn't especially good-looking; in fact he isn't +good-looking at all, except for his eyes. I used to think I should never +love anybody unless he was as handsome as--as, well, Dick is, for +instance--that sort of man--you know--smart and well set up, and"--with +a laugh--"rather ignorant." + +"Dick isn't ignorant," said Cicely indignantly. + +"My dear, compared to George he is a monument of ignorance, a pyramid of +it; so are most men. It was just that; George is so clever, and he's +making such use of his brains too. He is one of the youngest men in +parliament, and is in office already. It was looking up to him as a +pillar of wisdom, and then finding that he looked to me of all people, +to help him on." + +"I'm sure you will help him on. I heard some one say in London that many +politicians owed a great deal of their success to their wives." + +"I don't mean quite in that way. I don't think George is ambitious, +though I am for him. He wants to get things done. Father says it is +because he is so young. He tells me about everything, and it makes me +grateful--you know, I think when you are very grateful, that is being in +love." + +"You dear thing!" said Cicely, squeezing her arm. "Does Uncle Herbert +like him? They are not on the same side in politics, are they?" + +"No. But it doesn't seem to matter. It doesn't matter in the least to +me. Of course, there _are_ things. George is a tremendous churchman, you +know, and I have never thought much about religion--not deeply, I mean. +But it is a real thing with him, and I'm learning. You see, Cicely, we +are rather a different engaged couple from most, although we don't +appear so to the world at large. Outside our two selves, George is a +coming man, and I am a lucky girl to be making such a match." + +"I'm glad you have told me about it all," Cicely said. "It must be +splendid to be looking forward to helping your husband in all the good +things he is going to do." + +"Oh, it is. I am ever so happy. And George is the dearest soul--so kind +and thoughtful, for all his cleverness. Cicely, you must meet him." + +"I should love to," said Cicely simply. "I never meet anybody +interesting down here." Her incipient sense of revolt had died down for +the time; she was young enough to live in the present, if the present +was agreeable enough, as it was with this mild, unwonted, holiday stir +about her. She only felt, vaguely, a little sorry for herself. + +"It is lovely," said Beatrice; "but I own I shouldn't care for it all +day and every day. It is rather jolly to feel you're in the middle of +things." + +"Oh, I know it is," said Cicely, laughing. "_I_ was in the middle of +things in London, and I enjoyed it immensely." + +Beatrice's engagement was the subject of another conversation that +evening. When the party got back from the picnic, Cicely set out for the +dower-house. Nobody had been near the old aunts that day; it was seven +o'clock, and there was just time to pay them a short visit. Mr. Birket +was in the hall as she passed through, and she asked him to go with her. + +"I should like to pay my respects to those two admirable ladies," he +said. "They make me feel that I am nobody, which is occasionally good +for the soul of man." + +"Ah," said Cicely, as they went across the garden together, "you are a +wicked Radical, you see, and you want to disestablish their beloved +Church." + +"Do I?" said Mr. Birket. "How truly shocking of me. My dear, don't +believe everything you hear. I am sure that my chief fault is that I +don't possess land. Cicely, how much land must you possess if you really +want to hold your head up? Would a hundred acres or so do the trick? I +suppose not. Two hundred acres, now! I might run to that if the land was +cheap." + +"Two hundred acres, I should think, uncle," said Cicely, "with a +manor-house, and, say, a home farm. And if you could get the advowson of +a living, it would be all to the good." + +"Would it? Thank you for telling me. But then I should have to ask the +parson to dinner, and we might not get on. And I should have to go to +church. I like going to church when I'm not obliged to--that is if +they'll preach me a good sermon. I insist upon a good sermon. But if I +had to go to set an example--well, I shouldn't go; and then I should get +into trouble." + +"Yes, I think you would, uncle. You can't live your own life entirely in +the country. There are responsibilities." + +"Ah, you've thought of that, have you? You do think things over?" + +"Yes. I do think things over. There's nothing much else to do." + +Mr. Birket cast a side glance at her. The sun striking through the trees +of the park flushed translucently the smooth, fair flesh of her cheek +and her ungloved hand. In her white frock, moving freely, with the +springy grace of a young animal, she attracted the eye. Her head, under +her wide hat-brim, was pensive, but she looked up at him with a smile. +"If you could bring yourself to it, you know," she began, and broke off. +"I mean," she began again, "I think you must either be a man, or--or +very young, or not young at all." + +Mr. Birket was a man of very quick perception. His face softened a +little. "My dear," he said, "when you are very young things are +happening every day, when you are a little older anything may happen, +and when you are older still happenings don't matter. But you haven't +got to the third stage yet." + +"No," Cicely said, "I suppose not. Happenings do matter to me; and there +aren't enough of them." + +The two old ladies received Mr. Birket courteously. He was accidentally +allied to the Clintons, and in his own path of life had striven, not +without success, to make himself worthy of the alliance. He came to see +them, two old ladies who had lived all their long lives in a small +country village, had hardly ever been to London, and never out of +England, who had been taught to read and write and to add up pounds, +shillings and pence, and had never felt the lack of a wider education. +He came with his great reputation, his membership of Parliament, his +twenty thousand a year of income earned by the exercise of his brain, +and a judgeship looming in the near future, and as far as they were +concerned he came straight out of the little house on the Bathgate Road, +now fitly occupied by a retired chemist. But far be it from them to show +a brother of their nephew's wife that he was not welcome among them. + +They talked of the weather, of Blackborough Castle, of Jim Graham's +return, and of Walter's coming marriage with Muriel. + +"Well, that will be the first wedding in the new generation," said Mr. +Birket. "But there will be another very soon. Have you heard that my +girl, Beatrice, is going to be married?" + +The old ladies had not heard this piece of news and expressed their +interest. Privately they thought it a little odd that Mr. Birket should +talk as if there were any connection between the two events, although, +of course, it was true that Walter was of the new Birket generation as +well as the new Clinton generation. + +"She is rather young," pursued Mr. Birket, "but George Senhouse is a +steady fellow as well as a successful one. It is George Senhouse she is +going to marry--you have heard of him?" + +"Any relation, if I may ask, to Sir George Senhouse of whom we read in +the House of Parliament?" asked Aunt Ellen. + +"Yes--George Senhouse--that's the man. Not on my side, you know, Miss +Clinton, but I'm sure you won't think that a drawback." + +Indeed it was not. Mr. Birket was a Liberal, and therefore a deadly foe +to the true religion of the Church of England as by compromise +established, and to all the societies for raising mankind to a just +appreciation of that religion which the Misses Clinton supported. And +Sir George Senhouse, a capable and earnest young man, with an historic +name, had early devoted his powers to the defence of those things in the +outside world which they held dear. It was, indeed, a surprising piece +of good fortune for Mr. Birket--and no wonder that he was so evidently +pleased. + +"I hope your daughter will be strengthened to assist him in all the good +work he does," said Aunt Ellen. + +"I sincerely hope she will," said Mr. Birket. "The engagement is not +announced yet; but I tell _you_, Miss Clinton--and Miss Laura." + +"Oh, we should not say a word before the proper time," said Aunt Laura. + +When Cicely and Mr. Birket had gone, Aunt Ellen said, "You may take my +word for it, sister, that it is owing to the Clinton connection. We have +lived a retired life, but I know very well how these things tell." + +As Cicely dressed for dinner--it was the first time she had been alone +during the day--she thought about Jim, and what he had said to her, or +tried to say to her, early in the morning. He had disturbed her mind and +given her something that she had to think about. She had told Mr. Birket +that she thought things over, and it was true; she had courage in that +way. With but little in her education or scope of life to feed it, her +brain was active and inquiring. It worked on all matters that came +within her ken, and she never shirked a question. She was affectionate, +loyal, and naturally light-hearted, but she was critical too, of herself +no less than of others. It would have been easy for her, if she had had +less character, to put away from her, as she had done for the last five +years, the consideration of her relationship to Jim, to have ignored his +approach to her, since she had stopped him from coming closer, and to +have deferred searching her own mind until he should have approached her +again and in such a way that she could no longer have avoided it. But +she had locked up the remembrance of the happenings of five years before +in a cupboard of her brain, and locked the key on it. If she had thought +of it at all, she would have had to think of herself as having made a +present to Jim which he had returned to her. And because she could not +altogether escape from the memory of it, she had come to look upon +herself as a rather foolish and very immature young person in those +days, who had not in the least known what she was about when she allowed +herself to be made love to. + +With regard to Jim her thoughts had been even less definite. His +attitude to her had been so entirely brotherly that she had never felt +the necessity of asking herself whether he was still keeping his +expressed love for her alive, although he would not show it, or whether +he, too, thought of their love-making as a piece of rather childish +folly, and had put it completely behind him. Beyond the first slight +awkwardness of meeting him when he came back from Oxford after his +letter to her, she had felt none in his presence, and until this very +morning her attitude towards him had been frank and her feelings +affectionate. He had made that possible by showing the same attitude and +apparently the same feelings. + +But what she now had to consider was whether he had actually been so +frank towards her as she to him; whether he had not been keeping +something back, and, in effect, playing a part. If it were so, their +relationship was not as she had thought it, and would have to be +adjusted. + +She turned her mind to this point first. It would really be rather +surprising if Jim had been in love with her all this time and she had +not known it. She thought she must have known if it were so, and she +rejected the idea. What she could not get away from--it hardly needed +stating in her mind--was that he had tentatively made love to her that +morning. Or rather--and here she rather congratulated herself on making +the distinction, as a process of pure thought--he had seemed to show her +that marriage was in his mind, perhaps as a thing already settled +between them, although she, for her part, had long since given up +thinking of it as a matter to be considered, however loosely, settled. +Of course she knew he was fond of her, as she was of him. If he was not +in love with her, as once he had been, he might still want to marry her, +as the nicest person he could find, and the requisite impulsion might +come from his return after a long absence. She would be included in his +heightened appreciation of all his home surroundings. These +considerations passed through her mind, in no logical sequence of +thought, but at various points of her self-questioning, and when she was +also thinking further of her own part in what might follow, trying to +discover what she wanted and to decide what she should do. The fact that +he had opened and would probably open again the subject of their +marriage was all that really mattered, and she knew that without +thinking. + +She knew, too, without thinking, that she did not want to engage herself +again to marry Jim, at any rate not yet; and, in fact, she would not do +so. What her honesty of mind impelled her to was the discovery of the +root from which this femininely instinctive decision had flowered. What +were her reasons for not wanting to marry Jim now, or soon; and would +they take from her, when examined, that always present but always +unstated possibility of some day finding herself living at Mountfield as +his wife? She a little dreaded the conclusion, which may have shown that +she had already made up her mind; but it was here that an answer had to +be found, and she faced it bravely. + +She was not ready to marry Jim now, or soon, because in the first place +she did not love him--not in that way--and in the second place because +she did not love, in any way, what he stood for. + +When she said to herself that she did not love Jim her mind recoiled a +little. He was such a good sort, so kind, so reliable. It was just as if +she had said that she did not love her brothers. It was ungracious, and +ungrateful. She did love him. Dear old Jim! And she would be sorry to +cause him pain. But, if she did not want him to make love to her--and +certainly she didn't--she couldn't possibly love him as a girl ought to +love her prospective husband--as Beatrice, for instance, loved her young +parliamentarian. That seemed settled. And because she did think things +over, and was no longer very young indeed, she saw that the change of +circumstances in a girl's life when she was going to be married counted +for something, something of the pleasure, something of the excitement. +It was so with Beatrice, and with Muriel. They loved the men they were +going to marry, but they also got a great deal of satisfaction out of +the change in their surroundings, quite apart from that. What sort of +change would she have as Jim's wife? She would step straight out of one +large house into another, and she would no more be the mistress of +Mountfield than she had been of Kencote. So she told herself. For the +mistresses of houses like Kencote and Mountfield were really a sort of +superior housekeeper, allowed to live with the family, but placed where +they were with the sole object of serving their lords and masters, with +far less independence than a paid housekeeper, who could take her money +and go if she were dissatisfied with her position. + +What a prospect! To live out the rest of her life in the subjection +against which she had already begun to rebel, in exactly similar +surroundings and in exactly the same atmosphere! If she married Jim she +would not even have the pleasure of furnishing her own house. It would +be Jim's house, and the furniture and all the appurtenances of it were +so perfect in Jim's eyes that she knew he would never hear of her +altering a thing. She would not be able to rearrange her drawing-room +without his permission. That was what it meant to marry a country +gentleman of Jim's sort, who disliked "gadding about," and would expect +his wife to go through the same dull round, day after day, all her life +long, while he amused himself in the way that best suited him. + +When she had reached this point, and the end of her toilet together, +Cicely suddenly determined that she would _never_ marry Jim, and if he +pressed her she would tell him so. She didn't want to marry anybody. If +only she could get away from Kencote and be a hospital nurse, or +something of the sort, that was all she wanted. With this rather +unsatisfactory conclusion she cleared her mind, ran downstairs, and +found Jim himself alone in the drawing-room. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +TOWN _versus_ COUNTRY + + +"Hullo!" said Jim. "You're down early." + +"I didn't know you were here," said Cicely, and was annoyed at herself, +and blushed in consequence. + +But whatever conclusion Jim may have drawn from her hurried, rather +eager entrance, her denial, and her blush, he only said, "Mother and +Muriel are upstairs." + +"I wonder why Muriel didn't come to my room," said Cicely. "I think I'll +go and find her." + +"All right," said Jim, and Cicely went out of the room again. + +Jim took up a book from a table, turned over a few leaves, and then +threw it down and went to the window, where he stood looking out, with +his hands in his pockets. + +By and by Mr. Birket came in, and joined him. "Shame to be indoors on an +evening like this," he said. "I should like to dine at nine o'clock in +the summer." + +"What about the servants?" asked Jim. + +"Ah, yes," said Mr. Birket. "Is it true you are a Free Trader, Graham?" + +"Yes, I am," said Jim, with a shade of defiance. + +"So am I," said Mr. Birket. + +Jim smiled. "Well, you've got to be in your party," he said. + +"Not at all. It isn't a question of party. It's a question of +common-sense." + +"That's just what I think. I've looked into it with as much intelligence +as I'm capable of--they say about here that isn't much--and I can't see +why you shouldn't be a Tory as good as any of 'em and still stick to +Free Trade." + +"Nor can I," said Mr. Birket. "But they won't let you. You had better +join us, Graham. Anybody with any dawning of sense must be very +uncomfortable where you are." + +"I should be a jolly sight more uncomfortable with you," said Jim. "And +I've got keen on the Empire since I've been travelling." + +"Oh, if you've seen it," said Mr. Birket, somewhat cryptically, and then +the door opened, and Mrs. Clinton and Mrs. Birket came in together. + +Mrs. Birket was a tall, good-looking woman, who held herself upright, +was well dressed and well informed. She had a good manner, and in mixed +company never allowed a drop in the conversation. But as she talked well +this was not so tiresome as it might have been. She was quoted amongst +her circle, which was a wide one, as an excellent hostess, and the +tribute was deserved, because, in addition to her conversational +aptitude, she had the art of looking after her guests without apparent +effort. She had been strict with her daughters, but they were now her +companions, and devoted to her. Mrs. Clinton talked to her, perhaps more +than to any other woman she knew, and the two were friends, although the +circumstances of their lives were wide apart. + +The two ladies were followed by the four girls, who came in chattering, +and by Mrs. Graham, who, even in evening clothes, with a necklace of +diamonds, looked as if she liked dogs. Then came Humphrey, +extraordinarily well dressed, his dark hair very sleek; and Dick, very +well dressed too, but with less of a town air; and then the Squire, just +upon the stroke of eight, obviously looking forward to his dinner. + +"Nina, what on earth can have become of Tom and Grace?" he asked when he +had greeted Mrs. Graham and Muriel. "No sign of 'em anywhere. We can't +wait, you know." + +Mrs. Clinton glanced at the ormolu clock, representing Time with a +scythe and hour-glass, on the mantelpiece, but said nothing. As it began +to chime the door opened and the Rector and Mrs. Beach were announced. + +"Grace! Grace!" said the Squire, holding up a warning finger, but +smiling affably. "I've never known you run it so fine before." + +"My dear Edward," said Mrs. Beach, with her sweet smile, "Tom broke a +collar stud. It is one of those little accidents that nobody can foresee +and nobody can guard against." + +"Except by laying in a stock," said Mrs. Graham. + +"Well, my dear Grace, you were just _not_ late," said the Squire, "I +will forgive you." + +So they all went in to dinner amicably, and a very good dinner it was, +although there was an entire absence of what the Squire called French +fal-lals. English _versus_ French cooking was a favourite dinner-table +topic of his, and he expatiated on it this evening. "It stands to +reason," he said, "that natural food well cooked--of course it must be +well cooked, before an open range, and so on--is better than made-up +stuff. Now what have we got this evening?" He put on his gold-rimmed +glasses and took up a menu-card. A shade of annoyance passed over his +face when he discovered that it was written in French. "Who wrote this +rubbish?" he asked, looking over his glasses at Mrs. Clinton. + +"I did, father," said Cicely, blushing. + +"Good for you, Siskin!" broke in Dick. "Very well done. It gives the +entertainment an air." + +"I helped with the accents," said Angela. + +"Well," said the Squire, "I don't like it. As far as I can make out it's +a purely English dinner, except, perhaps, the soup, and it ought to be +described in English. What's the good of calling roast lamb 'agneau +rôti'?" He pronounced it "rotty," with an inflection of scorn. "There's +no sense in it. But as I was saying--where are you going to find better +food than salmon and roast lamb, new potatoes, asparagus, peas--of +course they're forced, but they're English--and so on?" He threw down +the card and took off his glasses. "Everything grown on the place except +the salmon, which old Humphrey Meadshire sent me." + +"You've left out the 'Pêche à la Melba'," said Mrs. Beach. "It is the +crowning point of the whole dinner. But I quite agree with you, Edward, +you couldn't have a better one anywhere." + +"Rather on the heavy side," commented Humphrey. + +"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "The fruits of the earth in due season, +or, if possible, a little before it; that's the best dinner any man can +have." + +"Every country has its own cooking," said Mrs. Birket. "I really think +the English is the best if it is well done." + +"Which it very seldom is," said Mrs. Graham. + +"Of course this is the very best time of all the year for it," said the +Rector. "Did you bring back any new curry recipes from India, Jim?" + +Jim replied that he had not, and the Squire said, "By the bye, Jim, I +see that fellow Mackenzie came home in the _Punjaub_. The papers are +full of him this evening. Did you happen to meet him?" + +Jim said that he had shared the same cabin, and that Mackenzie had +promised to spend a week-end at Mountfield some time or other. + +"We are going to make a lion of him in London," said Humphrey. "We +haven't had an explorer for a long time. I believe he's shaggy enough to +be a great success." + +"You must bring him over to dine, Jim," said the Squire. "It's +interesting to hear about these fellows who trot all over the world. But +heavens, what a life!" + +"A very good life, I think," said Mr. Birket. "Not much chance to get +moss-grown." + +"Now, I'm sure that is a dig at us people who live in the country," said +Mrs. Beach. "Because _you_ don't get moss-grown, Mr. Birket." + +"He would if he lived in the country," said Mrs. Birket. "He would lie +on his back all day long and do nothing at all. He has an unequalled +power of doing nothing." + +"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "I'm a very hard worker. Cicely caught me +at it at six o'clock this morning, didn't you, my dear?" + +"You've no responsibilities, Herbert," the Squire broke in. "If you +owned land you wouldn't want to lie on your back." + +"He is trying to make the land lie on _our_ backs," said Dick. "We +shan't have any left soon." + +"All you Radicals," began the Squire; but Mrs. Beach had something to +say: "Mr. Birket, you despise us country folk at the bottom of your +heart. I'm sure you do." + +"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "I think you live a peaceful and idyllic +existence, and are much to be envied." + +"Peaceful!" the Squire snorted. "That's all you Radicals know about it. +I assure you we work as hard as anybody, and get less return for it. I +wish you'd tell your precious leaders so, Herbert." + +"I will," said Mr. Birket. + +"What with one thing and another," proceeded the Squire, "the days are +gone as soon as they are begun." + +"But when they are finished something has always been done," said Mrs. +Beach. "That is the difference between a town life and a country life. +In London you are immensely busy and tire yourself to death, but you've +nothing to show for it." + +"Your brains are sharpened up a bit," said Humphrey. + +"If you have any," suggested Mrs. Graham. + +"Mother, don't be rude," said Muriel. + +"The remark had no personal bearing," said Humphrey, with a grin. + +"I didn't say so," retorted Mrs. Graham. + +"I think it is a matter of temperament," said Mrs. Birket. "Everybody +who lives in London likes the country, and everybody who lives in the +country likes London--for a change. But if you had to live in one or the +other all the year round----" + +"I would choose the country," said Mrs. Beach, "and I'm sure you would, +Edward." + +"Of course I would," said the Squire. "I do live in the country all the +year round. I've had enough of London to last me all my life." + +"Two for the country," said Dick. "Now we'll go round the table. Mother, +where do your tastes lie?" + +Mrs. Clinton did not reply for a moment; then she said, "I don't think I +should mind which it was if I had my family round me." + +"Oh, come now, Nina," said the Squire, "that's no answer. Surely _you_ +don't want to become a town madam." + +"You mustn't bring pressure, Edward," said Mrs. Beach. "We shall have +quite enough on our side." + +"Mother neutral," said Dick. "Jim?" + +"Oh, the country," said Jim. + +"Three for the country. Angela?" + +"London." + +"You must give a reason," said Mrs. Beach. + +Angela laughed. "I like music, and plays," she said, "and hearing people +talk." + +"Well, surely you can hear people talk in the country," said the Squire. + +"And such talk!" added Mrs. Graham, at which everybody laughed except +the Squire, who saw no humour in the remark. + +"Three to one," said Dick. "Aunt Grace, you've had your turn. Now it's +mine. I don't want to bury myself yet awhile, but when the time comes I +expect I shall shy at London as the governor does. I'm country." + +"Why?" asked Angela. + +"Oh, because there's more to do. Now then, Beatrice. You're London, I +suppose." + +"Yes," said Beatrice. "Because there's more to do." + +"Good for you! That's four to two. Mrs. Graham!" + +"Can you ask?" said that lady. "And I won't give any reasons. I like the +country best because I like it best." + +"Father is country. Five to two." + +"And my reason," said the Squire, "is that every man who doesn't like +the country best, when he can get it, isn't a man at all. He's a +popinjay." + +"Well, at the risk of being called the feminine for popinjay," said Mrs. +Birket, with a smile, "I must choose London." + +"Oh, but I don't include the women, my dear Emmeline," said the Squire. +"And I don't include men like Herbert either, who've got their work to +do. I'm thinking of the fellows who peacock about on pavements when they +might be doing 'emselves good hunting, or some such pursuit. It's +country sport that's good for a man, keeps him strong and healthy; and +he sees things in the proper light too. England was a better country +than it is now when the House of Commons was chiefly made up of country +gentlemen. You didn't hear anything about this preposterous socialism +then. I tell you, the country gentlemen are the backbone of England, and +your party will find it out when you've turned them out of the country." + +"Oh, but we shan't do that," said Mr. Birket. "That would be too +dreadful." + +"No politics," said Dick. "We're five to three. Tom, you're a country +man, I'm sure." + +But the Rector was not at all sure that he was. He sometimes thought +that people were more interesting than Nature. On the whole, he thought +he would choose the town. + +"Then I change round," said Mrs. Beach. "Where thou goest, Tom, I will +go. Dick, I'm town." + +"Then that changes the game. Town's one up. Muriel, be careful." + +"Certainly not country," said Muriel. "I've had enough of it. I think +the best place to live in is a suburb." + +"Melbury Park!" laughed the Squire. "Ha! ha!" + +"That's town," said Dick. "Four to six. We yokels are getting worsted." + +"I'll come to your rescue," said Humphrey. "I don't want to be cut off +with a shilling. Give me a big country house and a season ticket, and +I'm with you." + +"Five to six then. Now, Siskin, make it all square." + +"No," said Cicely. "I hate the country." + +"What!" exclaimed the Squire. + +"It's so dreadfully dull," said Cicely. "There's nothing in the world to +do." + +"But this is a revolt!" said Dick. + +"Nothing to do!" echoed the Squire, in a voice of impatient censure. +"There's everything to do. Don't talk nonsense, Cicely. You have got to +live in the country whether you like it or not, so you had better make +the best of it." + +"Very sound advice," said Mr. Birket. "I follow it myself. It may +surprise the company, but I'm for the country. Cows enrapture me, and as +for the buttercups, there's no flower like 'em." + +"Town has it," said Dick. "Seven to six--a very close match." + + * * * * * + +When Mr. and Mrs. Birket were alone together that night, Mr. Birket +said, "My dear, I think Edward Clinton gets more intolerable every time +I see him. I hope I have succeeded in disguising that opinion." + +"Perfectly, Herbert," said his wife. "And you must please continue to do +so for Nina's sake." + +Mr. Birket sighed. "Poor dear Nina!" he said. "She was so bright as a +girl. If she hadn't married that dunderhead she'd have been a happy +woman. I bet she isn't now. He has crushed every bit of initiative out +of her. And I'll tell you what, my dear, he'll crush it out of Cicely if +she doesn't get away from these deadly surroundings. Heavens, what a +life for a clever girl!" + +"Do you think Cicely clever?" + +"She doesn't know anything, because they have never let her learn +anything. But she thinks for herself, and she's beginning to kick at it +all. If she'd had the chances our girls have had, she'd have made use of +them. Can't we give her a chance, Emmeline? She's a particularly nice +girl. Have her up to London for a month or two. The girls are fond of +her--and you're fond of her too, aren't you?" + +"Yes, I'm very fond of her," said Mrs. Birket. + +"Well--then, why not?" + +"Do you think Edward would let her come?" + +"My private opinion of Edward would probably surprise him, if he could +hear it, but I don't think even he would go so far as to deny his +children a pleasure so long as it didn't put him out personally." + +"Well, I'll ask, if you like. I should be very glad to have her. But +some one might fall in love with her, you know, Herbert. She's very +pretty, and there's always the chance." + +"And why on earth not? He doesn't want to keep her an old maid, does +he?" + +"He wants her to marry Jim Graham." + +"I thought that was all over years ago." + +"As far as she is concerned, perhaps. I'm sure Edward still looks upon +it as going to happen some day." + +"I don't believe she'll marry Graham, even if he wants her. He's just +such another as Edward, with a trifle more sense." + +"No, Herbert, he is quite different. I like him. I think it would be a +good thing for Cicely to marry him." + +"She ought to have the chance of seeing other fellows. Then, if she +likes to embark afresh on a vegetable existence, it will be her own +choice. Of course, you needn't vegetate, living in the country, but the +wife of Jim Graham probably would. Give her her chance, anyway." + +But this particular chance was denied to Cicely. The Squire wouldn't +hear of it. "My dear Emmeline," he said, "it is very kind of you--very +kind of you indeed. But she'd only get unsettled. She's got maggots in +her head already. I hope some day to see her married to a country +gentleman, like her mother before her. Though I say it, no women could +be better off. Until the time comes, it's best for Cicely to stay at +home." + +"Idiot!" said Mr. Birket, when the decision was conveyed to him. "I was +mistaken in him. I think now he would be capable of any infamy. Don't +tell Cicely, Emmeline." + +But the Squire told her, and rebuked her because the invitation had been +offered. "What you have to do," he said, "is to make yourself happy at +home. Heaven knows there's enough to make you so. You have everything +that a girl can want. For goodness' sake be contented with it, and don't +always want to be gadding about." + +Cicely felt too sore to answer him, and retired as soon as his homily +was over. In the afternoon--it was on Sunday--she went for a walk with +her uncle. He did not express himself to her as he had done to Mrs. +Birket, but gave her the impression that he thought her father's refusal +unfortunate, but not unreasonable, smiling inwardly to himself as he did +so. + +"I should have loved to come, you know, Uncle Herbert," she said. + +"And we should have loved to have you, my dear," he said. "But, after +all, Kencote is a very jolly place, and it's your own fault if you're +bored in it. Nobody ought to be bored anywhere. I never am." + +"Well then, please tell me what to do with myself." + +"What do you do, as it is?" + +"I read a little, and try to paint, and----" + +"Then read more, and try to paint better. Effort, my dear,--that's the +secret of life. Give yourself some trouble." + +He gave her more advice as they walked and talked together, and she +listened to him submissively, and became interested in what he said to +her. + +"I should like to make myself useful in some way," she said. "I don't +want to spend all my life amusing myself or even improving myself." + +"Oh, improving yourself! That's not quite the way to put it. Expressing +yourself--that's what you want to do--what everybody ought to do. And +look here, my dear, when you say you want to make yourself useful--I +suppose you mean hospital nursing or something of that sort, eh?" + +Cicely laughed. "I have thought of that," she said. + +"Well then, don't think of it any more. It's not the way--at least not +for you. You make yourself useful when you make yourself loved. That's a +woman's sphere, and I don't care if all the suffragettes in the country +hear me say it. A woman ought to be loved in one way or another by +everybody around her; and if she is, then she's doing more in the world +than ninety-nine men out of a hundred. Men want opportunities. Every +woman has them already. Somebody is dependent on her, and the more the +better for her--and the world. What would your old aunts do without you, +or your mother, or indeed anybody in the place? They would all miss you, +every one. Don't run away with the idea you're not wanted. Of course +you're wanted. _We_ want you, only we can't have you because they want +you here." + +"You give me a better conceit of myself," she said gratefully. + +"Keep it, my dear, keep it," said Mr. Birket. "The better conceit we +have of ourselves the more we accomplish. Now I think we'd better be +turning back." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A WEDDING + + +The London newspapers devoted small space, if any, to the wedding of +Walter Clinton, Esq., M.D., third son of Edward Clinton, Esq., of +Kencote, Meadshire, and Muriel, only daughter of the late Alexander +Graham, Esq., and the Honourable Mrs. Graham of Mountfield, Meadshire, +but the _Bathgate Herald and South Meadshire Advertiser_ devoted two of +its valuable columns to a description of the ceremony, a list of the +distinguished guests present, and a catalogue of the wedding presents. +No name that could possibly be included was left out. The confectioner +who supplied the cake, the head gardeners at Kencote and Mountfield +who--obligingly--supplied the floral decorations; the organist who +presided, as organists always do, at the organ, and gave a rendering, a +very inefficient one, of Mendelssohn's Wedding March; the schoolmaster +who looked after the children who strewed flowers on the churchyard +path; the coachman who drove the happy pair to the station; the +station-master who arranged for them a little salvo of his own, which +took the form of fog-signals, as the train came in--they were all there, +and there was not an error in their initials or in the spelling of their +names, although there were a good many in the list of distinguished +guests, and still more in the long catalogue of presents. + +There was a large number of presents, more than enough to open the eyes +of the readers of the _Melbury Park Chronicle and North London +Intelligencer_, which, by courtesy of its contemporary, printed the +account in full, except for the omission of local names, and in _minion_ +instead of _bourgeois_ type. Some of the presents were valuable and +others were expensively useless, and the opinion expressed in Melbury +Park was that the doctor couldn't possibly find room for them all in his +house and would have to take a bigger one. Melbury Park opened its eyes +still wider at the number of titles represented amongst the donors, for +the Clintons, as has been said, had frequently married blood, and many +of their relations were represented, Walter had been popular with his +school and college friends, and on Muriel's side the Conroys and their +numerous connections had come down handsomely in the way of Georgian +sugar-sifters, gold and enamelled umbrella tops, silver bowls and +baskets and bridge boxes, writing-sets, and candlesticks, and other +things more or less adapted to the use of a doctor's wife in a rather +poor suburb of London. + +The wedding, if not "a scene of indescribable beauty, fashion and +profusion," as the Bathgate reporter, scenting promotion, described it, +was a very pretty one. The two big houses produced for the occasion a +sufficient number of guests, and the surrounding country of neighbours, +to fill Mountfield church with a congregation that was certainly well +dressed, if not noticeably reverent. The bride looked beautiful, if a +trifle pale, under her veil and orange blossoms, and the bridegroom as +gallant as could be expected under the circumstances. There were six +bridesmaids, the Honourable Olivia and Martha Conroy and Miss Evelyn +Graham, cousins of the bride, and the Misses Cicely, Joan, and Nancy +Clinton, sisters of the bridegroom, who were attired--but why go further +into these details, which were so fully gone into in the journals +already mentioned? Suffice it to say that the old starling, in a new +gown and the first _toque_ she had ever worn, wept tears of pride at the +appearance of her pupils, and told them afterwards, most unwisely, that +the Misses Olivia and Martha Conroy could not hold a candle to them in +respect of good looks. + +The twins--there is no gainsaying it--did look angelic, with their blue +eyes and fair hair, and the Misses Conroy, who were of the same sort of +age, were not so well favoured by nature; but that was no reason why +Joan should have told them that they were a plain-headed pair, and Nancy +that they had spoilt the whole show, when some trifling dispute arose +between them at the close of a long day's enthusiastic friendship. The +Misses Conroy, though deficient in beauty, were not slow in retort, and +but for the fine clothes in which all four were attired, it is to be +feared that the quarrel would have been pushed to extremes. It was a +regrettable incident, but fortunately took place in a retired corner of +the grounds, and stopped short of actual violence. + +Jim Graham gave his sister away, and Dick acted as best man to his +brother, piloting him through the various pitfalls that befall a +bridegroom with the same cool efficiency as he displayed in all +emergencies, great or small. It was this characteristic which chiefly +differentiated him from his father, who may have been efficient, but was +not cool. + +Jim Graham's eyes often rested on Cicely during the wedding ceremony. +She was by far the prettiest of the bridesmaids, and it was little +wonder if his thoughts went forward to the time when he and she would be +playing the leading part in a similar ceremony. But there was some +uneasiness mixed with these anticipations. Cicely was not quite the same +towards him as she had been before his journey, although since that +morning by the lake he had made no attempt to depart from the brotherly +intimacy which he had told himself was the best he had a right to until +he could claim her for his own. She had never seemed quite at her ease +with him, and he was beginning to follow up the idea, in his slow, +tenacious way, that his wooing, when he should be ready for it, would +have to be done all over again--that it might not be easy to claim her +for his own. And, of course, that made him desire her all the more, and +added in his eyes to her grace and girlish beauty. + +Afterwards, in the house and on the lawn, where a band played and a tent +for refreshments had been put up, he talked to her whenever he could and +did his best to keep a cheerful, careless air, succeeding so well that +no one observing him would have guessed that he had some difficulty in +doing so. Except Cicely; she felt the constraint. She felt that he was +in process of marking the difference in her attitude towards him, and +was impatient of the slow, ruminating observation of which she would be +the object. As long as he was natural with her she would do her best to +keep up the same friendly and even affectionate relations which had +existed between them up to a year ago, but she could not help a slight +spice of irritation creeping into her manner in face of that subtle +change behind his ordinary address. She was trying to clear up her +thoughts on many matters, and Jim was the last person in the world to +help her. She wanted to be left alone. If only he would do that! It was +the only possible way by which he could gain the end which, even now, +she was not quite sure that she would refuse him in the long-run. + +"Well, you needn't be snappy," Jim said to her, with a good-humoured +smile on his placid face when he had asked her for further details of +her visit to London. + +She made herself smile in return. "Was I?" she said. "I didn't mean to +be; but I have been home nearly a month now, and I'm rather tired of +talking about London." + +"All right," replied Jim. "I agree that this is a better place. Come and +have a look at the nags. There has been such a bustle that I haven't +been near them to-day." + +But Cicely refused to go and look at the nags. Nags were rather a sore +point with her, and the constant inspection and weighing of the +qualities of those at Kencote was enough for her without the addition of +the stables at Mountfield. So they went back from the rose-garden where +they were standing to join the crowd on the lawn. + +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura sat in the shade of a big cedar and held a +small reception. During their long lives they had been of scarcely any +account in the ebb and flow of Clinton affairs, but the tide of years +had shelved them on a little rock of importance, and they were paid +court to because of their age. Old Lord Meadshire was the only other +member of their generation left alive. He was their first cousin. His +mother had been the youngest of Merchant Jack's five daughters. He had +never failed to pay them courteous attention whenever he had been at +Kencote, and he was talking to them now, as Cicely joined them, of the +days when they were all young together. The two old ladies had quite +come to believe that they and their cousin Humphrey had spent a large +part of their childhood together, although he was fifteen years younger +than Aunt Ellen, and his visits to Kencote during his youth had been +extremely rare. Colonel Thomas had been too busy with his chosen +pursuits to have much time for interchange of social duties, proclaimed +himself a fish out of water, and behaved like one, whenever he went to +the house of his youngest sister, and had little to offer a lady of high +social importance and tastes in a visit to his own. + +"Well, my dear," Lord Meadshire said to Cicely, as she approached, "I +was reminding your aunts of the time when we used to drive over from +Melford to Kencote in a carriage with postillions. Very few railways in +those days. We old people like to put our heads together and talk about +the past sometimes. I recollect my grandfather--_our_ grandfather," and +he bowed to the two old ladies--"Merchant Jack they used to call him +here, because he had made his money in the city as younger sons used to +do in those days, and are beginning to do again now, but they don't go +into trade as they did then; and he was born in the year of the Battle +of Culloden. That takes you back--what?" + +"I recollect," said Aunt Ellen in a slow, careful voice, "when our Uncle +John used to come down to Kencote by the four-horse coach, and post from +Bathgate." + +"Ah," said Lord Meadshire sympathetically, "I never saw my Uncle John, +to my knowledge, though he left me a hundred pounds in his will. I +recollect I spent it on a tie-pin. I was an extravagant young dog in +those days, my dear. You wouldn't have suspected me of spending a +hundred pounds on a tie-pin, would you?" + +"Uncle John was very kind to us," said Aunt Laura. "There were six of +us, but he never came to the house without bringing us each a little +present." + +"He was always dressed in black and wore a tie-wig," said Aunt Ellen. +"Our dear father and he were very dissimilar, but our father relied on +his judgment. It was he who advised him to send Edward to Bathgate +Grammar School." + +"He would take a kind interest in our pursuits," said Aunt Laura, "and +would always walk with us and spend part of the day with us, however +occupied he might be with our father." + +"Edward was very high-spirited as a child," said Aunt Ellen, "and our +dear father did not sufficiently realise that if he encouraged him to +break away from his lessons, which we all took it in turns to give him, +it made him difficult to teach." + +"And when Uncle John went away in the morning he gave us each one a +present of five new sovereigns wrapped in tissue paper," said Aunt +Laura, "and he would say, 'That is to buy fal-lals with.'" + +"So our Uncle John and our Uncle Giles, the Rector, persuaded our father +to send Edward to Bathgate Grammar School, where he remained until he +went to Eton, riding over there on Monday morning and returning home on +Saturday," concluded Aunt Ellen. + +Lord Meadshire took his leave of the old ladies, and Aunt Ellen said, "I +am afraid that our cousin Humphrey is ageing. We do not see him as much +as we used to do. He was very frequently at Kencote in the old days, and +we were always pleased to see him. With the exception of your dear +father, there is no man for whom I have a greater regard." + +"He is a darling," said Cicely. "He is as kind as possible to everybody. +Would you like me to get you anything, Aunt Ellen? I must go to Muriel +now." + +"No thank you, my dear," said Aunt Ellen. "Your Aunt Laura and I have +had sufficient. We will just rest quietly in the shade, and I have no +doubt that some others of our kind friends will come and talk to us." + +It was getting towards the time for the bride and bridegroom to depart +for their honeymoon, which they were to spend in Norway. Walter had had +no holiday of any sort that year and had thought the desire for solitude +incumbent on newly married couples might reasonably be conjoined with +the desire for catching salmon; and Muriel had agreed with him. + +The men were beginning to show a tendency to separate from the ladies. +The Rector of Kencote and the Vicar of Melbury Park, a new friend of +Walter's who happened, as the Squire put it, to be a gentleman, were +talking together by the buffet under the tent. The Vicar, who was thin +and elderly, and looked jaded, was saying that the refreshment to mind +and spirit, to say nothing of body, which came from living close to +Nature was incalculable, and the Rector was agreeing with him, mentally +reserving his opinion that the real refreshment to mind and spirit, to +say nothing of body, was to be found, if a man were strong enough to +find it, in hard and never-ending work in a town. + +At the other end of the buffet Dick and Humphrey and Jim Graham were +eating sandwiches and drinking champagne. They were talking of fishing, +with reference to Walter's approaching visit to a water which all four +of them had once fished together. + +"It is rather sad, you know," said Humphrey. "Remember what a good time +we had, Jim? It'll never happen again. I hate a wedding. It'll be you +next." + +Jim looked at him inscrutably. "Or Dick," he said. + +Dick put down his glass. "I'm not a starter," he said. "I must go and +see that Walter doesn't forget to change his tie." + +The Squire and Mrs. Clinton and Lord Conroy were in a group together on +the lawn. Lord Conroy, bluff and bucolic, was telling Mrs. Clinton about +his own marriage, fifteen years before. "Never thought I should do it," +he said, "never. There was I, forty and more, but sound, Mrs. Clinton, +mind you, sound as a bell, though no beauty--ha, ha! And there was my +lady, twenty odd, as pretty as paint, and with half the young fellows in +London after her. I said, 'Come now, will you have me? Will you or won't +you? I'm not going near London,' I said, 'not once in five years, and I +don't like soup. Otherwise you'll have your own way and you'll find me +easy to get on with.' She took me, and here we are now. I don't believe +there's a happier couple in England. I believe in marrying, myself. Wish +I'd done it when I was a young fellow, only then I shouldn't have got my +lady. I'm very glad to see my niece married to such a nice young fellow +as your son--very glad indeed; and my sister tells me there's likely to +be another wedding in both families before long--eh? Well, I mustn't be +too inquisitive; but Jim's a nice young fellow too, a very nice young +fellow, though as obstinate as the devil about this Radical kink he's +got in his brain." + +"Oh, he'll get over that," said the Squire. "It isn't sense, you know, +going against the best brains in the country; I tell him we're not _all_ +likely to be wrong. And he's got a stake, too. It don't do to play old +Harry with politics when you've got a stake." + +"Gad, no," assented Lord Conroy. "We've got to stand together. I'm +afraid your brother's against us, though, eh, Mrs. Clinton?" + +"Oh, Herbert!" said the Squire. "He's a lawyer, and they can always make +white black if it suits 'em." + +Mrs. Clinton flushed faintly, and Lord Conroy said, "He's a very rising +man, though, and not so advanced as some. He told me a story just now +about a judge and one of those Suffragettes, as they call 'em, and I +haven't heard such a good story for many a long day." And Lord Conroy +laughed very heartily, but did not repeat the story. + +The carriage drove round to the door, the coachman and the horses +adorned with white favours, and the guests drifted towards the house and +into the big hall. Walter and Dick came down the staircase, and Muriel +and her mother and Cicely followed immediately afterwards. Muriel's eyes +were wet, but she was merry and talkative, and Mrs. Graham was more +brusque in her speech than usual, but very talkative too. Every one +crowded round them, and Walter had some difficulty in leading his bride +through the throng. There was laughter and hand-shaking and a general +polite uproar. At last they got themselves into the carriage, which +rolled away with them to their new life. It was really Joan and Nancy +who had conceived the idea of tying a pair of goloshes on behind, but +the Misses Conroy had provided them, one apiece, and claimed an equal +share in the suggestion. It was arising out of this that their quarrel +presently ensued, and they might not have quarrelled at all had not Miss +Bird told the twins in the hearing of their friends that where they had +learned such a vulgar notion passed her comprehension. It was really a +dispute that did all four young ladies very great credit. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +FOOD AND RAIMENT + + +The Rector gave out his text, "Is not the life more than meat and the +body more than raiment?" and proceeded to read his homily in a +monotonous, sweet-toned voice which had all the good effects of a +sleeping-draught and none of the bad ones. + +Kencote church was old, and untouched by modern restoration or Catholic +zeal. The great west door was open, and framed a bright picture of trees +and grass and cloudless sky. The hot sunshine of an August morning shone +through the traceried windows in the nave, and threw a square of bright +colour from the little memorial window in the chancel on to the wide, +uneven stone pavement. But the church was cool, with the coolness of +ancient, stone-built places, which have resisted for centuries the +attacks of sun and storm alike, and gained something of the tranquil +insensibility of age. + +The congregation was penned, for the most part, in high pews. When they +stood up to sing they presented a few score of heads and shoulders above +the squares and oblongs of dark woodwork; when they sat or knelt the +nave seemed to be suddenly emptied of worshippers, and the drone of the +responses mounting up to the raftered roof had a curious effect, and +seemed to be the voice of the old church itself, paying its tribute to +the unseen mysteries of the long ages of faith. + +On the north side of the chancel, which was two steps higher than the +nave, was the Squire's pew. Its occupants were shielded from the gaze of +those in the body of the church by a faded red curtain hung on an iron +rail, but the Squire always drew it boldly aside during the exhortation +and surveyed the congregation, the greater part of which was dependent +on him for a livelihood and attended church as an undergraduate "keeps +chapels," for fear of unpleasant consequences. + +The Squire's pew occupied the whole of the space usually devoted to the +organ and the vestry in modern built churches, and had a separate +entrance from the churchyard. It had a wooden floor, upon which was a +worn blue carpet sprinkled with yellow fleurs de lis. The big hassocks +and the seat that ran along the north wall were covered with the same +material. In front of the fixed bench was a row of heavy chairs; in the +wall opposite to the curtain was a fireplace. Mrs. Clinton occupied the +chair nearest to the fire, which was always lit early on Sunday morning +in the winter, but owing partly to the out-of-date fashion of the grate +and partly to the height and extent of the church, gave no more heat +than was comfortable to those immediately within its radius, and none at +all to those a little way from it. The Squire himself remained outside +its grateful influence. His large, healthy frame, well covered with +flesh, enabled him to dispense with artificial warmth during his hour +and a half's occupation of the family pew, and also to do his duty by +using the last of the row of chairs and hassocks, and so to command the +opportunities afforded by the red curtain. + +On the stone walls above the wainscoting were hung great hatchments, the +canvas of some fraying away from the black quadrangular frames after a +lapse of years, and none of them very recently hung there. The front of +the pew was open to the chancel, and commanded a full view of the +reading-desk and a side glimpse of the pulpit through the bars of the +carved, rather battered rood-screen. Flanked by the reading-desk on one +side and the harmonium on the other were the benches occupied by the +school-children who formed the choir, and behind them were other benches +devoted to the use of the Squire's household, whose devotions were +screened from the gaze of the common worshippers by no curtain, and who, +therefore--maids, middle-aged women, and spruce men-servants--provided a +source of interested rumination when heads were raised above the wooden +partitions, and bonnets, mantles, and broadcloth could be examined, and +perhaps envied, at leisure. + +Cicely had played the Rector up into the pulpit with the last verse of a +hymn, had found the place from which she would presently play him down +again with the tune of another, had propped the open book on the desk of +the harmonium, and had then slid noiselessly into a chair on a line with +the front choir bench, where she now sat with her hands in her lap, +facing the members of her assembled family, sometimes looking down at +the memorial brass of Sir Richard Clinton, knight, obiit 1445, which was +let into the pavement at her feet, sometimes, through the open doors of +the rood screen, to where that bright picture of sunlit green shone out +of the surrounding gloom at the end of the aisle. + +"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" The text had +been given out twice and carefully indexed each time. The Squire had +fitted his gold-rimmed glasses on to his nose and tracked down the +passage in his big Bible. Having satisfied himself that the words +announced were identical with the words printed, he had put the Bible on +the narrow shelf in front of him and closed his eyes. His first nod had +followed, as usual, about three minutes after the commencement of the +sermon. He had then opened his eyes wide, met the fascinated gaze of a +small singing-girl opposite to him, glared at her, and, having reduced +her to a state of cataleptic terror, pushed aside the red curtain and +transferred his glare to the body of the church. The bald head of a +respectable farmer and the bonnet of his wife, which were all he could +see of the congregation at the moment, assured him that all was well. He +drew the curtain again and went comfortably to sleep without further +ado. + +Mrs. Clinton, at the other end of the row, sat quite still, with no more +evidence of mental effort on her comely, middle-aged face than was +necessary for the due reception of the Rector's ideas, and that was very +little. Joan and Nancy sat one on either side of Miss Bird, Joan next to +her mother. They looked about everywhere but at the preacher, and bided +with what patience they possessed the end of the discourse, aided +thereto by a watchful eye and an occasional admonitory peck from the old +starling. Dick had come in late and settled himself upon the seat behind +the row of chairs. Upon the commencement of the sermon he had put his +back against the partition supporting the curtain, and his long legs up +on the bench in front of him, and by the look on his lean, sunburnt face +was apparently resting his brain as well as his body. + +"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" The +technique of the Rector's sermons involved the repetition of his text at +stated intervals. Cicely thought, as the words fell on her ears for the +third or fourth time, that she could have supplied a meaning to them +which had escaped the preacher. Food and raiment! That represented all +the things amongst which she had been brought up, the large, comfortable +rooms in the big house, the abundant, punctual meals, the tribe of +servants, the clothes and the trinkets, the gardens and stables, +well-stocked and well-filled, the home farm, kept up to supply the needs +of the large household, everything that came to the children of a +well-to-do country gentleman as a matter of course, and made life +easy--but oh, how dull! + +No one seeing her sitting there quietly, her slender, ungloved hands +lying in her lap, prettily dressed in a cool summer frock and a shady, +flower-trimmed hat, with the jewelled chains and bracelets and brooches +of a rich man's daughter rousing the admiring envy of the +school-children, whose weekly excitement it was to count them up--nobody +would have thought that under the plaited tresses of this young girl's +shapely head was a brain seething in revolt, or that the silken laces of +her bodice muffled the beatings of a heart suffocated by the luxurious +dulness of a life which she now told herself had become insupportable. +Cicely had thought a great deal since her visit to London and Muriel's +wedding, and had arrived at this conclusion--that she was suffocating, +and that her life was insupportable. + +She raised her eyes and glanced at her father, wrapped in the pleasant +slumber that overtakes healthy, out-of-door men when they are forced for +a time into unwonted quiescence, and at her brother, calm and +self-satisfied, dressed with a correct elaboration that was only +unobtrusive because it was so expensively perfect. The men of the +family--everything was done to bring them honour and gratification. They +had everything they wanted and did what they would. It was to them that +tribute and obedience were paid by every one around them, including +their own womenfolk. + +She looked at her two young sisters. They were happy enough in their +free and healthy childhood; so had she been at their age, when the +spacious house and the big gardens, the stables and the farm and the +open country had provided everything she needed for her amusement. But +even then there had been the irksome restraint exercised by "the old +starling" and the fixed rules of the house to spoil her freedom, while +her brothers had been away at Eton, or at Oxford or Cambridge, trying +their wings and preparing for the unfettered delights of well-endowed +manhood. + +She looked at her mother, placid and motionless. Her mother was +something of an enigma, even to her, for to those who knew her well she +always seemed to be hiding something, something in her character, which +yet made its mark in spite of the subjection in which she lived. Cicely +loved her mother, but she thought of her now with the least little shade +of contempt, which she would have been shocked to recognise as such. Why +had she been content to bring all the hopes and ambitions that must have +stirred her girlhood thus into subjection? What was the range of her +life now? Ruling her large house with a single eye to the convenience of +her lord and master, liable to be scolded before her children or her +household if anything went wrong; blamed if the faults of any one of the +small army of servants reached the point at which it disturbed his ease; +driving out in her fine carriage to pay dull calls on dull neighbours; +looking after the comfort of ungrateful villagers; going to church; +going to dinner-parties; reading; sewing; gardening under pain of the +head gardener's displeasure, which was always backed up by the Squire if +complaint was brought to him that she had braved it; getting up in the +morning and going to bed at night, at stated hours without variation; +never leaving her cage of confined luxury, except when it suited his +convenience that she should leave it with him. She was nothing but a +slave to his whims and prejudices, and so were all the women of the +family, slaves to wait upon and defer humbly and obediently to their +mankind. + +"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" It was the +men who enjoyed the life, and the meat and raiment as well. While the +women vegetated at home, they went out into the world. It was true that +they were always pleased to come back again, and no wonder, when +everything was there that could minister to their amusement. It was +quite different for her, living at home all the year round. She was +quite sick of it. Why was not her father like other men of his wealth +and lineage, who had their country houses and their country sports, but +did not spend the whole year over them? Daughters of men of far less +established position than the Squire went to London, went abroad, +visited constantly at other country houses, and saw many guests in their +own houses. Her own brothers did all these things, except the last. They +seldom brought their friends to Kencote, she supposed because it was not +like other big country houses, at any rate not like the houses at which +they stayed. It was old-fashioned, not amusing enough; shooting parties +were nearly always made up from amongst neighbours, and if any one +stayed in the house to shoot, or for the few winter balls, it was nearly +always a relation, or at best a party of relations. And the very few +visits Cicely had ever paid had been to the houses of relations, some of +them amusing, others not at all so. + +She was now rather ashamed of her diatribe to Muriel Graham about her +London visit. She must have given Muriel the impression that what she +hungered for was smart society. She remembered that she had compared the +ball at the house of her aunt, Mrs. Birket, unfavourably with those at +other houses at which she had danced, and blushed and fidgeted with her +fingers when she thought of this. She liked staying with Mrs. Birket +better than with any other of her relations, and she was still sore at +her father's refusal to allow her to spend some months with her. She met +clever, interesting people there, she was always made much of, and she +admired and envied her cousins. They had travelled, they heard music, +saw plays and pictures, read books; and they could talk upon all these +subjects, as well as upon politics and upon what was going on in the big +world that really mattered--not superficially, but as if they were the +things that interested them most, as she knew they were. It was that +kind of life she really longed for; she had only got her thoughts a +little muddled in London because she had been rather humiliated in +feeling herself a stranger where her brothers were so much at home. When +she saw Muriel again she must put herself right there. Muriel would +understand her. Muriel had cut herself adrift from the well-fed +stagnation of country life and rejoiced to be the partner of a man who +was doing something in the world. Life was more than food to her and the +body than raiment. Cicely wished that such a chance had come to her. + +But the Rector had repeated his text for the last time, and was drawing +to the end of his discourse. She must slip back to her seat at the +harmonium, and defer the consideration of her own hardships until later. + +The congregation aroused itself and stood up upon the stroke of the word +"now"; and, whilst the last hymn was being given out and played over, +the Squire started on a collecting tour with the wooden, baize-lined +plate which he drew from beneath his chair. The coppers clinked one by +one upon the silver already deposited by himself and his family, and he +closely scrutinised the successive offerings. His heels rang out +manfully upon the worn pavement beneath which his ancestors were +sleeping, as he strode up the chancel and handed the alms to the Rector. +He was refreshed by his light slumber, his weekly duty was coming to an +end, and he would soon be out in the open air inspecting his stables and +looking forward to his luncheon. He sang the last verses of the hymn +lustily, his glasses on his nose, a fine figure of a man, quite +satisfied with himself and the state in life to which he had been +called. + +The congregation filed out of church into the bright sunshine. Dick, +with Joan on one side of him and Nancy on the other, set out at a smart +pace across the park, bound for the stables and the home farm. Cicely +walked with the old starling, who lifted her flounced skirt over her +square-toed kid boots, as one who expected to find dew where she found +grass, even in the hot August noonday. The Squire and Mrs. Clinton +brought up the rear, and the men and maids straggled along a footpath +which diverged to another quarter of the house. + +Cicely left the rest of the family to the time-honoured inspection of +horses and live stock, always undertaken, summer and winter, after +church on Sunday morning, as a permissible recreation on a day otherwise +devoted to sedentary pursuits. It was one of the tiresome routine habits +of her life, and she was sick of routine. She dawdled in her bedroom, a +room at least twenty feet square, with two big windows overlooking the +garden and the park and the church tower rising from amongst its trees, +until the gong sounded, when she hurried downstairs and took her seat at +the luncheon table on the right of her father. + +The sweets and a big cake were on the table, of which the appointments +were a mixture of massive silver plate and inexpensive glass and china. +The servants handed round the first hot dish, placed a cold uncut +sirloin of beef in front of the Squire and vegetable dishes on the +sideboard, and then left the room. After that it was every one help +yourself. This was the invariable arrangement of luncheon on Sundays, +and allowing for the difference of the seasons the viands were always +the same. If anybody staying in the house liked to turn up their noses +at such Sunday fare--one hot _entrée_, cold beef, fruit tarts and milk +puddings, a ripe cheese and a good bottle of wine, why they needn't come +again. But very few people did stay in the house, as has been said, and +none of those who did had ever been known to object. There were no +week-end parties, no traffic of mere acquaintances using the house like +an hotel and amusing themselves with no reference to their host or +hostess. The Squire was hospitable in an old-fashioned way, liked to see +his friends around him and gave them of his best. But they must be +friends, and they must conform to the usages of the house. + +The talk over the luncheon table began with the perennial topic of the +breeding of partridges and pheasants, and was carried on between the +Squire and Dick, while the women kept submissive silence in the face of +important matters with which they had no concern. Then it took a more +general turn, and drifted into a reminiscence of the conversation that +had taken place over the dinner table the night before. Mrs. Graham and +Jim had dined at Kencote and brought Ronald Mackenzie with them, who had +arrived the evening before on his promised week-end visit. + +Humphrey's prophecy had come true. Mackenzie had been the lion of the +London season, and now that London was empty might have taken his choice +of country houses for a week-end visit from whatever county he pleased. +His visit was something of an honour, and was even chronicled in the +newspapers, which had not yet lost interest in his movements. He was a +star of considerable magnitude, liable to wane, of course, but never to +sink quite into obscurity, and just now a planet within everybody's ken. + +It was characteristic of the Clinton point of view that the parentage of +this man, whose sole title to fame arose from the things that he had +done, should be discussed. Dick knew all about him. He did not belong to +any particular family of Mackenzies. He was the son of a Scots peasant, +and was said to have tramped to London at the age of sixteen, and to +have taken forcible shipment as a stowaway in the Black-Lyell Arctic +Expedition; and afterwards to have climbed to the leadership of +expeditions of his own with incredible rapidity. He had never made any +secret of his lowly origin, and was even said to be proud of it. The +Squire approved heartily of this. + +It was also characteristic of the Squire that a man who had done big +things and got himself talked about should be accepted frankly as an +equal, and, outside the sphere of clanship, even as a superior. A great +musician would have been treated in the same way, or a great painter, or +even a great scholar. For the Squire belonged to the class of all others +the most prejudiced and at the same time the most easily led, when its +slow-moving imagination is once touched--a class which believes itself +divinely appointed to rule, but will give political adherence and almost +passionate personal loyalty to men whom in the type it most dislikes, +its members following one another like sheep when their first +instinctive mistrust has been overcome. Mackenzie was one of the most +talked of men in England at this moment. It was a matter of +congratulation that Jim had caught him for a two-days' visit, though +Jim's catch had involved no more skill than was needed to answer an +unexpected note from Mackenzie announcing his arrival on Friday +afternoon. The Clintons had dined at Mountfield on Friday night, the +Grahams and Mackenzie had dined at Kencote on Saturday, and it had been +arranged that Jim and his guest should drive over this afternoon and +stay to dine again. + +When luncheon was over the Squire retired into the library with the +_Spectator_, which it was known he would not read, Dick went into the +smoking-room, Mrs. Clinton and Miss Bird upstairs, and the twins +straight into the garden, where Cicely presently followed them with a +book. She settled herself in a basket chair under a great lime tree on +the lawn, and leaving her book lying unopened on her lap, gave herself +over to further reverie. + +Perhaps the sudden descent of this man from a strange world into the +placid waters of her life had something to do with the surging up of her +discontent, for she had not been so discontented since the Birkets' +visit two months before, having followed out to some extent her uncle's +advice and found life quite supportable in consequence. She knew she had +waited for Mackenzie's name to be mentioned at luncheon and had blushed +when she heard it, only, fortunately, nobody had seen her, not even the +sharp-eyed twins. She would have resented it intensely if her interest +and her blush had been noticed, and put down to personal attraction. It +was not that at all. She rather disliked the man, with his keen, +hawklike face, his piercing eyes, and his direct, unvarnished speech. He +was the sort of man of whom a woman might have reason to be afraid if +she were, by unaccountable mischance, attracted by him, and he by her. +He would dominate her and she would be at least as much of a chattel as +in the hands of a male Clinton. It was what he stood for that interested +her, and she could not help comparing his life with that of her father +and her brothers, or of Jim Graham, much to the disadvantage of her own +kind. + +Her resentment, if it deserved that name, had fixed itself upon her +father and brothers, and Jim shared in it. He was just the same as they +were, making the little work incumbent on him as easy as possible and +spending the best part of his life in the pursuits he liked best. She +had come to the conclusion that there was no place for her in such a +life as that. When Jim proposed to her, as she felt sure he would do +when he was ready, she would refuse him. She felt now that she really +could not go through with it, and her determination to refuse to marry +Jim rose up in her mind and fixed itself as she sat in her chair under +the tree. If he had been a poor man, with a profession to work at, she +would have married him and found her happiness in helping him on. She +wanted the life. The food and the raiment were nothing to her, either at +Kencote or Mountfield. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +RONALD MACKENZIE + + +Cicely rose from her seat and strolled across the lawn, through an iron +gate and a flower-garden, and on to another lawn verging on the +shrubberies. Joan and Nancy were employed here in putting tennis balls +into a hole with the handles of walking sticks. Cicely rebuked them, +for, according to his lights, the Squire was a strict Sabbatarian. + +"Darling!" expostulated Joan, in a voice of pleading, "we are not using +putters and golf balls. There _can't_ be any harm in this." + +Cicely did not think there was, and passed on through the shrubbery walk +to where a raised path skirting a stone wall afforded a view of the road +along which Jim and Ronald Mackenzie would presently be driving. + +She hardly knew why she had come. It was certainly not to watch for Jim. +And if there was any idea in her mind of catching a glimpse of Ronald +Mackenzie, herself unobserved by him, so that she might by a flash gain +some insight into the character of a man who had interested her, she was +probably giving herself useless trouble, for it was not yet three +o'clock and the two men were not likely to arrive for another half-hour +or more. + +But she had no sooner taken her stand by the stone wall and looked down +at the road from under the shade of the great beech which overhung it, +than Jim's dog-cart swung round the corner, and Ronald Mackenzie, +sitting by his side, had looked up and sent a glance from his bold dark +eyes right through her. She had not had time to draw back; she had been +fairly caught. She drew back now, and coloured with annoyance as she +pictured to herself the figure she must have presented to him, a girl so +interested in his coming and going that she must lie in wait for him, +and take up her stand an hour or so before he might have been expected. +At any rate, he should not find her submissively waiting for him when he +drove up to the door. She would keep out of the way until tea-time, and +he might find somebody else to entertain him. + +The shrubbery walk, which skirted the road, wound for over a mile round +the park, and if she followed it she would come, by way of the kitchen +gardens and stableyard, to the house again, and could regain her bedroom +unseen, at the cost of a walk rather longer than she would willingly +have undertaken on this hot afternoon. But it was the only thing to do. +If she went back by the way she had come, she might meet Jim and his +friend in the garden, and of course they would think she had come on +purpose to see them. If she crossed the park she ran the risk of being +seen. So she kept to the shelter of the trees, and followed the windings +of the path briskly, and in rather a bad temper. + +At a point about half-way round the circle, the dense shrubbery widened +into a spinney, and cut through it transversely was a broad grass ride, +which opened up a view of the park and the house. When Cicely reached +this point she looked to her right, and caught her breath in her throat +sharply, for she saw Ronald Mackenzie striding down the broad green path +towards her. He was about fifty yards away, but it was impossible to +pretend she had not seen him, or to go on without waiting for him to +catch her up. Indeed, the moment he caught sight of her he waved his +hand and called out, "I thought I should catch you." He then came up +with a smile upon his face, and no apparent intention of apologising for +his obvious pursuit of her. + +What was the right attitude to take up towards a man who behaved like +that? Cicely blushed, and felt both surprised and annoyed. But she was +powerless to convey a hint of those feelings to him, and all he knew was +that she had blushed. + +"You shouldn't have run away from me like that," he said, as he shook +hands with her and looked her straight in the face. "I shan't do you any +harm. We will go back this way"; and he walked on at a fairly smart rate +by the way she had been going, and left her to adapt her pace to his, +which she did, with the disgusted feeling that she was ambling along at +an undignified trot. + +She was aware that if she opened her mouth she would say just the one +thing that she did not want to say, so she kept it closed, but was not +saved by so doing, because he immediately said it for her. "How did I +know where to find you? Well, I guessed you didn't expect to be spied +under that tree, and that you'd keep away for a bit. I didn't want that, +because I had come over on purpose to see you. So I cast my eye round +the country--I've an eye for country--saw where you would be likely to +go and the place to intercept you. So now you know all about it." + +This was a little too much. Cicely found her tongue. "Thank you," she +said, with dignity, "I didn't want to know all about it," and then felt +like a fool. + +"Then you have something you didn't want," he replied coolly. "But we +won't quarrel; there's no time. Do you know what I think about you and +about this place?" + +He looked down at her and waited for an answer; and an answer had to be +given. She was not quite prepared, or it would be more accurate to say +that she hardly dared, to say, "No, and I don't want to," so she +compromised weakly on "No." + +"Well, I'll tell you. It seems to me just Paradise, this lovely, +peaceful, luxurious English country, after the places I've been to and +the life I've led. And as for you, you pretty little pink and white +rose, you're the goddess that lives in the heart of it. You're the +prettiest, most graceful creature on God's earth, and you're in the +right setting." + +Cicely felt like a helpless rabbit fascinated by a snake. Nothing that +she had ever learned, either by direct precept from the old starling, or +as the result of her own observation of life, had prepared her to cope +with this. Outrageous as were his words and tone, she could only show +that she resented them by implicitly accusing him of making love to her; +and her flurried impulse was to shun that danger spot. + +She laughed nervously. "You use very flowery language; I suppose you +learned it in Tibet," she said, and felt rather pleased with herself. + +"One thing I learned in Tibet," he answered, "if I hadn't learned it +before, was that England is the most beautiful country in the world. I'm +not sure that I wouldn't give up all the excitement and adventure of my +life to settle down in a place like Graham's--or like this." + +Cicely congratulated herself upon having turned the conversation. She +was ready to talk on this subject. "You wouldn't care for it very long," +she said. "It is stagnation. I feel sometimes as if I would give +anything to get out of it." + +He looked down at her with a smile. "And what would you like to do if +you could get out of it?" he asked. + +"I should like to travel for one thing," she said. "If I were a man I +would. I wouldn't be content to settle down in a comfortable country +house to hunt foxes and shoot pheasants and partridges all my life." + +"Like Graham, eh? Well, perhaps you are right. You're going to marry +Graham, aren't you?" + +"No," she said shortly. + +"He thinks you are," he said, with a laugh. "He's a good fellow, Graham, +but perhaps he takes too much for granted, eh? But I know you are not +going to marry Graham. I only asked you to see what you would say. You +are going to marry me, my little country flower." + +"Mr. Mackenzie!" She put all the outraged surprise into her voice of +which she was capable, and stopped short in the path. + +He stopped too, and faced her. His face was firmly set. "I have no time +to go gently," he said. "I ask straight out for what I want, and I want +you. Come now, don't play the silly miss. You've got a man to deal with. +I've done things already and I'm going to do more. You will have a +husband you can be proud of." + +He was the type of the conquering male as he stood before her, dark, +lean, strong and bold-eyed. His speech, touched with a rough northern +burr, broke down defences. He would never woo gently, not if he had a +year to do it in. Men of his stamp do not ask their wives in marriage; +they take them. + +Cicely went red and then white, and looked round her helplessly. "You +can't run away," he said, and waited for her to speak. + +His silence was more insolently compelling than any words could have +been. Her eyes were drawn to his in spite of herself, fluttered a +moment, and rested there in fascinated terror. So the women in ages of +violence and passion, once caught, surrendered meekly. + +"You are mine," he said, in a voice neither raised nor lowered. "I said +you should be when I first saw you. I'll take care of you. And I'll take +care of myself for your sake." + +Suddenly she found herself trembling violently. It seemed to be her +limbs that were trembling, not she, and that she could not stop them. He +put his arm around her. "There, there!" he said soothingly. "Poor little +bird! I've frightened you. I had to, you know. But you're all right +now." + +For answer she burst into tears, her hands to her face. He drew them +away gently, mastering her with firm composure. "It was a shock, wasn't +it?" he said in a low, vibrating monotone. "But it had to be done in +that way. Jim Graham doesn't upset you in that way, I'll be bound. But +Jim Graham is a rich, comfortable vegetable; and I'm not exactly that. +You don't want to be either, do you?" + +"No," she said, drying her eyes. + +"You want a mate you can be proud of," he went on, still soothing her. +"Somebody who will do big things, and do them for your sake, eh? That's +what I'm going to do for you, little girl. I'm famous already, so I +find. But I'll be more famous yet, and make you famous too. You'll like +that, won't you?" + +He spoke to her as if she were a little child. His boasting did not +sound like boasting to her. His strength and self-confidence pushed +aside all the puny weapons with which she might have opposed him. She +could not tell him that she did not love him. He had not asked for her +love; he had asked for herself; or rather, he had announced his +intention of taking her. She was dominated, silenced, and he gave her no +chance to say anything, except what he meant her to say. + +He took his arms from her. "We must go back now," he said, "or they will +wonder what has become of us." He laughed suddenly. "They were a little +surprised when I ran away after you." + +It occurred to her that they must have been considerably surprised. The +thought added to her confusion. "Oh, I can't go back to them!" she +cried. + +"No, no," he said soothingly. "You shall slip into the house by a back +way. I shall say I couldn't find you." + +They were walking along the path, side by side. His muscular hands were +pendant; he had attempted no further possession of her, had not tried to +kiss her. Perhaps he knew that a kiss would have fired her to revolt, +and once revolting she would be lost to him. Perhaps he was not guided +by policy at all, but by the instinctive touch of his power over +men--and women. + +Cicely was beginning to recover her nerve, but her thoughts were in a +whirl. She was not angry; her chief desire was to go away by herself and +think. In the meantime she wanted no further food for thought. But that +was a matter not in her hands. + +"I'm going away in a fortnight, you know," he said. "Back to Tibet. I +left some things undone there." + +"You only came home a month ago," she said, clutching eagerly at a topic +not alarmingly personal. + +"I know. But I'm tired of it--the drawing-rooms and the women. I want to +be doing. _You_ know." + +She thought she did know. The rough appeal thrown out in those two words +found a way through her armour, which his insolent mastery had only +dented and bruised. It gave her a better conceit of herself. This was a +big man, and he recognised something of his own quality in her. At any +rate, she would stand up to him. She would not be "a silly miss." + +"Of course, you have surprised me very much," she said, with an effort +at even speech, which probably came to him as hurried prattle. "I can't +say what I suppose you want me to say at once. But if you will give me +time--if you will speak to my father----" + +He broke in on her. "Good heavens!" he said, with a laugh. "You don't +think I've got time for all that sort of thing, do you?--orange flowers +and church bells and all the rest of it. Don't you say a word to your +father, or any one else. Do you hear?" + +His roughness nerved her. "Then what do you want me to do?" she asked +boldly. + +"Do? Why, come to London and marry me, of course. You've got the pluck. +Or if you haven't, you're not what I thought you, and I don't want you +at all. There's no time to settle anything now, and I'm off to-morrow. +If I stay longer, and come over here again with Graham, they will +suspect something. Meet me to-night out here--this very spot, do you +see? I'll get out of the house and be over here at two o'clock. Then +I'll tell you what to do." + +They had come to a little clearing, the entrance to a strip of planted +ground which led to a gate in the walled kitchen garden, and so to the +back regions of the house. She stood still and faced him. "Do you think +I am going to do that?" she asked, her blue eyes looking straight into +his. + +He had aroused her indignant opposition. What would he do now, this +amazing and masterful man? + +He looked down at her with an odd expression in his face. It was +protecting, tender, amused. "Little shy flower!" he said--he seemed to +cling to that not very original metaphor--"I mustn't forget how you have +been brought up, in all this shelter and luxury, must I? It is natural +to you, little girl, and I'll keep you in it as far as I can. But you've +got to remember what I am too. You must come out of your cotton wool +sometimes. Life isn't all softness and luxury." + +Food and raiment! What had she been thinking of all the morning? Her +eyes fell. + +"You can trust me, you know," he said, still speaking softly. "But you +believe in daring, don't you? You must show a little yourself." + +"It isn't at all that I'm afraid," she said weakly. + +"Of course not. I know that," he answered. "It is simply that you don't +do such things here." He waved his hand towards the corner of the big +house, which could be seen through the trees. "But you want to get out +of it, you said." + +Did she want to get out of it? She was tired of the dull ease. She was +of the Clintons, of the women who were kept under; but there were men +Clintons behind her too, men who took the ease when it came to them, but +did not put it in the first place, men of courage, men of daring. It was +the love of adventure in her blood that made her answer, "Perhaps I will +come," and then try to dart past him. + +He put out his arm to stop her. "I'm not going to walk six miles here +and back on the chance," he said roughly. But she was equal to him this +time. "If you don't think it worth while you need not come," she said. +"I won't promise." Then she was gone. + +He walked back slowly to the garden. Jim Graham was lying back in a +basket chair, dressed in smart blue flannel and Russian leather boots, +talking to Joan and Nancy. Through the open window of the library the +top of the Squire's head could be seen over the back of an easy-chair. + +Mackenzie joined the little group under the lime. "Couldn't find her," +he said shortly. + +"She'll turn up at tea-time," said Jim equably. + +The clear eyes of the twins were fixed on Mackenzie. They had run round +to the front of the house on hearing the wheels of Jim's cart on the +gravel. They wanted to see the great man he had brought with him, and +they were not troubled with considerations of shyness. But the great man +had taken no notice of them at all, standing on the gravel of the drive +staring at him. + +He had jumped down from the cart and made off, directly, round the +corner of the house. + +"Where is he going?" asked the twins. + +"He wants to show Cicely some drawings," said Jim. "He saw her in the +shrubbery. Want a drive round to the stables, twankies?" + +Now the twins devoured Mackenzie with all their eyes. "I am Joan +Clinton, and this is my sister Nancy," said Joan. "Nobody ever +introduces us to anybody that comes here, so we always introduce +ourselves. How do you do?" + +Mackenzie seemed to wake up. He shook hands with both twins. "How do you +do, young ladies," he said with a smile. "You seem very much alike." + +"Not in character," said Nancy. "Miss Bird says that Joan would be a +very well-behaved girl if it were not for me." + +"I'm sure you are both well behaved," said Mackenzie. "You look as if +you never gave any trouble to anybody." + +"What we look and what we are are two very different things," said Joan. +"Aren't they, Jim?" + +"Good Lord, I should think they were," said Jim. He had been bustled off +immediately after luncheon, and was lying back in his chair in an +attitude inviting repose. He had rather hoped that Mackenzie, whose +quick energy of mind and body were rather beyond his power to cope with, +would have been off his hands for half an hour when he had announced his +intention of going in search of Cicely. He would have liked to go in +search of Cicely himself, but that was one of the things that he did no +longer. He had nothing to do now but wait with what patience he could +until his time came. He had a sort of undefined hope that Mackenzie +might say something that would advance him with Cicely, praise him to +her, cause her to look upon him with a little refreshment of her favour. +But he had not welcomed the questions with which the twins had plied him +concerning his guest. + +"Jim wants to go to sleep," said Nancy. "Would you like to come up into +the schoolroom, Mr. Mackenzie? We have a globe of the world." + +"We can find Cicely if you want to see her," added Joan. + +Mackenzie laughed his rough laugh. "We won't bother Miss Clinton," he +said. "But I should like to see the globe of the world." + +So the twins led him off proudly, chattering. Jim heard Joan say, "We +have had a bishop in our schoolroom, but we would much rather have an +explorer," but by the time they had crossed the lawn he was sleeping +peacefully. + +If he had known it, it was hardly the time for him to sleep. + +"If you're ill, go to bed; if not, behave as usual," was a Clinton maxim +which accounted for Cicely's appearance at the tea-table an hour later, +when she would much rather have remained in her own room. The effort, no +small one, of walking across the lawn in full view of the company +assembled round the tea-table, as if nothing had happened to her within +the last hour, braced her nerves. She was a shade paler than ordinary, +but otherwise there was nothing in her appearance to arouse comment. +Mackenzie sprang up from his chair as she approached and went forward to +meet her. "I tried to find you directly I came, Miss Clinton," he said +in his loud voice, which no course of civilisation would avail to +subdue. "I've brought those sketches I told you about last night." + +Cicely breathed relief. She had not been told the pretext upon which he +had started off in pursuit of her immediately upon his arrival, and had +had terrifying visions of a reception marked by anxious and inquiring +looks. But Jim greeted her with his painfully acquired air of accepted +habit, and immediately, she was sitting between him and Mackenzie, +looking at the bundle of rough pencil drawings put into her hands, +outlines of rugged peaks, desolate plains, primitive hillside villages, +done with abundant determination but little skill. She listened to +Mackenzie's explanations without speaking, and was relieved to hand over +the packet to the Squire, who put on his glasses to examine them, and +drew the conversation away from her. + +Mackenzie spoke but little to her after that. He dominated the +conversation, much more so than on the previous evening, when there had +been some little difficulty in extracting any account of his exploits +from him. Now he was willing to talk of them, and he talked well, not +exactly with modesty, but with no trace of boastful quality, such as +would certainly have aroused the prejudices of his listeners against +him. + +He talked like a man with whom the subject under discussion was the one +subject in the world that interested him. One would have said that he +had nothing else in his mind but the lust for strange places to conquer. +He appeared to be obsessed by his life of travel, to be able to think of +nothing else, even during this short interval in his years of adventure, +and in this stay-at-home English company whose thoughts were mostly +bound up in the few acres around them. + +Cicely stole glances at him. Was he acting a carefully thought out plan, +or had he really forgotten her very existence for the moment, while his +thoughts winged their way to cruel, dark places, whose secrets he would +wrest from them, the only places in which his bold, eager spirit could +find its home? He radiated power. She was drawn to him, more than half +against her will. He had called to her to share his life and his +enterprise. Should she answer the call? It was in her mind that she +might do so. + +He made no attempt to claim her after tea; but when the church bells +began to ring from across the park, and she had to go to play for the +evening service, he joined the little party of women--the Clinton men +went to church once on Sundays, but liked their women to go twice--and +sat opposite to her in the chancel pew, sometimes fixing her with a +penetrating look, sometimes with his head lowered on his broad chest, +thinking inscrutable thoughts, while the dusk crept from raftered roof +to stone floor, and the cheap oil lamps and the glass-protected candles +in the pulpit and reading-desk plucked up yellow courage to keep off the +darkness. + +The congregation sang a tuneful, rather sentimental evening hymn in the +twilight. They sang fervently, especially the maids and men in the +chancel pews. Their minds were stirred to soothing and vaguely aspiring +thoughts. Such hymns as this at the close of an evening service were the +pleasantest part of the day's occupations. + +The villagers went home to their cottages, talking a little more +effusively than usual. The next morning their work would begin again. +The party from the great house hurried home across the park. The sermon +had been a little longer than usual. They would barely have time to +dress for dinner. + +Jim Graham's dog-cart came round at half-past ten. The Squire, who had +been agreeably aroused from his contented but rather monotonous +existence by his unusual guest, pressed them to send it back to the +stable for an hour. "The women are going to bed," he said--they were +always expected to go upstairs punctually at half-past ten--"we'll go +into my room." + +But Mackenzie refused without giving Jim the opportunity. "I have a lot +of work to do to-night," he said. "Don't suppose I shall be in bed much +before four; and I must leave early to-morrow." + +So farewells were said in the big square hall. Mrs. Clinton and Cicely +were at a side-table upon which were rows of silver bedroom +candlesticks, Mrs. Clinton in a black evening dress, her white, plump +neck and arms bare, Cicely, slim and graceful, in white. The men stood +between them and the table in the middle of the hall, from which Dick +was dispensing whisky and soda water; the Squire, big and florid, with a +great expanse of white shirt front, Jim and Mackenzie in light overcoats +with caps in their hands. Servants carried bags across from behind the +staircase to the open door, outside of which Jim's horse was scraping +the gravel, the bright lamps of the cart shining on his smooth flanks. + +The Squire and Dick stood on the stone steps as the cart drove off, and +then came back into the hall. Mrs. Clinton and Cicely, their candles +lighted, were at the foot of the staircase. + +"Well, that's an interesting fellow," said the Squire as the butler shut +and bolted the hall door behind him. "We'll get him down to shoot if +he's in England next month." + +"And see what he can do," added Dick. + +Cicely went upstairs after her mother. The Squire and Dick went into the +library, where a servant relieved them of their evening coats and handed +them smoking-jackets, and the Squire a pair of worked velvet slippers. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE PLUNGE + + +When Cicely had allowed the maid who was waiting for her to unfasten her +bodice, she sent her away and locked the door after her. During the +evening she had sketched in her mind a portrait of herself sitting by +the open window and thinking things over calmly. It seemed to be the +thing to do in the circumstances. + +But she could not think calmly. She could not even command herself +sufficiently to go on with her undressing. The evening had been one long +strain on her nerves, and now she could only throw herself on her bed +and burst into tears. She had an impulse to go in to her mother and tell +her everything, and perhaps only the fact that for the moment her +physical strength would not allow her to move held her back. + +After a time she became quieter, but did not regain the mastery of her +brain. She seemed to be swayed by feeling entirely. The picture of her +mother, calm and self-contained, kneeling at her long nightly devotions, +faded, and in its place arose the image of the man who had suddenly +shouldered his way into her life and with rude hands torn away the +trappings of convention that had swathed it. + +He attracted her strongly. He stood for a broad freedom, and her revolt +against the dependence in which she lived was pointed by his contempt +for the dull, easy, effortless life of the big country house. Her mind +swayed towards him as she thought of what he had to offer her in +exchange--adventure in unknown lands; glory, perhaps not wholly +reflected, for there had been women explorers before, and her strong, +healthy youth made her the physical equal of any of them; comradeship in +place of subjection. She weighed none of these things consciously; she +simply desired them. + +There came to her the echo of her brother's speech as she had come up +the stairs: "And let us see what he can do." He stood before her in his +rugged strength, not very well dressed, his greying head held upright, +his nostrils slightly dilated, his keen eyes looking out on the world +without a trace of self-consciousness; and beside him stood Dick in his +smart clothes and his smoothed down hair, coolly ignoring all the big +things the man had done, and proposing to hold over his opinion of him +till he saw whether he could snap off a gun quickly enough to bring down +a high pheasant or a driven partridge. If he could pass that test he +would be accepted without further question as "a good fellow." His other +achievements, or perhaps more accurately the kind of renown they had +brought him, would be set against his lack of the ordinary gentleman's +upbringing. If he could not, he would still be something of an outsider +though all the world should acclaim him. Dick's careless speech--she +called it stupid--affected her strangely. It lifted her suitor out of +the ruck, and made him bulk bigger. + +She got up from her bed and took her seat by the open window, according +to precedent. She had seen herself, during the evening, sitting there +looking out on to the moonlit garden, asking herself quietly, "What am I +going to do?" weighing the pros and cons, stiffening her mind, and her +courage. And she tried now to come to a decision, but could not come +anywhere near to laying the foundation of one. She had not the least +idea what she was going to do, nor could she even discover what she +wanted to do. + +She got up and walked about the room, but that did not help her. She +knelt down and said her prayers out of a little well-worn book of +devotions, and made them long ones. But it was nothing more than +repeating words and phrases whose meaning slipped away from her. She +prayed in her own words for guidance, but none came. There existed only +the tumult of feeling. + +She heard her father and brother come up to bed and held her breath in +momentary terror, then breathed relief at the thought that if they +should, unaccountably, break into her room, which they were not in the +least likely to do, they could not know what was happening to her, or +make her tell them. They went along the corridor talking loudly. She had +often been disturbed from her first sleep by the noise the men made +coming up to bed. She heard a sentence from her father as they passed +her door. "They would have to turn out anyhow if anything happened to +me." + +Dick's answer was inaudible, but she knew quite well what they were +discussing. It had been discussed before her mother and herself, and +even the twins and Miss Bird, though not before the servants, during the +last few days. Lord and Lady Alistair MacLeod, she a newly wed American, +had motored through Kencote, lunched at the inn and fallen in love with +the dower-house. Lady Alistair--_he_ would have nothing to do with +it--had made an offer through the Squire's agent for a lease of the +house, at a rental about four times its market value. The Squire did not +want the money, but business was business. And the MacLeods would be +"nice people to have about the place." All that stood in the way was +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura. They could not be turned out unless they were +willing to go, but the Squire knew very well that they _would_ go if he +told them to. There was a nice little house in the village which would +be the very thing for them if he decided to accept the tempting offer. +He would do it up for them. After all, the dower-house was much too +large and there were only two of them left. So it had been discussed +whether Aunt Ellen, at the age of ninety-three, and Aunt Laura, at the +age of seventy-five, should be notified that the house in which they had +spent the last forty years of their lives, and in which their four +sisters had died, was wanted for strangers. + +That was not the only thing that had been discussed. The question of +what would be done in various departments of family and estate business +when the Squire should have passed away--his prospective demise being +always referred to by the phrase, "if anything should happen to me"--was +never shirked in the least; and Dick, who would reign as Squire in his +stead, until the far off day when something should happen to _him_, took +his part in the discussion as a matter of course. These things were and +would be; there was no sense in shutting one's eyes to them. And one of +the things that would take place upon that happening was that Mrs. +Clinton, and Cicely, if she were not married, and the twins, would no +longer have their home at Kencote, unless Dick should be unmarried and +should invite them to go on living in his house. He would have no legal +right to turn Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura out of the dower-house, if they +still remained alive, but it had been settled ever since the last death +amongst the sisters that they would make way. It would only be +reasonable, and was taken for granted. + +And now, as it seemed, her father and brother had made up their minds to +exercise pressure--so little would be needed--to turn out the poor old +ladies, not for the sake of those who might have a claim on their +consideration, but for strangers who would pay handsomely and would be +nice people to have about the place. Cicely burned with anger as she +thought of it. + + * * * * * + +Two o'clock struck from the clock in the stable turret. Cicely opened +her door softly, crept along the corridor and through a baize door +leading to a staircase away from the bedrooms of the house. At the foot +of it was a door opening into the garden, which she was prepared to +unlock and unbolt with infinite care to avoid noise. But the +carelessness of a servant had destroyed the need of such caution. The +door was unguarded, and with an unpleasant little shock she opened it +and went out. + +The night was warm, and the lawns and trees and shrubs of the garden lay +in bright moonlight. She hurried, wrapped in a dark cloak, to the place +from which she had fled from Mackenzie in the afternoon. She felt an +impulse of shrinking as she saw his tall figure striding up and down on +the grass, but she put it away from her and went forward to meet him. + +He gave a low cry as he turned and saw her. "My brave little girl!" he +said, and laid his hands on her shoulders for a moment, and looked into +her face. He attempted no further love-making; his tact seemed equal to +his daring. "We have come here to talk," he said. "When we have made our +arrangements you shall go straight back. I wouldn't have asked you to +come out here like this if there had been any other way." + +She felt grateful. Her self-respect was safe with him. He understood +her. + +"Will you come with me?" he asked, and she answered, "Yes." + +A light sprang into his eyes. "My brave little queen of girls!" he said, +but held himself back from her. + +"What time can you get out of the house without being missed for an hour +or two?" he asked. + +She stood up straight and made a slight gesture as if brushing something +away, and thenceforward answered him in as matter-of-fact a way as he +questioned her. + +"In the afternoon, after lunch," she said. + +"Very well. There is a train from Bathgate at four o'clock. Can you walk +as far as that?" + +"Oh yes." + +"You can't go from here, and you can't drive. So you must walk. Is there +any chance of your being recognised at Bathgate?" + +"I am very likely to be recognised." + +He thought for a moment. "Well, it can't be helped," he said. "If there +is any one in the train you know you must say you are going up to see +Mrs. Walter Clinton. Graham has told me all about her and your brother." + +"I shan't be able to take any luggage with me," she said. + +"No. That is a little awkward. We must trust to chance. Luck sides with +boldness. You can buy what you want in London. I have plenty of money, +and nothing will please me better than to spend it on you, little girl." +His tone and his eyes became tender for a moment. "I shall be on the +platform in London to meet you," he said. "I shall be surprised to see +you there until you tell me there is nobody to fear. I hate all this +scheming, but it can't be helped. We must get a start, and in two days +we shall be married. Don't leave any word. You can write from London to +say you are going to marry me. I'll do the rest when we are man and +wife." + +Cicely's eyes dropped as she asked, "Where shall I be till--till----" + +"Till we're married? My little girl! It won't be very long. There is a +good woman I know. I'll take you there and she will look after you. I +shall be near. Leave it all to me and don't worry. Have you got money +for your journey?" + +"Yes, I have enough." + +"Very well. Now go back, and think of me blessing the ground you walk +on. You're so sweet, and you're so brave. You're the wife for me. Will +you give me one kiss?" + +She turned her head quickly. "No," he said at once. "I won't ask for it; +not till you are mine altogether." + +But she put up her face to him in the moonlight. "I'm yours now," she +said. "I have given myself to you," and he kissed her, restraining his +roughness, turning away immediately without another word to stride down +the grass path into the darkness of the trees. + +Cicely looked after him for an instant and then went back to the house +and crept up to her room. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +BLOOMSBURY + + +Mackenzie met her at the London terminus. She had seen no one she knew +either at the station at Bathgate or in the train. She was well dressed, +in a tailor-made coat and skirt and a pretty hat. She got out of a +first-class carriage and looked like a young woman of some social +importance, travelling alone for once in a way, but not likely to be +allowed to go about London alone when she reached the end of her +journey. She was quite composed as she saw Mackenzie's tall figure +coming towards her, and shook hands with him as if he were a mere +acquaintance. + +"I have seen nobody I know," she said, and then immediately added, "I +must send a telegram to my mother. I can't leave her in anxiety for a +whole night." + +He frowned, but not at her. "You can't do that," he said, "you don't +want the post-office people to know." + +"I have thought of that. I will say 'Have come up to see Muriel. Writing +to-night.' It isn't true, but I will tell them afterwards why I did it." + +"Will that satisfy them?" + +"I am deceiving them anyhow." + +"Oh, I don't mean that. Will they think it all right--your coming up to +your sister-in-law?" + +"No, they will be very much surprised. But the post-office people will +not gather anything." + +"They will wire at once to your brother. You had much better leave it +till to-morrow." + +"No, I can't do that," she said. "I will wire just before eight o'clock. +Then a return wire will not go through before the morning." + +"Yours might not get through to-night." + +"Oh yes, it will. They would take it up to the house whatever time it +came." + +"Very well," he said. "Now come along," and he hailed a hansom. + +"Please don't think me tiresome," she said, when they were in the cab, +"but there is another thing I must do. I must write to my mother so that +she gets my letter the very first thing to-morrow morning." + +He gave an exclamation of impatience. "You can't do that," he said +again. "The country mails have already gone." + +"I can send a letter by train to Bathgate. I will send it to the hotel +there with a message that it is to be taken over to Kencote the first +thing in the morning." + +"You are very resourceful. It may give them time to get on to our track, +before we are married." + +"I have promised to marry you," she said simply. It was she who now +seemed bold, and not he. + +"I don't see how they could get here in time," he said grudgingly. +"Graham only knows the address of my club, and they don't know there +where I live." He brightened up again. "Very well, my queen," he said, +smiling down at her. "You shall do what you like. Write your letter--let +it be a short one--when you get in, and we will send that and the wire +when we go out to dinner." + +They drove to a dingy-looking house in one of the smaller squares of +Bloomsbury. During the short journey he became almost boisterous. All +the misgivings that had assailed her since they had last parted, the +alternate fits of courage and of frightened shrinking, had passed him +by. This was quite plain, and she was right in attributing his mood +partly to his joy in having won her, partly to his love of adventure. It +was an added pleasure to him to surmount obstacles in winning her. If +his wooing had run the ordinary course, the reason for half his +jubilation would have disappeared. She felt his strength, and, +woman-like, relinquished her own doubts and swayed to his mood. + +"You have begun your life of adventure, little girl," he said, +imprisoning her slender hand in his great muscular one, and looking down +at her with pride in his eyes. She had an impulse of exhilaration, and +smiled back at him. + +The rooms to which he took her, escorted by a middle-aged Scotswoman +with a grim face and a silent tongue, were on the first floor--a big +sitting-room, clean, but, to her eyes, inexpressibly dingy and +ill-furnished, and a bedroom behind folding doors. + +"Mrs. Fletcher will give you your breakfast here," he said, "but we will +lunch and dine out. We will go out now and shop when you are ready." + +She went into the bedroom and stood by the window. Fright had seized her +again. What was she doing here? The woman who had come from her dark, +downstairs dwelling-place to lead the way to these dreadful rooms, had +given her one glance but spoken no word. What must she think of her? She +could hear her replying in low monosyllables to Mackenzie's loud +instructions, through the folding doors. + +Again the assurance and strength and determination which he exhaled came +to her aid. She had taken the great step, and must not shrink from the +consequences. He would look after her. She washed her hands and face--no +hot water had been brought to her--and went back to the sitting-room. "I +am hoping you will be comfortable here, miss," the woman said to her. +"You must ask for anything you want." + +She did not smile, but her tone was respectful, and she looked at Cicely +with eyes not unfriendly. And, after all, the rooms were clean--for +London. + +Mackenzie took her to a big shop in Holborn and stayed outside while she +made her purchases. She had not dared to bring with her even a small +hand-bag, and she had to buy paper on which to write her letter to her +mother. + +"I lived in Mrs. Fletcher's rooms before I went to Tibet," Mackenzie +said as they went back to the house. "I tried to get them when I came +back--but no such luck. Fortunately they fell vacant on Saturday. We'll +keep them on for a bit after we're married. Must make ourselves +comfortable, you know." + +She stole a glance at him. His face was beaming. She had thought he had +taken her to that dingy, unknown quarter as a temporary precaution. +Would he really expect her to make her home in such a place? + +She wrote her letter to her mother at the table in the sitting-room. +Mrs. Fletcher had brought up a penny bottle of ink and a pen with a J +nib suffering from age. Mackenzie walked about the room as she wrote, +and it was difficult for her to collect her thoughts. She gave him the +note to read, with a pretty gesture of confidence. It was very short. + + "My own darling Mother,--I have not come to London to see Muriel, + but to marry Ronald Mackenzie. I said what I did in my telegram + because of the post-office. I am very happy, and will write you a + long letter directly we are married.--Always your very loving + daughter, + + "Cicely." + +"Brave girl!" he said as he returned it to her. + +She gave a little sob. "I wish I had not had to go away from her like +that," she said. + +"Don't cry, little girl," he said kindly. "It was the only way." + +She dried her eyes and sealed up the note. She had wondered more than +once since he had carried her off her feet why it was the only way. + +They carried through the business of the letter and the telegram and +drove to a little French restaurant in Soho to dine. The upstairs room +was full of men and a few women, some French, more English. Everybody +stared at her as she entered, and she blushed hotly. And some of them +recognised Mackenzie and whispered his name. The men were mostly +journalists, of the more literary sort, one or two of them men of note, +if she had known it. But to her they looked no better than the class she +would have labelled vaguely as "people in shops." They were as different +as possible from her brothers and her brothers' friends, sleek, +well-dressed men with appropriate clothes for every occasion, and a +uniform for the serious observance of dinner which she had never +imagined a man without, except on an unavoidable emergency. She had +never once in her life dined in the same frock as she had worn during +the day and hardly ever in the company of men in morning clothes. + +This cheap restaurant, where the food and cooking were good but the +appointments meagre, struck her as strangely as if she had been made to +eat in a kitchen. That it did not strike Mackenzie in that way was plain +from his satisfaction at having introduced her to it. "Just as good food +here as at the Carlton or the Savoy," he said inaccurately, "at about a +quarter of the price; and no fuss in dressing-up!" + +She enjoyed it rather, after a time. There was a sense of adventure in +dining in such a place, even in dining where nobody had thought of +dressing, although dressing for dinner was not one of the conventions +she had wished to run away from; it was merely a habit of cleanliness +and comfort. Mackenzie talked to her incessantly in a low voice--they +were sitting at a little table in a corner, rather apart from the rest. +He talked of his travels, and fascinated her; and every now and then, +when he seemed furthest away, his face would suddenly soften and he +would put in a word of encouragement or gratitude to her. She felt proud +of having the power to make such a man happy. They were comrades, and +she wanted to share his life. At present it seemed to be enough for him +to talk to her. He had not as yet made any demand on her for a return of +confidence. In fact, she had scarcely spoken a word to him, except in +answer to speech of his. He had won her and seemed now to take her +presence for granted. He had not even told her what arrangements he had +made for their marriage, or where it was to be; nor had he alluded in +any way to the course of their future life or travels, except in the +matter of Mrs. Fletcher's room in Bloomsbury. + +"When are we going to Tibet again?" She asked him the question point +blank, as they were drinking their coffee, and Mackenzie was smoking a +big briar pipe filled with strong tobacco. + +He stared at her in a moment's silence. Then he laughed. "Tibet!" he +echoed. "Oh, I think now I shan't be going to Tibet for some months. But +I shall be taking you abroad somewhere before then. However, there will +be plenty of time to talk of all that." Then he changed the subject. + +He drove her back to her rooms and went upstairs with her. It was about +half-past nine o'clock. "I have to go and meet a man at the Athenæum at +ten," he said. "Hang it! But I will stay with you for a quarter of an +hour, and I dare say you won't be sorry to turn in early." + +He sat himself down in a shabby armchair on one side of the fireless +grate. He was still smoking his big pipe. Cicely stood by the table. + +He looked up at her. "Take off your hat," he said, "I want to see your +beautiful hair. It was the first thing I noticed about you." + +She obeyed, with a blush. He smiled his approval. "Those soft waves," he +said, "and the gold in it! You are a beautiful girl, my dear. I can tell +you I shall be very proud of you. I shall want to show you about +everywhere." + +He hitched his chair towards her and took hold of her hand. "Do you +think you are going to love me a little bit?" he asked. + +She blushed again, and looked down. Then she lifted her eyes to his. "I +don't think you know quite what you have made me do," she said. + +He dropped her hand. "Do you regret it?" he asked sharply. + +She did not answer his question, but her eyes still held his. "I have +never been away from home in my life," she said, "without my father or +mother. Now I have left them without a word, to come to you. You seem to +take that quite as a matter of course." + +The tears came into her eyes, although she looked at him steadily. He +sprang up from his chair and put his hand on her shoulder. "My poor +little girl!" he said, "you feel it. Of course you feel it. You've +behaved like a heroine, but you've had to screw up your courage. I don't +want you to think of all that. That is why I haven't said anything about +it. You mustn't break down." + +But she had broken down, and she wept freely, while he put his arm round +her and comforted her as he might have comforted a child. Presently her +sobbing ceased. "You are very kind to me," she said. "But you won't keep +me away from my own people, will you--after--after----" + +"After we are married? God bless me, no. And they won't be angry with +you--at least, not for long. Don't fear that. Leave it all to me. We +shall be married to-morrow. I've arranged everything." + +"You have not told me a word about that," she said forlornly. + +"I didn't mean to tell you a word until to-morrow came," he said. "You +are not to brood." + +"You mean to rush me into everything," she said. "If I am to be the +companion to you that I want to be, you ought to take me into your +confidence." + +"Why, there!" he said, "I believe I ought. You're brave. You're not like +other girls. You can imagine that I have had a busy day. I have a +special license, signed by no less a person than the Archbishop of +Canterbury. Think of that! And we are going to be married in a church. I +knew you would like that; and I like it better too. You see I have been +thinking of you all the time. Now you mustn't worry any more." He patted +her hand. "Go to bed and get a good sleep. I'll come round at ten +o'clock to-morrow morning, and we're to be married at eleven. Then a new +life begins, and by the Lord I'll make it a happy one for you. Come, +give me a smile before I go." + +She had no difficulty in doing that now. He took her chin in his +fingers, turned her face up to his and looked into her eyes earnestly. +Then he left her. + +She had finished her breakfast, which had been cleared away, when he +came in to her the next morning. She was sitting in a chair by the empty +grate with her hands in her lap, and she looked pale. + +Mackenzie had on a frock coat, and laid a new silk hat and a new pair of +gloves on the table as he greeted her with unsentimental cheerfulness. + +"Will you sit down?" she said, regarding him with serious eyes. "I want +to ask you some questions." + +He threw a shrewd glance at her. "Ask away," he said in the same loud, +cheerful tone, and took his seat opposite to her, carefully disposing of +the skirts of his coat, which looked too big even for his big frame. + +"I have been thinking a great deal," she said. "I want to know exactly +what my life is to be if I marry you." + +"_If_ you marry me!" he took up her words. "You _are_ going to marry +me." + +"You said something last night," she went on, "which I didn't quite +understand at the time; and I am not sure that you meant me to. Are you +going to take me with you to Tibet, and on your other journeys, or do +you want to leave me behind--here?" There was a hint of the distaste she +felt for her surroundings in the slight gesture that accompanied the +last word. But she looked at him out of clear, blue, uncompromising +eyes. + +He did not return her look. "Here?" he echoed, looking round him with +some wonder. "What is the matter with this?" + +"Then you do mean to leave me here." + +"Look here, my dear," he said, looking at her now. "I am not going to +take you to Tibet, or on any of my big journeys. I never had the +slightest intention of doing so, and never meant you to think I had. A +pretty thing if I were to risk the life of the one most precious to me, +as well as my own, in such journeys as I take!" + +"Then what about me?" asked Cicely. "What am I to do while you are away, +risking your own life, as you say, and away perhaps for two or three +years together?" + +"Would you be very anxious for me?" he asked her, with a tender look, +but she brushed the question aside impatiently. + +"I am to live alone, while you go away," she said, "live just as dull a +life as I did before, only away from my own people, and without anything +that made my life pleasant in spite of its dulness. Is that what you are +offering me?" + +"No, no," he said, trying to soothe her. "I want you to live in the +sweetest little country place. We'll find one together. You needn't stay +here a minute longer than you want to, though when we are in London +together it will be convenient. I want to think of you amongst your +roses, and to come back to you and forget all the loneliness and +hardships. I want a home, and you in it, the sweetest wife ever a man +had." + +"I don't want that," she said at once. "You are offering me nothing that +I didn't have before, and I left it all to come to you--to share the +hardships and--and--I would take away the loneliness." + +"You are making too much of my big journeys," he broke in on her +eagerly. "That is the trouble. Now listen to me. I shall be starting for +Tibet in March, and----" + +"Did you know that when you told me you were going in a fortnight?" she +interrupted him. + +"Let me finish," he said, holding up his hand. "It is settled now that I +am going to Tibet in March, and I shan't be away for more than a year. +Until then we will travel together. I want to go to Switzerland almost +directly to test some instruments. You will come with me, and you can +learn to climb. I don't mind that sort of hardship for you. At the end +of October we will go to America. I hadn't meant to go, but I want money +now--for you--and I can get it there. That's business; and for pleasure +we will go anywhere you like--Spain, Algiers, Russia--Riviera, if you +like, though I don't care for that sort of thing. When I go to Tibet +I'll leave you as mistress of a little house that you may be proud of, +and you'll wait for me there. When I get back we'll go about together +again, and as far as I can see I shan't have another big job to tackle +for some time after that--a year, perhaps two years, perhaps more." + +She was silent for a moment, thinking. "Come now," he said, "that's not +stagnation. Is it?" + +"No," she said unwillingly. "But it isn't what I came to you for." She +raised her eyes to his. "You know it isn't what I came to you for." + +His face grew a little red. "You came to me," he said in a slower, +deeper voice, looking her straight in the eyes, "because I wanted you. I +want you now and I mean to have you. I want you as a wife. I will keep +absolutely true to you. You will be the only woman in the world to me. +But my work is my work. You will have no more say in that than I think +good for you. You will come with me wherever I think well to take you, +and I shall be glad enough to have you. Otherwise you will stay behind +and look after my home--and, I hope, my children." + +Her face was a deep scarlet. She knew now what this marriage meant to +him. What it had meant to her, rushing into it so blindly, seemed a +foolish, far off thing. Her strongest feeling was a passionate desire +for her mother's presence. She was helpless, alone with this man, from +whom she felt a revulsion that almost overpowered her. + +He sat for a full minute staring at her downcast face, his mouth firmly +set, a slight frown on his brows. + +"Come now," he said more roughly. "You don't really know what you want. +But I know. Trust me, and before God, I will make you happy." + +She hid her face in her hands. "Oh, I want to go home," she cried. + +He shifted in his chair. The lines of his face did not relax. He must +set himself to master this mood. He knew he had the power, and he must +exercise it once for all. The mood must not recur again, or if it did it +must not be shown to him. + +And there is no doubt at all that he would have mastered it. But as he +opened his mouth to speak, Cicely sitting there in front of him, crying, +with a white face and strained eyes, there were voices on the stairs, +the door opened, and Dick and Jim Graham came into the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE PURSUIT + + +Cicely had not been missed from home until the evening. At tea-time she +was supposed to be at the dower-house, or else at the Rectory. It was +only when she had not returned at a quarter to eight, that the maid who +waited upon her and her mother told Mrs. Clinton that she was not in her +room. + +"Where on earth can she be?" exclaimed Mrs. Clinton. Punctuality at +meals being so rigidly observed it was unprecedented that Cicely should +not have begun to dress at a quarter to eight. At ten minutes to eight +Mrs. Clinton was convinced that some accident had befallen her. At five +minutes to, she tapped at the door of the Squire's dressing-room. +"Edward," she called, "Cicely has not come home yet." + +"Come in! Come in!" called the Squire. He was in his shirt sleeves, +paring his nails. + +"I am afraid something has happened to her," said Mrs. Clinton +anxiously. + +"Now, Nina, don't fuss," said the Squire. "What can possibly have +happened to her? She must be at the dower-house, though, of course, she +ought to be home by this time. Nobody in this house is ever punctual but +myself. I am always speaking about it. You _must_ see that the children +are in time for meals. If nobody is punctual the whole house goes to +pieces." + +Mrs. Clinton went downstairs into the morning-room, where they were wont +to assemble for dinner. Dick was there already, reading a paper. "Cicely +has not come home yet," she said to him. + +"By Jove, she'll catch it," said Dick, and went on reading his paper. + +Mrs. Clinton went to the window and drew the curtain aside. It was not +yet quite dark and she could see across the park the footpath by which +Cicely would come from the dower-house. But there was no one there. Mrs. +Clinton's heart sank. She knew that something _had_ happened. Cicely +would never have stayed out as late as this if she could have helped it. +She came back into the room and rang the bell. "I must send down," she +said. + +Dick put his paper aside and looked up at her. "It _is_ rather odd," he +said. + +The butler came into the room, and the Squire immediately behind him. +"Edward, I want some one to go down to the dower-house and see if Cicely +has been there," Mrs. Clinton said. "I am anxious about her." + +The Squire looked at her for a moment. "Send a man down to the +dower-house to ask if Miss Clinton has been there this afternoon," he +said, "and if she hasn't, tell him to go to the Rectory." + +The butler left the room, but returned immediately with Cicely's +telegram. It was one minute to eight o'clock. He hung on his heel after +handing the salver to Mrs. Clinton and then left the room to carry out +his previous instructions. It was not his place to draw conclusions, but +to do as he was told. + +Mrs. Clinton read the telegram and handed it to the Squire, searching +his face as he read it. "What, the devil!" exclaimed the Squire, and +handed it to Dick. + +The big clock in the hall began to strike. Porter threw open the door +again. "Dinner is served, ma'am," he said. + +"You needn't send down to the dower-house," Dick said, raising his eyes +from the paper. "Miss Clinton has gone up to stay with Mrs. Walter." +Then he offered his arm to his mother to lead her out of the room. + +"Shut the door," shouted the Squire, and the door was shut. "What on +earth does it mean?" he asked, in angry amazement. + +"Better have gone in to dinner," said Dick. "I don't know." + +Mrs. Clinton was white, and said nothing. The Squire turned to her. +"What does it mean, Nina?" he asked again. "Did you know anything about +this?" + +"Of course mother didn't know," said Dick. "There's something queer. +It's too late to send a wire. I'll go up by the eleven o'clock train and +find out all about it. Better go in now." He laid the telegram +carelessly on a table. + +"Don't leave it about," said the Squire. + +"Better leave it there," said Dick, and offered his arm to his mother +again. + +They went into the dining-room, only a minute late. + +"Tell Higgs to pack me a bag for two nights," said Dick when the Squire +had mumbled a grace, "and order my cart for ten o'clock. I'm going up to +London. I shan't want anybody." + +Then, as long as the servants were in the room they talked as usual. At +least Dick did, with frequent mention of Walter and Muriel and some of +Cicely. The Squire responded to him as well as he was able, and Mrs. +Clinton said nothing at all. But that was nothing unusual. + +When they were alone at last, the Squire burst out, but in a low voice, +"What on earth does it mean? Tell me what it means, Dick." + +"She hasn't had a row with any one, has she, mother?" asked Dick, +cracking a walnut. + +Mrs. Clinton moistened her lips. "With whom?" she asked. + +"I know it's very unlikely. I suppose she's got some maggot in her head. +Misunderstood, or something. You never know what girls are going to do +next. She _has_ been rather mopy lately. I've noticed it." + +"She has not seen Muriel since she was married," said Mrs. Clinton. "She +has missed her." + +"Pah!" spluttered the Squire. "How dare she go off like that without a +word? What on earth can you have been thinking of to let her, Nina? And +what was Miles doing? Miles must have packed her boxes. And who drove +her to the station? When did she go? Here we are, sitting calmly here +and nobody thinks of asking any of these questions." + +"It was Miles who told me she had not come back," said Mrs. Clinton. +"She was as surprised as I was." + +"Ring the bell, Dick," said the Squire. + +"I think you had better go up, mother, and see what she took with her," +said Dick. "Don't say anything to anybody but Miles, and tell her to +keep quiet." + +Mrs. Clinton went out of the room. Dick closed the door which he had +opened for her, came back to the table, and lit a cigarette. "There's +something queer, father," he said, "but we had better make it seem as +natural as possible. I shouldn't worry if I were you. I'll find out all +about it and bring her back." + +"Worry!" snorted the Squire. "It's Cicely who is going to worry. If she +thinks she is going to behave like that in this house she is very much +mistaken." + +Dick drove into Bathgate at twenty minutes to eleven. He always liked to +give himself plenty of time to catch a train, but hated waiting about on +the platform. So he stopped at the George Hotel and went into the hall +for a whisky-and-soda. + +"Oh, good evening, Captain," said the landlord, who was behind the bar. +"If you are going back to Kencote you can save me sending over. This +letter has just come down by train." He handed Dick a square envelope +which he had just opened. On it was his name and address in Cicely's +writing, and an underlined inscription, "Please send the enclosed letter +to Kencote by special messenger as early as possible to-morrow morning." +Dick took out the inner envelope which was addressed to his mother, and +looked at it. "All right," he said, "I'll take it over," and slipped it +into the pocket of his light overcoat. He ordered his whisky-and-soda +and drank it, talking to the landlord as he did so. Only a corner of the +bar faced the hall, which was otherwise empty, and as he went out he +took the letter from his pocket and opened it. + +"The devil you will!" he said, as he read the few words Cicely had +written. Then he went out and stood for a second beside his cart, +thinking. + +"I'm going to Mountfield," he said as he swung the horse round and the +groom jumped up behind. The groom would wonder at his change of plan and +when he got back he would talk. If he told him not to he would talk all +the more. Wisest to say nothing at present. So Dick drove along the five +miles of dark road at an easy pace, for he could catch no train now +until seven o'clock in the morning and there was no use in hurrying, and +thought and thought, as he drove. If he failed in stopping this +astonishing and iniquitous proceeding it would not be for want of +thinking. + +Mountfield was an early house. Jim himself unbarred and unlocked the +front door to the groom's ring. The chains and bolts to be undone seemed +endless. "Take out my bag," said Dick, as he waited, sitting in the +cart. "I'm going to stay here for the night. There'll be a note to take +back to Mrs. Clinton. See that it goes up to her to-night." + +He spoke so evenly that the groom wondered if, after all, there was +anything going on under the surface at all. + +"Hullo, old chap," Dick called out, directly Jim's astonished face +appeared in the doorway. "Cicely has bolted off to see Muriel, and the +governor has sent me to fetch her back. I was going up by the eleven +o'clock train, but I thought I'd come here for to-night, and take you up +with me in the morning. There's nothing to hurry for." + +Then he got down from the cart and gave the reins to the groom. "I just +want to send a note to the mater so that she won't worry," he said, as +he went into the house. + +He went across the hall into Jim's room, and Jim, who had not spoken, +followed him. "Read that," he said, putting the letter into his hand. + +Jim read it and looked up at him. There was no expression on his face +but one of bewilderment. + +"You think it over," said Dick, a little impatiently, and went to the +writing-table and scribbled a note. + + "Dear Mother,--I thought I would come on here first on the chance + of hearing something, and glad I did so. There is a letter from + Cicely. It is all right. Jim and I are going up to-morrow morning. + Don't worry. + + "Dick." + +Then, without taking any notice of Jim, still standing gazing at the +letter in his hand with the same puzzled expression on his face, he went +out and despatched the groom, closing the hall door after him. + +He went back into the room and shut that door too. "Well!" he said +sharply. "What the devil does it mean?" + +Jim's expression had changed. It was now angry as well as puzzled. "It +was when he went after her on Sunday," he said. "_Damn_ him! I +thought----" + +"Never mind what you thought," said Dick. "When did he see her alone?" + +"I was going to tell you. When we came over yesterday afternoon he saw +her over the wall, and directly we got to the house he bolted off after +her. He said he had promised to show her some sketches." + +"But he didn't find her. He said so at tea-time--when she came out." + +Jim was silent. "Perhaps that was a blind," said Dick. "How long was it +before he came back and said he couldn't find her?" + +"About half an hour, I should think. Not so much." + +"He _must_ have found her. But, good heavens! he can't have persuaded +her to run away with him in half an hour! He had never been alone with +her before." + +"No." + +"And he didn't see her alone afterwards." + +Jim's face suddenly went dark. "He--he--went out after we went up to +bed," he said. + +"What?" + +"He asked me to leave the door unlocked. He said he might not sleep, and +if he didn't he should go out." + +The two men looked at one another. "That's a nice thing to hear of your +sister," said Dick bitterly. + +"It's a nice thing to hear of a man you've treated as a friend," said +Jim. + +"How long have you known the fellow?" + +"Oh, I told you. I met him when I was travelling, and asked him to look +me up. I haven't seen him since until he wrote and said he wanted to +come for a quiet Sunday." + +"Why did he want to come? I'll tell you what it is, Jim. She must have +met him in London, and you were the blind. Yes, that's it. She's been +different since she came back. I've noticed it. We've all noticed it." + +"I don't believe they met before," said Jim slowly. + +"Why not?" + +"I don't believe they did. Dick, do you think they can be married +already? Is there time to stop it?" + +"Yes, there's time. I've thought it out. We'll go up by the seven +o'clock train. Where does the fellow live?" + +Jim thought a moment. "I don't know. He wrote from the Royal Societies +Club." + +"Well, we'll find him. I'm not going to talk about it any more now. I'm +too angry. Cicely! She ought to be whipped. If it _is_ too late, she +shall never come to Kencote again, if I have any say in the matter, and +I don't think my say will be needed. Let's go to bed. We shall have +plenty of time to talk in the train." + +"I'll go and get hold of Grove," said Jim. "He must get a room ready, +and see that we get to the station in the morning," and he went out of +the room. + +Dick walked up and down, and then poured himself out whisky-and-soda +from a table standing ready. He lit a cigarette and threw the match +violently into the fireplace. When Jim returned he said, "I've managed +to keep it pretty dark so far. The governor would have blurted +everything out--everything that he knew. I'm glad I intercepted that +letter to the mater. I haven't any sort of feeling about opening it. +_I'm_ going to see to this. If we can get hold of her before it's too +late, she must go to Muriel for a bit; I must keep it from the governor +as long as I can--until I get back and can tackle him. He'll be so +furious that he'll give it away all round. He wouldn't think about the +scandal." + +"Pray God we shan't be too late," said Jim. "What a fool I've been, +Dick! I took it all for granted. I never thought that she wasn't just as +fond of me as I was of her." + +Dick looked at him. "Well, I suppose that's all over now," he said, "a +girl who behaves like that!" + +Jim turned away, and said nothing, and by and by they went up to bed. + +They drove over to Bathgate the next morning and caught the seven +o'clock train to Ganton, where they picked up the London express. Alone +in a first-class smoking-carriage they laid their plans. "I have an idea +that is worth trying before we do anything else," said Jim. "When we +were travelling together that fellow told me of some rooms in Bloomsbury +he always went to when he could get them." + +"Do you know the address?" + +"Yes," said Jim, and gave it. "He said they were the best rooms in +London, and made me write down the address. I found it last night." + +"Why on earth didn't you say so before?" + +"I had forgotten. I didn't suppose I should ever want to take rooms in +Bloomsbury." + +"It's a chance. We'll go there first. If we draw blank, we will go to +his club, and then to the Geographical Society. We'll find him +somewhere." + +"We can't do anything to him," said Jim. + +"I'm not thinking much of him," Dick confessed. "It would be a comfort +to bruise him a bit--though I dare say he'd be just as likely to bruise +me. He's got an amazing cheek; but, after all, a man plays his own hand. +If she had behaved herself properly he couldn't have done anything." + +He flicked the ash of his cigar on to the carpet and looked carelessly +out of the window, but turned his head sharply at the tone in which Jim +said, "If I could get him alone, and it couldn't do her any harm +afterwards, I'd kill him." And he cursed Mackenzie with a deliberate, +blasphemous oath. + +Dick said nothing, but looked out of the window again with an expression +that was not careless. + +Jim spoke again in the same low voice of suppressed passion. "I told him +about her when I was travelling. I don't know why, but I did. And after +you dined on Friday we spoke about her. He praised her. I didn't say +much, but he knew what I felt. And he had got this in his mind then. He +must have had. He was my friend, staying in my house. He's a liar and a +scoundrel. For all he's done, and the name he's made, he's not fit +company for decent men. Dick, I'd give up everything I possess for the +chance of handling him." + +"I'd back you up," said Dick. "But the chief thing is to get her away +from him." + +"I know that. It's the only thing. We can't do anything. I was thinking +of it nearly all night long. And supposing we don't find him, or don't +find him till too late." + +"We won't think of that," said Dick coolly. "One thing at a time. And +we'll shut his mouth, at any rate. I feel equal to that." + +They were silent for a time, and then Jim said, "Dick, I'd like to say +one thing. She may not care about seeing me. I suppose she can't care +for me much--now--or she wouldn't have let him take her away. But I'm +going to fight for her--see that? I'm going to fight for her, if it's +not too late." + +Dick looked uncomfortable in face of his earnestness. "If you want her," +he began hesitatingly, "after----" + +"Want her!" echoed Jim. "Haven't I always wanted her? I suppose I +haven't shown it. It isn't my way to show much. But I thought it was all +settled and I rested on that. Good God, I've wanted her every day of my +life--ever since we fixed it up together--years ago. I wish I'd taken +her, now, and let the beastly finance right itself. It wouldn't have +made much difference, after all. But I wanted to give her everything she +ought to have. If I've seemed contented to wait, I can tell you I +haven't been. I didn't want to worry her. I--I--thought she understood." + +"She's behaved very badly," said Dick, too polite to show his surprise +at this revelation. Jim had always been rather a queer fellow. "If you +want her still, she ought to be precious thankful. The whole thing +puzzles me. I can't see her doing it." + +"I couldn't, last night," said Jim, more quietly. "I can now. She's got +pluck. I never gave her any chance to show it." + +They were mostly silent after this. Every now and then one of them said +a word or two that showed that their thoughts were busy in what lay +before them. The last thing Jim said before the train drew up at the +same platform at which Cicely had alighted the day before was, "I can't +do anything to him." + +They drove straight to the house in Bloomsbury. Mrs. Fletcher opened the +door to them. "Mr. Mackenzie is expecting us, I think," said Dick +suavely, and made as if to enter. + +Mrs. Fletcher looked at them suspiciously, more because it was her way +than because, in face of Dick's assumption, she had any doubts of their +right of entrance. "He didn't say that he expected anybody," she said. +"I can take your names up to him." + +"Oh, thanks, we won't trouble you," said Dick. "We will go straight up. +First floor, as usual, I suppose?" + +It was a slip, and Mrs. Fletcher planted herself in the middle of the +passage at once. + +"Wait a moment," she said. "What do you mean by 'as usual'? Neither of +you have been in the house before. You won't go up to Mr. Mackenzie +without I know he wants to see you." + +"Now, look here," said Dick, at once. "We are going up to Mr. Mackenzie, +and I expect you know why. If you try to stop us, one of us will stay +here and the other will fetch the policeman. You can make up your mind +at once which it shall be, because we've no time to waste." + +"Nobody has ever talked to me about a policeman before; you'll do it at +your peril," she said angrily, still standing in the passage, but Dick +saw her cast an eye towards the door on her left. + +"I'm quite ready to take the consequences," said Dick, "but whatever +they are it won't do you any good with other people in your house to +have the police summoned at half-past ten in the morning. Now will you +let us pass?" + +She suddenly turned and made way for them. Dick went upstairs and Jim +followed him. The door of the drawing-room was opposite to them. "I'll +do the talking," said Dick, and opened the door and went in. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE CONTEST + + +Mackenzie sprang up and stood facing them. His face had changed in a +flash. It was not at all the face of a man who had been caught and was +ashamed; it was rather glad. Even his ill-made London clothes could not +at that moment disguise his magnificent gift of virility. So he might +have looked--when there was no one to see him--face to face with sudden, +unexpected danger in far different surroundings, dauntless, and eager to +wrest his life out of the instant menace of death. + +Dick had a momentary perception of the quality of the man he had to deal +with, which was instantly obliterated by a wave of contemptuous +dislike--the dislike of a man to whom all expression of feeling, except, +perhaps, anger, was an offence. He had looked death in the face too, but +not with that air. Assumed at a moment like this it was a vulgar +absurdity. He met Mackenzie's look with a cool contempt. + +But the challenge, and the reply to it, had occupied but a moment. +Cicely had looked up and cried, "O Dick!" and had tried to rise from her +chair to come to him, but could not. The tone in which she uttered that +appeal for mercy and protection made Jim Graham wince, but it did not +seem to affect her brother. "Go and get ready to come with us," he said. + +Jim had never taken his eyes off Cicely since he had entered the room, +but she did not look at him. She sat in her chair, trembling a little, +her eyes upon her brother's face, which was now turned toward her with +no expression in it but a cold authority. + +She stood up with difficulty, and Jim took half a step forward. But +Mackenzie broke in, with a gesture towards her. "Come now, Captain +Clinton," he said. "You have found us out; but I am going to marry your +sister. You are not going to take her away, you know." He spoke in a +tone of easy good humour. The air, slightly theatrical, as it had +seemed, with which he had faced their intrusion, had disappeared. + +Dick took no notice of him whatever. "I am going to take you up to +Muriel," he said to Cicely. "There's a cab waiting. Have you anything to +get, or are you ready to come now?" + +She turned to go to her room, but Mackenzie interposed again. "Stay +here, please," he said. "We won't take our orders from Captain Clinton. +Look here, Clinton, I dare say this has been a bit of a shock to you, +and I'm sorry it had to be done in such a hurry. But everything is +straight and honest. I want to marry your sister, and she wants to marry +me. She is of age and you can't stop her. I'm going to make her a good +husband, and she's going to make me the best of wives." + +He still spoke good-humouredly, with the air of a man used to command +who condescends to reason. He knew his power and was accustomed to +exercise it, with a hand behind his back, so to speak, upon just such +young men as these; men who were socially his superiors, and on that +very account to be kept under, and taught that there was no such thing +as social superiority where his work was to be done, but only leader and +led. + +But still Dick took no notice of him. "Come along, Cicely," he said, +with a trifle of impatience. + +Mackenzie shrugged his shoulders angrily. "Very well," he said, "if +you've made up your mind to take that fool's line, take it and welcome. +Only you won't take _her_. She's promised to me. My dear, tell them so." + +He bent his look upon Cicely, the look which had made her soft in his +hands. Dick was looking at her too, standing on the other side of the +table, with cold displeasure. And Jim had never looked away from her. +His face was tender and compassionate, but she did not see it. She +looked at Dick, searching his face for a sign of such tenderness, but +none was there, or she would have gone to him. Her eyes were drawn to +Mackenzie's, and rested there as if fascinated. They were like those of +a frightened animal. + +"Come now," said Mackenzie abruptly. "It is for you to end all this. I +would have spared you if I could--you know that; but if they must have +it from you, let them have it. Tell them that I asked you to come away +and marry me, and that you came of your own accord. Tell them that I +have taken care of you. Tell them that we are to be married this +morning." + +She hesitated painfully, and her eyes went to her brother's face again +in troubled appeal. He made no response to her look, but when the clock +on the mantelpiece had ticked half a dozen audible beats and she had not +spoken, he turned to Mackenzie. + +"I see," he said. "You have----" + +"Oh, let her speak," Mackenzie interrupted roughly, with a flashing +glance at him. "You have had your say." + +"It is quite plain, sir," proceeded Dick in his level voice, "that you +have gained some sort of influence over my sister." + +"Oh, that is plain, is it?" sneered Mackenzie. + +"Excuse me if I don't express myself very cleverly," said Dick. "What I +mean is that somehow you have managed to _bully_ her into running away +with you." + +They looked into one another's eyes for an instant. The swords were +crossed. Mackenzie turned to Cicely. "Did I do that?" he asked quietly. + +"If I might suggest," Dick said, before she could reply, "that you don't +try and get behind my sister, but speak up for yourself----" + +"Did I do that?" asked Mackenzie again. + +"O Dick dear," said Cicely, "I said I would come. It was my own fault." + +"Your own fault--yes," said Dick. "But I am talking to this--this +gentleman, now." + +Mackenzie faced him again. "Oh, we're to have all that wash about +gentlemen, are we? I'm not a gentleman. That's the trouble, is it?" + +"It is part of the trouble," said Dick. "A good big part." + +"Do you know what I do with the _gentlemen_ who come worrying me for +jobs when I go on an expedition, Captain Clinton--the gentlemen who want +to get seconded from your regiment and all the other smart regiments, to +serve under me?" + +"Shall we stick to the point?" asked Dick. "My cab is waiting." + +Mackenzie's face looked murderous for a moment, but he had himself in +hand at once. "The point is," he said, "that I am going to marry your +sister, with her consent." + +"The point is how you got her consent. I am here in place of my +father--and hers. If she marries you she marries you, but she doesn't do +it before I tell her what she is letting herself in for." + +"Then perhaps you will tell her that." + +"I will." Dick looked at Cicely. "I should like to ask you to begin with +when you first met--Mr. Mackenzie," he said. + +"Dear Dick!" cried Cicely, "don't be so cruel. I--I--was discontented at +home, and I----" + +"We met first at Graham's house," said Mackenzie, "when you were there. +I first spoke to her alone on Sunday afternoon, and she promised to come +away and marry me on Sunday night. Now go on." + +"That was when you told Graham that you couldn't sleep, I suppose, in +the middle of the night." + +"I walked over from Mountfield, and she came to me in the garden, as I +had asked her to. We were together about three minutes." + +Dick addressed Cicely again, still with the same cold authority. "You +were discontented at home. You can tell me why afterwards. You meet this +man and hear him bragging of his great deeds, and when he takes you by +surprise and asks you to marry him, you are first of all rather +frightened, and then you think it would be an adventure to go off with +him. Is that it?" + +"It's near enough," said Mackenzie, "except that I don't brag." + +"I've got my own ears," said Dick, still facing Cicely. "Well, I dare +say the sort of people you're used to don't seem much beside a man who +gets himself photographed on picture postcards, but I'll tell you a few +of the things we don't do. We don't go and stay in our friends' houses +and then rob them. You belonged to Jim. You'd promised him, and this man +knew it. We don't go to other men's houses and eat their salt and make +love to their daughters behind their backs. We don't tell mean lies. We +don't ask young girls to sneak out of their homes to meet us in the +middle of the night. We respect the women we want to marry, we don't +compromise them. If this man had been a fit husband for you, he would +have asked for you openly. It's just because he knows he isn't that he +brings all his weight to bear upon you, and you alone. He doesn't dare +to face your father or your brothers." + +Cicely had sunk down into her chair again. Her head was bent, but her +eyes were dry now. Mackenzie had listened to him with his face set and +his lips pressed together. What he thought of the damaging indictment, +whether it showed him his actions in a fresh light, or only heightened +his resentment, nobody could have told. "Have you finished what you have +to say?" he asked. + +"Not quite," replied Dick. "Listen to me, Cicely." + +"Yes, and then listen to me," said Mackenzie. + +"What sort of treatment do you think you're going to get from a man who +has behaved like that? He's ready to give you a hole-and-corner +marriage. He wants you for the moment, and he'll do anything to get you. +He'll get tired of you in a few weeks, and then he'll go off to the +other side of the world and where will _you_ be? How much thought has he +given to _your_ side of the bargain? He's ready to cut you off from your +own people--_he_ doesn't care. He takes you from a house like Kencote +and brings you here. He's lied to Jim, who treated him like a friend, +and he's behaved like a cad to us who let him into our house. He's done +all these things in a few days. How are you going to spend your life +with a fellow like that?" + +Cicely looked up. Her face was firmer, and she spoke to Mackenzie. "We +had begun to talk about all these things," she said. "I asked you a +question which you didn't answer. Did you know when you told me you were +going back to Tibet in a fortnight and there wasn't time to--to ask +father for me, that you weren't going until next year?" + +"No, I didn't," said Mackenzie. + +"When did he tell you that?" asked Dick. + +"On Sunday." + +"I can find that out for you easily enough. I shouldn't take an answer +from him." + +Again, for a fraction of a second, Mackenzie's face was deadly, but he +said quietly to Cicely, "I have answered your question. Go on." + +"You know why I did what you asked me," she said. "I thought you were +offering me a freer life and that I should share in all your travels and +dangers. You told me just before my brother came in that you didn't want +me for that." + +"I told you," said Mackenzie, speaking to her as if no one else had been +in the room, "that you _would_ have a freer life, but that I shouldn't +risk your safety by taking you into dangerous places. I told you that I +would do all that a man could do to protect and honour his chosen wife, +and that's God's truth. I told you that I would make you happy. That I +know I can do, and I will do. Your brother judges me by the fiddling +little rules he and the like of him live by. He calls himself a +gentleman, and says I'm not one. I know I'm not his kind of a gentleman. +I've no wish to be; I'm something bigger. I've got my own honour. _You_ +know how I've treated you. Your own mother couldn't have been more +careful of you. And so I'll treat you to the end of the chapter when you +give me the right to. You can't go back now; it's too late. You see how +this precious brother of yours looks at you, after what you have done. +You'll be sorry if you throw yourself into _his_ hands again. Show some +pluck and send him about his business. You can trust yourself to me. You +won't regret it." + +The shadow of his spell was over her again. She hesitated once more and +Dick's face became hard and angry. "Before you decide," he said, "let me +tell you this, that if you do marry this fellow you will never come to +Kencote again or see any of us as long as you live." + +"You won't see your eldest brother," said Mackenzie. "I'll take care of +that. But you _will_ see those you want to see. I'll see to that too. +It's time to end this. I keep you to your word. You said you were mine, +and you meant it. I don't release you from your promise." + +Cicely's calm broke down. "Oh, I don't know what to do," she cried. "I +did promise." + +"I keep you to your promise," said Mackenzie inexorably. + +Then Jim, who had kept silence all this time, spoke at last. "Cicely," +he said, "have you forgotten that you made _me_ a promise?" + +"O Jim," she said, without looking at him, "don't speak to me. I have +behaved very badly to you." + +"You never wanted to marry him," said Mackenzie roughly. "He's not the +husband for a girl of any spirit." + +Jim made no sign of having heard him. His face was still turned towards +Cicely. "It has been my fault," he said. "I've taken it all for granted. +But I've never thought about anybody else, Cicely." + +Mackenzie wouldn't allow him to make his appeal as he had allowed Dick. +"He has had five years to take you in," he said. "He told me so. And he +hasn't taken you because he might have less money to spend on himself, +till he'd paid off his rates and taxes. He told me that too. He can +afford to keep half a dozen horses and a house full of servants. He +can't afford a wife!" + +He spoke with violent contempt. Dick gazed at him steadily with +contemptuous dislike. "This is the fellow that invited himself to your +house, Jim," he said. + +"Let me speak now, Dick," said Jim, with decision. "He can't touch me, +and I don't care if he does. He's nothing at all. I won't bother you. +Cicely, my dear. I've always loved you and I always shall. But----" + +"No, he won't bother you," interrupted Mackenzie with a sneer. "He's +quite comfortable." + +"But you will know I'm there when you are ready to be friends again. If +I haven't told you before I'll tell you now. I've kept back all I've +felt for you, but I've never changed and I shan't change. This won't +make any difference, except that----" + +"Except that he's lost you and I've won you," Mackenzie broke in. "He's +had his chance and he's missed it. You don't want to be worried with his +drivel." + +Cicely looked up at Mackenzie. "Let him speak," she said, with some +indignation. "I have listened to all you have said." + +Mackenzie's attitude relaxed suddenly. After a searching glance at her +he shrugged his shoulders and turned aside. He took up his grey kid +gloves lying on the table and played with them. + +"I don't blame you for this--not a bit," said Jim, "and I never shall. +Whatever you want I'll try and give you." + +"O Jim, I can't marry you now," said Cicely, her head turned from him. +"But you are very kind." She broke into tears again, more tempestuous +than before. Her strength was nearly at an end. + +"I've told you that I shan't worry you," Jim said. "But you mustn't +marry this man without thinking about it. You must talk to your +mother--she'll be heart-broken if you go away from her like this." + +"Oh, does she want me back?" cried Cicely. + +"Yes, she does. You must go up to Muriel now. She'll want you too. And +you needn't go home till you want to." + +"I shall never be able to go home again," she said. + +Mackenzie threw his gloves on to the table. "Do you want to go home?" he +asked her. His voice had lost that insistent quality. He spoke as if he +was asking her whether she would like to take a walk, in a tone almost +pleasant. + +"I want to go away," she said doggedly. + +"Then you may go," said Mackenzie, still in the same easy voice. "I +wanted you, and if we had been in a country where men behave like men, I +would have had you. But I see I'm up against the whole pudding weight of +British respectability, and I own it's too strong for me. We could have +shifted it together, but you're not the girl to go in with a man. I'll +do without you." + +"You had better come now, Cicely," said Dick. + +Mackenzie gave a great laugh, with a movement of his whole body as if he +were throwing off a weight. + +"Shake hands before you go," he said, as she rose obediently. "You're +making a mistake, you know; but I don't altogether wonder at it. If I'd +had a day longer they should never have taken you away. I nearly got +you, as it was." + +Cicely put her hand into his and looked him squarely in the face. +"Good-bye," she said. "You thought too little of me after all. If you +had really been willing for me to share your life, I think I would have +stayed with you." + +His face changed at that. He fixed her with a look, but she took her +hand out of his and turned away. "I am ready, Dick," she said, and again +he shrugged his broad shoulders. + +"I wish I had it to do over again," he said. "Well, gentlemen, you have +won and I have lost. I don't often lose, but when I do I don't whine +about it. You can make your minds easy. Not a word about this shall pass +my lips." + +Dick turned round suddenly. "Will you swear that?" he asked. + +"Oh, yes, if you like. I mean it." + +Dick and Cicely went out of the room. "Well, Graham, I hope you'll get +her now I've lost her," said Mackenzie. + +Jim took no notice of him, but went out after the other two. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +AFTER THE STORM + + +Cicely had an air at once ashamed and defiant as she stepped up into the +cab. Dick gave the cabman the address. "See you to-night, then," he said +to Jim. It had been arranged between them that when Cicely had been +rescued Jim should fall out, as it were, for a time. "Good-bye, Cicely," +he said. "Give my love to Walter and Muriel," and walked off down the +pavement. + +"You can tell me now," said Dick, when the cab had started, "what went +wrong with you to make you do such a thing as that." + +"I'm not going to tell you anything," said Cicely. "I know I have made a +mistake, and I know you will punish me for it--you and father and the +boys. You can do what you like, but I'm not going to help you." + +Tears of self-pity stood in her eyes, and her face was now very white +and tired, but very childish too. Dick was struck with some compunction. +"I dare say you have had enough for the present," he said, not unkindly. +"But how you could!--a low-bred swine like that!" + +Cicely set her lips obstinately. She knew very well that this weapon +would be used freely in what she had called her punishment. Men like +Dick sifted other men with a narrow mesh. A good many of those whom a +woman might accept and even admire, if left to herself, would not pass +through it. Certainly Mackenzie wouldn't. She would have had to suffer +for running away, but she would suffer far more for running away with "a +bounder." And what made it harder was that, although she didn't know it +yet, in the trying battle that had just been waged over her, the sieve +of her own perceptions had narrowed, and Mackenzie, now, would not have +passed through that. She would presently be effectually punished there, +if Dick and the rest should leave her alone entirely. + +Dick suddenly realised that he was ravenously desirous of a cigarette, +and having lit one and inhaled a few draughts of smoke, felt the +atmosphere lighter. + +"By Jove, that was a tussle," he said. "He's a dangerous fellow, that. +You'll thank me, some day, Cicely, for getting you away from him." + +"You didn't get me away," said Cicely. "You had nothing whatever to do +with it." + +"Eh?" said Dick. + +"If you had been just a little kind I would have come with you the +moment you came into the room. I was longing for some one from home. You +made it the hardest thing in the world for me to come. If I had stayed +with him it would have been your fault. I'll never forgive you for the +way you treated me, Dick. And you may do what you like to me now, and +father may do what he likes. Nothing can be worse than that." + +She poured out her words hurriedly, and only the restraint that comes +with a seat in a hansom cab within full view of the populace of Camden +Town prevented her bursting into hysterical tears. + +Dick would rather have ridden up to the mouth of a cannon than drive +through crowded streets with a woman making a scene, so he said, "Oh, +for God's sake keep quiet now," and kept quiet himself, with something +to think about. + +Presently he said, "No one knows at home yet that you aren't with +Muriel. You've got me to thank for that, at any rate." + +Cicely blushed with her sudden great relief, but went pale again +directly. "I wrote to mother," she said. "She would get the letter early +this morning." + +"I've got the letter in my pocket," said Dick. "She hasn't seen it." + +"You opened my letter to mother!" she exclaimed. + +"Yes, I did, and lucky for you too. It was how we found you." + +She let that pass. It was of no interest to her then to learn by what +chance they had found her. "Then do you really mean that they don't know +at home?" she asked eagerly. + +"They know you have gone to Muriel--you'll be there in half an hour--and +nothing else." + +"O Dick, then you won't tell them," she cried, her hand on his sleeve. +"You can't be so cruel as to tell them." + +She had the crowded streets to thank for Dick's quick answer, "I'm not +going to tell them. Do, for Heaven's sake, keep quiet." + +She leant back against the cushions. She had the giddy feeling of a man +who has slipped on the verge of a great height, and saved himself. + +"You'll have plenty to answer for as it is," said Dick, with a short +laugh. "You've run away, though you've only run away to Muriel. You +won't get let down easily." + +She was not dismayed at that. The other peril, surmounted, was so +crushingly greater. And there had been reasons for her running away, +even if she had not run away to Mackenzie. She stood by them later and +they helped her to forget Mackenzie's share in the flight. But now she +could only lean back and taste the blessed relief that Dick had given +her. + +"Do Walter and Muriel know I am coming?" she asked. + +"I sent them a wire from Ganton this morning to say that I should +probably bring you, and they weren't to answer a wire from home, if one +came, till they had heard from me. You've made me stretch my brains +since last night, Cicely. You'd have been pretty well in the ark if it +hadn't been for me." + +"You didn't help me for my own sake though," said Cicely. + +Both of them spoke as if they were carrying on a conversation about +nothing in particular. Their capacity for disturbing discussion was +exhausted for the time. Cicely felt a faint anticipatory pleasure in +going to Muriel's new house, and Dick said, "This must be Melbury Park. +Funny sort of place to find your relations in!" + +But Adelaide Avenue, to which the cabman had been directed, did not +quite bear out the Squire's impressions, nor even the Rector's, of the +dreary suburb; and lying, as it did, behind the miles of shop-fronts, +mean or vulgarly inviting, which they had traversed, and away from the +business of the great railway which gave the name of Melbury Park, its +sole significance to many besides the Squire, it seemed quiet, and even +inviting. It curved between a double row of well-grown limes. Each +house, or pair of houses, had a little garden in front and a bigger one +behind, and most of the houses were of an earlier date than the modern +red brick suburban villa. They were ugly enough, with their stucco +fronts and the steps leading up to their front doors, but they were +respectable and established, and there were trees behind them, and big, +if dingy, shrubs inside their gates. + +Walter's house stood at a corner where a new road had been cut through. +This was lined on each side with a row of two-storied villas behind low +wooden palings, of which the owner, in describing them, had taken +liberties with the name of Queen Anne. But Walter's house and the one +adjoining it in the Avenue, though built in the same style, or with the +same lack of it, were much bigger, and had divided between them an old +garden of a quarter of an acre, which, although it would have been +nothing much at Kencote, almost attained to the dignity of "grounds" at +Melbury Park. + +There was a red lamp by the front gate, and as they drew up before it, +Muriel came out under a gabled porch draped with Virginia creeper and +hurried to welcome them to her married home. + +She looked blooming, as a bride should, even on this hot August day in +London. She wore a frock of light holland, and it looked somehow +different from the frocks of holland or of white drill which Cicely had +idly observed in some numbers as she had driven through the streets and +roads of the suburb. She had a choking sensation as she saw Muriel's +eager face, and her neat dress, just as she might have worn it at home. + +"Hullo, Dick," said Muriel. "Walter will be in to lunch. O Cicely, it +_is_ jolly to see you again. But where's your luggage? You've come to +stay. Why, you're looking miserable, my dear! What on earth's the +matter? And what did Mr. Clinton's telegram mean, and Dick's? We haven't +wired yet, but we must." + +They had walked up the short garden path, leaving Dick to settle with +the cabman, who had been nerving himself for a tussle, and was surprised +to find it unnecessary. + +"I'm in disgrace, Muriel," said Cicely. "I'll tell you all about it when +we are alone, if Dick doesn't first." + +Muriel threw a penetrating look at her and then turned to Dick, who +said, with a grin, "This is the drive, is it, Muriel?" + +"You are not going to laugh at my house, Dick," said Muriel. "You'll be +quite as comfortable here as anywhere. Come in. This is the hall." + +"No, not really?" said Dick. "By Jove!" + +It was not much of a hall, the style of Queen Anne as adapted to the +requirements of Melbury Park not being accustomed to effloresce in +halls; but a green Morris paper, a blue Morris carpet, and white +enamelled woodwork had brought it into some grudging semblance of +welcoming a visitor. The more cultured ladies of Melbury Park in +discussing it had called it "artistic, but slightly _bizarre_," a phrase +which was intended to combine a guarded appreciation of novelty with a +more solid preference for sanitary wallpaper, figured oilcloth and paint +of what they called "dull art colours." + +"Look at my callers," said Muriel, indicating a china bowl on a narrow +mahogany table that was full to the brim with visiting cards. "I can +assure you I'm the person to know here. No sniffing at a doctor's wife +in Melbury Park, Dick." + +"By Jove!" said Dick. "You're getting into society." + +"My dear Dick, don't I tell you, I _am_ society. Oh, good gracious, I +was forgetting. Walter told me to send a telegram to Kencote the very +moment you came. Mr. Clinton wired at eight o'clock this morning and +it's half-past twelve now." + +Cicely turned away, and Dick became serious again. "Where's the wire?" +he asked. "I'll answer it." + +"Come into Walter's room," said Muriel, "there are forms there." + +"I wonder he hasn't wired again," said Dick, and as he spoke a telegraph +boy came up to the open door. + + "Cannot understand why no reply to telegram. Excessively annoyed. + Wire at once.--Edward Clinton," ran the Squire's second message, + and his first, which Muriel handed to Dick: "Is Cicely with you. + Most annoyed. Wire immediately.--Edward Clinton." + +"I'll soothe him," said Dick, and he wrote, "Cicely here. Wanted change. +Is writing. Walter's reply must have miscarried.--Dick." "Another lie," +he said composedly. + +"I want some clothes sent, please, Dick," said Cicely in a constrained +voice. + +"Better tell 'em to send Miles up," said Dick, considering. + +"No, I don't want Miles," said Cicely, and Dick added, "Please tell +Miles send Cicely clothes for week this afternoon." + +"I suppose you can put her up for a week, Muriel," he said. + +"I'll put her up for a month, if she'll stay," said Muriel, putting her +arm into Cicely's, and the amended telegram was despatched. + +"Now come and see my drawing-room," said Muriel, "and then you can look +after yourself, Dick, till Walter comes home, and I will take Cicely to +her room." + +The drawing-room opened on to a garden, wonderfully green and shady +considering where it was. The white walls and the chintz-covered chairs +and sofa had again struck the cultured ladies of Melbury Park as +"artistic but slightly _bizarre_," but the air of richness imparted by +the numberless hymeneal offerings of Walter's and Muriel's friends and +relations had given them a pleasant subject for conversation. Their +opinion was that it was a mistake to have such valuable things lying +about, but if "the doctor" collected them and took them up to put under +his bed every night it would not so much matter. + +"They all tell me that Dr. Pringle used this room as a dining-room," +said Muriel. "It is the first thing they say, and it breaks the ice. We +get on wonderfully well after that; but it is a pretty room, isn't it, +Dick?" + +She had her arm in Cicely's, and pressed it sometimes as she talked, but +she did not talk to her. + +"It's an uncommonly pretty room," said Dick. "Might be in Grosvenor +Square. Where did you and Walter get your ideas of furnishing from, +Muriel? We don't run to this sort of thing at Kencote and Mountfield. +Content with what our forefathers have taught us, eh?" + +"Oh, we know what's what, all right," said Muriel. "We have seen a few +pretty rooms, between us. Now I'm going to take Cicely upstairs. You can +wander about if you like, Dick, and there are cigarettes and things in +Walter's room." + +"I'll explore the gay parterre," said Dick. Then he turned to Cicely and +took hold of her chin between his thumb and finger. "Look here, don't +you worry any more, old lady," he said kindly. "You've been a little +fool, and you've had a knock. Tell Muriel about it and I'll tell Walter. +Nobody else need know." + +She clung to him, crying. "O Dick," she said, "if you had only spoken to +me like that at first!" + +"Well, if I had," said Dick, "I should have been in a devil of a temper +now. As it is I've worked it off. There, run along. You've nothing to +cry for now." He kissed her, which was an unusual attention on his part, +and went through the door into the garden. Muriel and Cicely went +upstairs together. + +Dick soon exhausted the possibilities of the garden and went into the +house again and into Walter's room. It had red walls and a Turkey +carpet. There was a big American desk, a sofa and easy-chairs and three +Chippendale chairs, all confined in rather a small space. There was a +low bookcase along one wall, and above it framed school and college +photographs; on the other walls were prints from pictures at Kencote. +They were the only things in the room, except the ornaments on the +mantelpiece, and a table with a heavy silver cigarette box, and other +smoking apparatus, that lightened its workmanlike air. But Dick was not +apt to be affected by the air of a room. He sat down in the easy-chair +and stretched his long legs in front of him, and thought over the +occurrences of the morning. + +He was rather surprised to find himself in so equable a frame of mind. +His anger against Cicely had gradually worked up since the previous +evening until, when he had seen her in the room with Mackenzie, he could +have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her, with clenched teeth. She +had done a disgraceful thing; she, a girl, had taken the sacred name of +Clinton in her hands and thrown it to the mob to worry. That he had +skilfully caught and saved it before it had reached them did not make +her crime any the less. + +But he could not now regain--he tested his capacity to regain, out of +curiosity--his feeling of outraged anger against her. Curious that, in +the train, he had felt no very great annoyance against Mackenzie. He +asked himself if he hadn't gone rather near to admiring the decisive +stroke he had played, which few men would have attempted on such an +almost complete lack of opportunity. But face to face with him his +dislike and resentment had flared up. His anger now came readily enough +when he thought of Mackenzie, and he found himself wishing ardently for +another chance of showing it effectively. It was this, no doubt, that +had softened him towards his little sister, whom he loved in his +patronising way. The fellow had got hold of her. She was a little fool, +but it was the man who was to blame. And his own resource had averted +the danger of scandal, which he dreaded like any woman. He could not but +be rather pleased with himself for the way in which he had carried +through his job, and Cicely gained the advantage of his +self-commendation. There was one thing, though--his father must never +know. The fat would be in the fire then with a vengeance. + +Turning over these things in his mind, Dick dropped off into a light +doze, from which he was awakened by the entrance of Walter. Walter wore +a tall hat and a morning coat. It was August and it was very hot, and in +Bond Street he would have worn a flannel suit and a straw hat. But if he +did that here his patients would think that _he_ thought anything good +enough for them. There were penalties attached to the publication of +that list of wedding presents in the _Melbury Park Chronicle and North +London Intelligencer_, and he had been warned of these and sundry other +matters. He was not free of the tiresome side-issues of his profession +even in Melbury Park. "Hullo, Dick, old chap!" he said as he came in +with cheerful alacrity. "Is Cicely here, and what has happened?" + +"Hullo, Walter!" said Dick. "Yes, Cicely is here and I have wired to the +governor. She has led us a nice dance, that young woman. But it's all +over now." + +"What has she done? Run away with some fellow?" + +"That's just what she did do. If I hadn't been pretty quick off the post +she'd have been married to him by this time." + +Walter sat down in the chair at his writing-table. His face had grown +rather serious. He looked as if he were prepared to receive the +confidences of a patient. + +"Who did she go off with?" he asked. + +Dick took a cigarette from the silver box, and lit it. "Mr. Ronald +Mackenzie," he said, as he threw the match into the fireplace. + +"Ronald Mackenzie! Where did she pick _him_ up?" + +"He picked her up. He was staying at Mountfield." + +"I know, but he must have seen her before. He can't have persuaded her +in five minutes." + +"Just what I thought. But he did; damn him!" Then he told Walter +everything that had happened, in his easy, leisurely way. "And the great +thing now is to keep it from the governor," he ended up. + +"Really, it's pretty strong," said Walter, after a short pause. "Fancy +Cicely! I can't see her doing a thing like that." + +"I could have boxed her ears with pleasure when I first heard of it," +said Dick. "But somehow I don't feel so annoyed with her now. Poor +little beggar! I suppose it's getting her away from that brute. He'd +frightened her silly. He nearly got her, even when we were there +fighting him." + +"But what about poor old Jim?" asked Walter. "It's too bad of her, you +know, Dick. She was engaged to Jim." + +"Well, it was a sort of engagement. But I don't blame her much there. If +Jim had gone off and married some other girl I don't know that any of us +would have been very surprised." + +"I should." + +"Well, you know him better than I do, of course. I must say, when he +told me in the train coming up that he was as much struck on Cicely as +ever, it surprised me. He's a funny fellow." + +"He's one of the best," said Walter. "But he keeps his feelings to +himself. He has always talked to me about Cicely, but I know he hasn't +talked to anybody else, because Muriel was just as surprised as you were +when I told her how the land lay." + +"He told Mackenzie--that's the odd thing," said Dick. + +"Did he?" + +"Yes. It makes the beast's action all the worse." + +"Well, I don't understand that. Perhaps he had a suspicion and gave him +a warning." + +"I don't think so. He let him go off after her on Sunday afternoon, and +didn't think anything of it. However, he's had a shaking up. He won't +let her go now." + +"Does he want to marry her still?" + +"O Lord, yes, more than ever. That's something to be thankful for. It +will keep the governor quiet if we can hurry it on a bit." + +"But he's not to know." + +"He knows she ran away here, without bringing any clothes. That's got to +be explained. It's enough for the governor, isn't it?" + +"I should think so. Enough to go on with. Didn't Jim want to throttle +that fellow?" + +"He did before we got there, but he knew he couldn't do anything. It +would only have come back on Cicely. He behaved jolly well, Jim did. He +didn't take the smallest notice of Mackenzie from first to last, but he +talked to Cicely like a father. _She_ says--_I_ don't say it, mind +you--that it was Jim who got her away from him; she wouldn't have come +for me." Dick laughed. "I dare say we both had something to do with it," +he said. "I got in a few home truths. I think Mr. Ronald Mackenzie will +be rather sorry he came poaching on our land when he turns it over in +his mind." + +"Well," said Walter, rising, as the luncheon bell rang, "it's a funny +business altogether. You must tell me more later. Like a wash, Dick? Is +Cicely going to stay here for a bit?" + +"Oh, yes," replied Dick, as they went out of the room. "Muriel says +she'll keep her. We've wired for clothes." He lowered his voice as they +went upstairs. "You must go easy with her a bit, you and Muriel," he +said. "She's been touched on the raw. You'll find her in rather an +excited state." + +"Oh, I shan't worry her," said Walter. "But I think she's behaved badly +to Jim all the same." + +But Walter's manner towards his erring sister, when they met in the +dining-room, showed no sign of his feelings, if they were resentful on +behalf of his friend. She was there with Muriel when he and Dick came +down. She was pale, and it was plain that she had been crying, but the +parlour-maid was standing by the sideboard, and the two girls were +talking by the window as if they had not just come from a long talk +which had disturbed them both profoundly. + +"Well, Cicely," said Walter. "Come to see us at last! You don't look +very fit, but you've come to the right man to cure you." Cicely kissed +him gratefully, and they sat down at the table. + +The dining-room was Sheraton--good Sheraton. On the walls were a plain +blue paper and some more prints. The silver and glass on the fresh cloth +and on the sideboard were as bright as possible, for Muriel's +parlour-maid was a treasure. She earned high wages, or she would not +have demeaned herself by going into service at Melbury Park, where, +however, she had a young man. The cook was also a treasure, and the +luncheon she served up would not have disgraced Kencote, where what is +called "a good table" was kept. It was all great fun--to Muriel, and +would have been to Cicely too at any other time. The little house was +beautifully appointed, and "run" more in the style of a little house in +Mayfair than in Melbury Park. Muriel, at any rate, was completely happy +in her surroundings. + +They drank their coffee in the veranda outside the drawing-room window. +They could hear the trains and the trams in the distance, and it seemed +to be a favourite pursuit of the youths of Melbury Park to rattle sticks +along the oak fencing of the garden, but otherwise they were shut in in +a little oasis of green and could not be seen or overheard by anybody. +There were certain things to be said, but no one seemed now to wish to +refer to Cicely's escapade, the sharp effect of which had been over-laid +by the ordinary intercourse of the luncheon table. + +It was Cicely herself who broke the ice. She asked Dick nervously when +he was going back to Kencote. + +"Oh, to-morrow, I think," said Dick. "Nothing to stay up here for." + +Muriel said, "Cicely would like Mrs. Clinton to come up. She doesn't +want to ask her in her letter. Will you ask her, Dick?" + +Dick hesitated. "Do you want to tell mother--about it?" he asked of +Cicely. + +"Yes," she said. + +"Well, I think you had much better not. It'll only worry her, and she +need never know." + +"I am going to tell her," said Cicely doggedly. + +"I wouldn't mind your telling her, if you want to," said Dick, after a +pause, "but it's dangerous. If the governor suspected anything and got +it out of her----" + +"Oh, she wouldn't tell Mr. Clinton," said Muriel. "I think Cicely is +quite right to tell her. Don't you, Walter?" + +"I suppose so," said Walter. "But I think it's a risk. I quite agree +with Dick. It _must_ be kept from the governor. It's for your own sake, +you know, Cicely." + +"None of you boys know mother in the least," said Cicely, in some +excitement. "She's a woman, and so you think she doesn't count at all. +She counts a great deal to me, and I want her." + +"All right, my dear," said Walter kindly. "We only want to do what's +best for you. Don't upset yourself. And you're all right with Muriel and +me, you know." + +"You're both awfully kind," said Cicely, more calmly, "and so is Dick +now. But I do want mother to come, and I _know_ she wouldn't tell +father." + +"I know it too," said Muriel. "I will write to her to-night and ask her; +only we thought Mr. Clinton might make some objection, and you could get +over that, Dick." + +"Oh, I'll get over that all right," said Dick. "Very well, she shall +come. Do you want me to tell her anything, Cicely, or leave it all to +you?" + +"You can tell her what I did," said Cicely in a low voice. + +"All right. I'll break it gently. Now are we all going to Lord's, or are +you two going to stay at home?" + +"Cicely is going to lie down," said Muriel, "and I think I will stay at +home and look after her." She threw rather a longing look at Walter. He +didn't often allow himself a half holiday, and she liked to spend them +with him. + +"Don't stay for me, Muriel," Cicely besought her. "I shall be perfectly +all right, and I'd really rather be alone." + +"No," said Muriel, after another look at Walter. "I'm going to stay at +home." And she wouldn't be moved. + +Walter telephoned for his new motor-car and changed his clothes. "Do you +know why Muriel wouldn't come with us?" he asked, when he and Dick were +on their way. "It was because she thought you and I would rather sit in +the pavilion." + +"So we would," said Dick, with a laugh. "But she's a trump, that girl." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE WHOLE HOUSE UPSET + + +The twins arose betimes on the morning after Cicely's flight, +determined, as was their custom, to enjoy whatever excitement, legal, or +within limits illegal, was to be wrested from a long new summer day, but +quite unaware that the whole house around them was humming with +excitement already. + +For upon Dick's departure the night before the Squire had thrown caution +to the winds, and be-stirred himself, as he said, to get to the bottom +of things. Not content with Mrs. Clinton's report of Miles's statement, +which was simply that she knew nothing, he had "had Miles up" and +cross-examined her himself. He had then had Probin up, the head +coachman, who would have known if Cicely had been driven to the station, +which it was fairly obvious she had not been. He also had Porter the +butler up, more because Porter was always had up if anything went wrong +in the house than because he could be expected to throw any light on +what had happened. And when the groom came back from Mountfield with +Dick's note to Mrs. Clinton, late as it was, he had _him_ up, and sent +him down again to spread his news and his suspicions busily, although he +had been threatened with instant dismissal if he said a word to anybody. + +Having thus satisfied himself of what he knew already, that Cicely had +walked to the station and had taken no luggage with her, and having +opened up the necessary channels of information, so that outdoor and +indoor servants alike now knew that Cicely had run away and that her +father was prepared, as the phrase went, to raise Cain about it, the +Squire went up to bed, and breaking his usual healthy custom of going to +sleep immediately he laid his head on his pillow, rated Mrs. Clinton +soundly for not noticing what was going on under her very nose. "I can't +look after everything in the house and out of it too," he ended up. "I +shall be expected to see that the twins change their stockings when they +get their feet wet, next. Good-night, Nina. God bless you." + +So, to return to the twins; when the schoolroom maid came to awaken them +in the morning and found them, as was usual, nearly dressed, they +learned, for the first time, what had been happening while they had +slept, all unconscious. + +"Why can't you call us in proper time, Hannah?" said Joan, as she came +in. "We told you we wanted our hot water at half-past three, and it has +just struck seven. You'll have to go if you can't get up in time." + +Hannah deposited a tray containing two large cups of tea and some +generous slices of bread and butter on a table and said importantly, +"It's no time to joke now, Miss Joan. There's Miss Clinton missing, and +most of us kep' awake half the night wondering what's come of her." + +Hannah had not before succeeded in making an impression upon her young +mistresses, but she succeeded now. Joan and Nancy stared at her with +open eyes, and gave her time to heighten her effects as they redounded +to her own importance. + +"But I can't stop talking now, miss," she said. "I'll just get your 'ot +water and then I must go and 'elp. Here I stop wasting me time, and +don't know that something hadn't 'appened and I may be wanted." + +"You're wanted here," said Joan. "What do you mean--Miss Clinton +missing? Has she gone away?" + +"I'll just tell you what I know, Miss Joan," said Hannah, "and then I +must go downstairs and 'elp. I was going along the passage by the room +last night, jest when they was ready to take in dinner, and Mr. Porter +came along and says to me, 'What are _you_ doing here?' Well, of course, +I was struck all of a 'eap, because----" + +"Oh, don't let's waste time with her," interrupted Nancy, "let's go and +ask Miss Bird what it's all about." + +"Wait a minute, Miss Nancy," cried Hannah. "I was telling you----" + +But the twins were at the door. "Lock her in," said Joan. "We shall want +her when we come back." And they locked her in, to the great damage of +her dignity, and went along the passage to the room which had sheltered +Miss Bird's virgin slumbers for nearly thirty years. They were at first +refused admission, but upon Joan's saying in a clear voice outside the +door, "We want to know about Cicely. If you won't tell us we must go and +ask the servants," Miss Bird unlocked the door, and was discovered in a +dressing-gown of pink flannel with her hair in curl papers. The twins +were too eager for news to remark upon these phenomena, and allowed Miss +Bird to get back into bed while they sat at the foot of it to hear her +story. + +"Well, you must know some time," said Miss Bird, "and to say that you +will ask the servants is _not_ the way to behave as you know very well +and I am the proper person to come to." + +"Well, we have come to you," said Joan, "only you wouldn't let us in. +Now tell us. Has Cicely run away?" + +"Really, Joan, that is a most foolish question," said Miss Bird, "to +call it running away to visit Walter and Muriel her _own_ brother and +sister too as you might say and that is all and I suppose it is that +Hannah who has been putting ideas into your head for I came in to see +you last night and you knew nothing but were both in a _sweet_ sleep and +I often think that if you could see yourselves then you would be more +careful how you behave and especially Nancy for it is innocence and +goodness itself and a pity that it can't be so sleeping _and_ waking." + +"I've seen Joan asleep and she looked like a stuck pig," said Nancy. +"But what _has_ happened, starling darling? Do tell us. Has Cicely just +gone up to stay with Muriel? Is that all?" + +"It is very inconsiderate of Cicely," said Miss Bird, "nobody could +_possibly_ have objected to her going to stay with Muriel and Miles +would have packed her clothes and gone up to London with her to look +after her and to go by herself without a _word_ and not take a _stitch_ +to put on her back and Mr. Clinton in the greatest anxiety and very +naturally annoyed for with all the horses in the stable to walk to +Bathgate in this heat for from Kencote she did _not_ go one of the men +was sent there to inquire I wonder at her doing such a thing." + +"Keep the facts in your head as they come, Joan," said Nancy. "She +didn't tell anybody she was going. She didn't take any clothes. She +walked to Bathgate, I suppose, to put them off the scent." + +"But whatever did she do it for?" asked Joan. "Something must have upset +her. It is running away, you know. I wish she had told us about it." + +"We'd have gone with her," said Nancy. "She must have done it for a +lark." + +"Oh, don't be a fool," said Joan. This was one of the twins' formulæ. It +meant, "There _are_ serious things in life," and was more often used by +Joan than by Nancy. + +"Joan how often am I to tell you not to use that expression?" said Miss +Bird, "I may speak to the winds of Heaven for all the effect it has +don't you know that it says he that calleth his brother thou fool shall +be in danger of hell fire?" + +"Nancy isn't my brother, and I'll take the risk," said Joan. "Didn't +Cicely tell mother that she was going?" + +"No she did not and for that I blame her," said Miss Bird. "Mrs. Clinton +came to me in the schoolroom as I was finishing my dinner and although +her calmness is a lesson to all of us she was upset as I could see and +did my _very_ best to persuade her not to worry." + +"It's too bad of Cicely," said Joan. "What are they going to do now?" + +"Your brother Dick went up to London by the late train and a telegram +was to be sent the _first_ thing this morning to relieve all anxiety +though with Muriel no harm can come to Cicely if she got there safely +which I hope and trust may be the case although to go about London by +herself is a thing that she knows she would not be allowed to do, but +there I'm saying a great deal too much to you Joan 'n Nancy you must not +run away with ideas in your head Cicely no doubt has a _very_ good +reason for what she has done and she is _years_ older than both of you +and you must not ask troublesome questions when you go downstairs the +only way you can help is by holding your tongues and being good girls." + +"Oh, of course, that's the moral of it," said Nancy. "If the roof were +to fall in all we should have to do would be to be good girls and it +would get stuck on again. Joan, I'm hungry; I must go and finish my +bread and butter." + +"Thank you, starling darling, for telling us," said Joan, rising from +her seat on the bed. "It seems very odd, but I dare say we shall get to +the bottom of it somehow. Of course we shan't be able to do any lessons +to-day." + +"Oh, indeed Joan the very _best_ thing we can do to show we----" began +Miss Bird, but the twins were already out of the room. + +They had to wait some little time before they could satisfy their +curiosity any further, because, in spite of their threat to Miss Bird, +and the excellent relations upon which they stood with all the servants +in the house, they were not in the habit of discussing family affairs +with them, and this was a family affair of somewhat portentous bearings. +They kept Hannah busy about their persons and refused to let her open +her mouth until they were quite dressed, and when they had let +themselves loose on the house for the day paid a visit to Cicely's room. + +Its emptiness and the untouched bed sobered them a little. "What _did_ +she do it for?" exclaimed Joan, as they stood before the dressing-table +upon which all the pretty silver toilette articles lying just as usual +seemed to give the last unaccountable touch of reality to the sudden +flight. "Nancy, do you think it could have been because she didn't want +to marry Jim?" + +"Or because Jim didn't want to marry her," suggested Nancy. + +But neither suggestion carried conviction. They looked about them and +had nothing to say. Their sister, who in some ways was so near to them, +had in this receded immeasurably from their standpoint. They were face +to face with one of those mysterious happenings amongst grown ups of +which the springs were outside the world as they knew it. And Cicely was +grown up, and she and they, although there was so much that they had in +common, were different, not only in the amount but in the quality of +their experience of life. + +They always went in to their mother at eight o'clock, but were not +allowed to go before. They did not want to go out of doors while so much +was happening within, nor to stay in their schoolroom, which was the +last place to which news would be brought; so they perambulated the hall +and the downstairs rooms and got in the way of the maids who were busy +with them. And at a quarter to eight were surprised by their father's +entrance into the library, where they happened to be sitting for the +moment. + +Their surprise was no greater than his, nor was it so effectively +expressed. He saw at once, and said so, that they were up to some +mischief, and he would not have it, did they understand that? + +"We were only sitting talking, father," said Joan. "There was nowhere +else to go." + +"I won't have this room used as a common sitting-room," said the Squire. +"Now go, and don't let me catch you in here again." + +The twins went out into the big hall. "Why couldn't you cry a little at +being spoke to like that?" said Nancy. "He would have told us +everything." + +"That's worn out," replied Joan. "The last time I did it he only said, +'For God's sake don't begin to snivel.' Besides I was rather +frightened." + +Just then the Squire opened his door suddenly. The twins both jumped. +But he only said, "Oh, you're there. Come in here, and shut the door." + +They went in. "Now look here," said the Squire, "you are old enough now +to look at things in a sensible light. I suppose you have heard that +your sister has taken it upon herself to take herself off without a with +your leave or by your leave and has turned the whole house +topsy-turvy--eh?" + +"Yes, father," said the twins dutifully. + +"Who told you--eh?" + +"Miss Bird, father." + +"I wish Miss Bird would mind her own business," said the Squire. "What +did she tell you for?" + +"Because she wanted us to be good girls, and not worry you with +questions," replied Nancy. + +"Oh! Well, that's all right," said the Squire, mollified. + +"Now what I want to know is--did Cicely say anything to either of you +about going away like this?" + +"Oh no, father," replied the twins, with one voice. + +"Well, I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. No daughter of mine +shall behave in that way in this house. Here's everything a girl can +want to make her happy--it's the ingratitude of it that I can't put up +with, and so Miss Cicely shall find when she condescends to come home, +as she shall do if I have to go to fetch her myself." + +Neither of the twins saw her way to interpose a remark. They stood in +front of their father as they stood in front of Miss Bird in the +schoolroom when they "did repetition." + +"Do either of you know if Cicely wasn't contented or anything of that +sort?" inquired the Squire. + +"She has been rather off her oats since Muriel was married," said Joan. + +"Eh! What's that!" exclaimed the Squire, bending his heavy brows on her +with a terrific frown. "Do you think this is a time to play the +fool--with me? Off her oats! How dare you speak like that? We shall have +you running away next." + +Joan's face began to pucker up. "I didn't mean anything, father," she +said in a tremulous voice. "I heard you say it the other day." + +"There, there, child, don't cry," said the Squire. "What I may say and +what you may say are two very different things. Off her oats, eh? Well, +she'd better get _on_ her oats again as quick as possible. Now, I won't +have you children talking about this, do you understand?--or Miss Bird +either. It's a most disagreeable thing to have happened, and if it gets +out I shall be very much annoyed. I don't want the servants to know, and +I trust you two not to go about wagging your tongues, do you hear?" + +"O father, we shouldn't think of saying anything about it to anybody," +exclaimed Nancy. + +"Eh? What? There's nothing to make a mystery about, you know. Cicely has +gone up to London to visit Walter and Muriel. No reason why anybody +should know more than that. There _isn't_ any more to know, except what +concerns me--and I won't have it. Now don't interrupt me any more. Go +off and behave yourselves and don't get in the way. You've got the whole +house to yourselves and I don't want you here. Ring the bell, Joan, I +want Porter to send a telegram." + +The twins departed. They could now go up to their mother. "Don't want +the servants to know!" said Nancy as they went upstairs. "Is it the +camel or the dromedary that sticks its head in the sand?" + +"The ostrich," said Joan. "It seems to me there's a great deal of fuss +about nothing. Cicely wanted to see her dear Muriel, so she went and +_saw_ her. I call it a touching instance of friendship." + +"And fidelity," added Nancy. + +Their view of the matter was not contradicted by anything that Mrs. +Clinton did or said when they went in to her. She was already dressed +and moving about the room, putting things to rights. It was a very big +room, so big that even with the bed not yet made nor the washstand set +in order, it did not look like a room that had just been slept in. It +was over the dining-room and had three windows, before one of which was +a table with books and writing materials on it. There were big, +old-fashioned, cane-seated and backed easy-chairs, with hard cushions +covered with chintz, other tables, a chintz-covered couch, a bookcase +with diamond-paned glass doors. On the broad marble mantelpiece were an +Empire clock and some old china, and over it a long gilt mirror with a +moulded device of lions drawing chariots and cupids flying above them. +On the walls, hung with a faded paper of roses, were water-colour +drawings, crayon portraits, some fine line engravings of well-known +pictures, a few photographs in Oxford frames. The bedroom furniture +proper was of heavy mahogany, a four-post bed hung with white dimity, a +wardrobe as big as a closet. Nothing was modern except the articles on +the dressing-table, nothing was very old. + +Never later than eight o'clock the Squire would rise and go into his +dressing-room, and when Mrs. Clinton had dressed and in her orderly +fashion tidied her room she would sit at her table and read until it was +time to go down to breakfast. Whenever he got up earlier she got up +earlier too, and had longer to spend by the window open to the summer +morning, or in the winter with her books on the table lit by candles. +They were for the most part devotional books. But once the Squire had +come in to her very early one October morning when he was going +cub-hunting and found her reading _The Divine Comedy_ with a translation +and an Italian dictionary and grammar. He had talked of it downstairs as +a good joke: "Mother reading Dante--what?" and she had put away those +books. + +She was a little paler than usual this morning, but the twins noticed no +difference in her manner. She kissed them and said, "You have heard that +Cicely went to London yesterday to stay with Muriel. Father is anxious +about her, and I am rather anxious too, but there is nothing really to +worry about. We must all behave as usual, and two of us at least mustn't +give any cause of complaint to-day." + +She said this with a smile. It was nothing but a repetition of Miss +Bird's exhortation to hold their tongues and be good girls, but they +embraced her, and made fervent promises of good behaviour, which they +fully intended to keep. Then they read something for a few minutes with +their mother and left her to her own reading and her own thoughts. + +The morning post brought no letter from Cicely, and again the Squire +remained standing while he read prayers. Immediately after breakfast he +went down to the Rectory, ostensibly to warn Tom and Grace not to talk, +actually to have an opportunity of talking himself to a fresh relay of +listeners. He expressed his surprise in the same terms as he had already +used, and said repeatedly that he wouldn't have it. Then, as it was +plain that, whether he would or no, he already had had it, he rather +weakly asked the Rector what he would do if he were in his place. + +"Well, Edward," said the Rector thoughtfully, "of course it is very +tiresome and all that, and Cicely ought not to have gone off in that way +without any warning. Still, we don't know what is going on in girls' +minds, do we? Cicely is a sensible girl enough, and I think when she +comes back if you were to leave it to Nina to find out what there was to +make her go off suddenly like that--well, how would that be, eh?" + +"I can't understand it," said the Squire for the twentieth time. "Nina +knows no more about it all than I do. I can't help blaming her for that, +because----" + +"O Edward," said Mrs. Beach, "whoever is to blame, it is not Nina. +Cicely is devoted to her, and so are the dear twins, for all their +general harum-scarumness." + +"Well, I was going to say," said the Squire, who had been going to say +something quite different, "that Nina is very much upset about this. She +takes everything calmly enough, as you know, but she's a good mother to +her children--I will say that for her--and it's enough to upset any +woman when her daughter behaves to her in this monstrous fashion." + +"How do you think it would be," asked the Rector, "if Nina were to go up +to London and have a talk with Cicely there?" + +The Squire hummed and ha'd. "I don't see the sense of making more fuss +about it than has been made already," he said. "I told Nina this +morning, 'If you go posting off to London,' I said, 'everybody will +think that something dreadful has happened. Much better stop where you +are.'" + +"If she wants to go," said Mrs. Beach, "I think it would be the very +best thing. She would bring Cicely to a right frame of mind--nobody +could do it better; and you would be at home, Edward, to see that +nothing was done here to complicate matters. I think that would be very +important, and nobody could do that but you." + +"So you think it would be a good idea if I let Nina go up to her?" said +the Squire. + +The Rector and Mrs. Beach both thought it would be a very good idea. + +"Well," said the Squire, "I thought perhaps it would, but I hadn't quite +made up my mind about it. I thought we'd better wait, at any rate, till +we got an answer to my wire to Walter. And that reminds me--I'd better +be getting back. Well, good-bye, Tom, good-bye, my dear Grace. Of course +I needn't ask either of _you_ not to let this go any further." + +The non-arrival of an answer to his message had a cumulative effect upon +the Squire's temper during the morning. At half-past eleven o'clock he +gained some temporary relief to his discomfort by despatching another +one, and did not entirely recover his balance until Dick's telegram +arrived about luncheon time. Then he calmed down suddenly, joked with +the twins over the table and told Miss Bird that she was getting younger +every day. He also gave Mrs. Clinton her marching orders. "I think you +had better go up, Nina," he said, "and see what the young monkey has +been after. I'm excessively annoyed with her, and you can tell her so; +but if she really _is_ with Walter and Muriel I don't suppose any harm +has come to her. I must say it's a relief. Still, I'm very angry about +it, and so she'll find out when she comes home." + +So another telegram was despatched, and Mrs. Clinton went up to London +by the afternoon train accompanied by the discreet and faithful Miles. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +MRS. CLINTON + + +That night Cicely and her mother sat late together in Mrs. Clinton's +bedroom. Mrs. Clinton was in a low easy-chair and Cicely on a stool at +her feet. Outside was the continuous and restless echo of London pushing +up to the very feet of its encircling hills, but they were as far +removed from it in spirit as if they had been at home in still and +spacious Kencote. + +Mrs. Clinton had arrived at Muriel's house in time for dinner. Walter +had come home from Lord's soon enough to meet her at the station and +bring her out in his motor-car. He had made Miles sit in front with his +servant and he had told his mother what Dick would have told her if she +had waited to come to Cicely until after he had returned to Kencote. She +had listened to him in silence as he unfolded his story, making no +comment even when he told her of Dick's opening her daughter's letter to +her; but when he told her that Cicely had asked that she should be sent +for she had clasped her hands and said, "Oh, I am so glad." + +Muriel had met her at the door, but Cicely had stayed in the +drawing-room, pale and downcast. She had gone in to her alone and kissed +her and said, "I am glad you wanted your mother, my darling. You shall +tell me everything to-night when we go upstairs, and we won't think +about it any more until then." + +So the evening had passed almost pleasantly. At times even Cicely must +have forgotten what lay behind and before her, for she had laughed and +talked with a sort of feverish gaiety; only after such outbursts she had +grown suddenly silent and trembled on the verge of tears. Walter had +watched her and sent her upstairs before ten o'clock, and her mother had +gone up with her and helped her to undress as if she had been a child +again. Then she had put on her dressing-gown and gone to Mrs. Clinton's +room, and resting her head on her mother's knee had told her everything +with frequent tears and many exclamations at her own madness and folly. + +It was more difficult to tell even than she had thought. When all was +said about her discontent and the suddenness with which she had been +urged towards a way of escape from surroundings that now seemed +inexpressibly dear to her, there remained that inexcusable fault of +leaving her mother without a word, for a man whom she couldn't even +plead that she loved. With her mother's hand caressing her hair it +seemed to her incredible that she could have done such a thing. She +begged her forgiveness again and again, but each time that she received +loving words in answer she felt that it must be impossible that they +could ever be to one another again what they had been. + +At last Mrs. Clinton said, "You must not think too much of that, my +darling. You were carried away; you hardly knew what you were doing. It +is all wiped out in my mind by your wanting me directly you came to +yourself. We won't talk of it any more. But what we ought to talk of, +Cicely dear, and try to see our way through, is the state of mind you +had got into, which made what happened to you possible, and gave this +man his opportunity. I think that six months ago, although he might have +tried to behave in the same way, you would only have been frightened; +you would have come straight to me and told me." + +"Oh yes, I should, mother," she cried. + +"Then what was it that has come between us? You have told me that you +were discontented at home, but couldn't you have told me that before?" + +Cicely was silent. Why hadn't she told her mother, to whom she had been +used to tell everything, of her discontent? A sudden blush ran down from +her cheeks to her neck. It was because she had judged her mother, as +well as her father and brothers, her mother who had accepted the life +that she had kicked against and had bent a meek head to the whims of her +master. She couldn't tell her that. + +"The thing that decided me," she began hesitatingly, "when I was sitting +in my room that night not knowing what I was going to do, I heard father +and Dick talking as they came up, and they had decided to turn Aunt +Ellen and Aunt Laura out of the house they had lived in nearly all their +lives and let it to those MacLeod people. It seemed to me so--so selfish +and--and horrible." + +"You cannot have heard properly," said Mrs. Clinton. "It was what they +had decided not to do. Father woke me up to tell me so. But even if----I +don't understand, Cicely dear." + +"O mother, can't you see?" cried Cicely. "If I was wrong about that, and +I'm very glad I was, it is just what they _might_ have done. They had +talked it all over again and again, and they couldn't make up their +minds--and before us!" + +"Before us?" + +"Yes. We are nobodies. If father were to die Dick would turn us out of +the house as a matter of course. He would have everything; we should +have nothing." + +Mrs. Clinton was clearly bewildered. "Dick would not turn us out of the +house unless he were married," she said, "and we should not have +nothing. We should be very well off. But surely, Cicely, it is +impossible that you can have been thinking of money matters in that way! +You cannot be giving me a right impression of what has been in your +mind." + +"No, it isn't that," said Cicely. "I don't know anything about money +matters, and I haven't thought about them--not in that way. But father +and the boys do talk about money; a lot seems to depend upon it, and I +can't help seeing that they spend a great deal of money on whatever they +want to-do, and we have to take what's left." + +"Still I don't understand, dear," said Mrs. Clinton. "Certainly it costs +a great deal to keep up a house like Kencote; but it is our home; we are +all happy there together." + +"Are you quite happy there, mother?" asked Cicely. + +Mrs. Clinton put by the question. "You know, of course," she went on, +"that we are well off, a good deal better off than most families who +have big properties to keep up. For people in our position we live +simply, and if--if I were to outlive father, and you and the children +were still unmarried, we should live together--not in such a big house +as Kencote--but with everything we could desire, or that would be good +for us." + +"And if we lived like that," said Cicely, "wouldn't you think some +things good for us that we don't have, mother? If we had horses, +wouldn't you let me have one to ride? Wouldn't you take me to London +sometimes, not to go to smart parties, but to see something of +interesting people as Angela and Beatrice do at Aunt Emmeline's, and see +plays and pictures and hear music? Wouldn't you take us abroad +sometimes? Should we have to live the whole year round in the country, +doing nothing and knowing nothing?" + +Mrs. Clinton's hand stopped its gentle, caressing movement, and then +went on again. During the moment of pause she faced a crisis as vital as +that which Cicely had gone through. She had had just those desires in +her youth and she had stifled them. Could they be stifled--would it be +right to stifle them--in the daughter who had, perhaps, inherited them +from her? + +"You asked me just now," she said, "whether I was happy. Yes, I am +happy. I have my dear ones around me, I have my religion, I have my +place in the world to fill. I should be very ungrateful if I were not +happy. But if you ask me whether the life I lead is exactly what it +would be if it rested only with me to order it--I think you know that it +isn't?" + +"But why shouldn't it be, mother? Other women do the things they like, +and father and the boys do exactly what they like. If you have wanted +the same things that I want now, I say you ought to have had them." + +"If I had had them, Cicely, I should not have found out one very great +thing--that happiness does not come from these things; it does not come +from doing what you like, even if what you like is good in itself. I +might almost say that it comes from not doing what you like. That is the +lesson that I have learned of life, and I am thankful that it has been +taught me." + +Cicely was silent for a time. She seemed to see her mother, dear as she +had been to her, in a new light, with a halo of uncomplaining +self-sacrifice round her. Her face burned as she remembered how that +morning in church, and since, she had thought of her as one who had +bartered her independence for a life of dull luxury and stagnation. It +came upon her with a flash of insight that her mother was a woman of +strong intelligence, who had, consciously, laid her intellectual gifts +on the altar of duty, and found her reward in doing so. The thought +found ineffective utterance. + +"Of course it is from you that Walter gets his brains," she said. + +Mrs. Clinton did not reply to this. "You are very young to learn the +lesson," she said. "I am not sure--I don't think it is a lesson that +every one need learn--that every woman need learn. I should like you to +make use of your brains--if that is really what you have been unhappy +about, Cicely. But is it so, my dear?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Cicely. "I suppose not. If I had wanted to +learn things, there are plenty of books at Kencote and I had plenty of +time. It was in London--it was just one of the things. First I was +jealous--I suppose it was that--because Dick and Humphrey had always had +such a good time and seemed to belong to everything, and I was so out of +it all. I still think that very unfair. Then when I went to Aunt +Emmeline's and saw what a good time Angela and Beatrice had in a +different sort of way--I wanted that too. And I think _that_ is unfair. +When I talked to them--I like them very much, but I suppose they wanted +to show how much better off they were than I am--the only thing they +seemed to think I was lucky in was my allowance, and even then they said +they didn't see how I could spend it, as I never went anywhere. I felt +so _ignorant_ beside them. Once Angela said something to me in +French--the maid was in the room--and I didn't understand her. I was +ashamed. Mother, I think I ought to have had the chances that Angela and +Beatrice have had." + +Mrs. Clinton listened with a grave face. How could she not have believed +most of it to be true? She knew that, in marrying her, her husband had +been considered to be marrying rather beneath him. And yet, her +brother's daughters were--there was no doubt of it--better fitted to +take a place, even a high place, in the world than her own daughter. Her +husband could never have seen it, but she knew that it was true. Her +younger niece was already engaged to be married to a man of some mark in +the world, and she would be an intellectual companion to him. If Cicely +had caught the fancy of such a man she would have had everything to +learn. Even in this deplorable danger through which she had just passed, +it was her ignorance that had laid her open to it. Perhaps her very +ignorance had attracted the man to her, but he certainly would not have +been able so to bend her to his will if she had lived more in the world. + +"There is one thing, darling," said Mrs. Clinton, "that we have not +spoken of. I don't want to complicate the troubles you are passing +through, but it has a bearing on what you have been saying." + +"You mean about Jim," said Cicely courageously. + +"Yes. Father and I have both been very glad of what we have always +looked upon as an engagement, although it could not be a recognised one +when--when it was first mooted. You must remember, dear, that we are +country people. It seems to us natural that our daughters should marry +country gentlemen--should marry into the circle of our friends and +neighbours. And the prospect of your living near us has always given us +great pleasure. You seemed to me quite happy at home, and I thought you +would have the best chance of happiness in your married life in another +home not unlike ours. I thought you were well fitted to fill that place. +I did not think of you--I don't think it ever crossed my mind to think +of you--as wanting a different life, the sort of life that your cousins +lead, for instance." + +"Jim was very good to me, this morning," Cicely said, in a low voice. "I +love him for it. Of course I do love him, in a way, just as I love Dick +or Walter. I was very much ashamed at having left _him_ like that, for +somebody who--who isn't as good as he is. Jim _is_ good, in a way a man +ought to be. But, mother--I can't marry Jim now, after this." + +"It is too soon to talk of it, or perhaps even to think of it. And you +have no right to marry anybody unless you love him as a woman should +love her husband, not as you love your brothers. We need not talk of +marriage now at all. But, my dearest, I want you to be happy when you +come home again. If you come back to think that you are badly used, +that----" + +"Oh, but, mother," Cicely interrupted her, "that is all over. I have +only been trying to tell you what I did feel. I never thought of the +other side at all. Last night I lay awake and simply longed for home. I +have been very ungrateful. I love Kencote, and the country and +everything I do there, really. I never knew before how much I loved it. +It was a sort of madness that came over me." + +"I am glad you feel like that. You have a very beautiful home, and you +are surrounded by those who love you. You _ought_ to be able to make +yourself happy at home, even if you have not got everything that you +might like to have. Can you do so?" + +"Yes, mother, I can. I was happy enough before." + +"Before you went to London." + +"Oh, yes, I suppose it was that. I must be very foolish to let a visit +to London upset me. I don't want to see London again now for a long +time. O mother, I have been very wicked. You won't be different to me, +will you?" + +She buried her face in her mother's lap. She was overwrought and +desperately tired. Mrs. Clinton felt that except for having done +something towards healing the wound made by her late experience she had +accomplished little. Cicely's eyes had been partially opened, and it was +not in her mother's power to close them again. It was only natural that +she should now turn for a time eagerly towards the quiet life she had +been so eager to run away from. But when her thoughts had settled down +again, when weeks and months had divided her from her painful awakening, +and its memory had worn thin, would she then be content, or would these +desires, which no one could say were unreasonable, gain strength again +to unsettle and dispirit her? It was only too likely. And if they did, +what chance was there of satisfying them? + +Mrs. Clinton thought over these things when she had tucked Cicely up in +her bed and sat by her side until she was asleep. Cicely had begged her +to do this, Cicely, her mother's child again, who, the night before had +lain awake hour after hour, alone, trembling at the unknown and longing +for the dear familiar. There was deep thankfulness in the mother's heart +as she watched over her child restored to her love and protection, but +there was sadness too, and some fear of the future, which was not +entirely in her hands. + +Cicely was soon asleep. Mrs. Clinton gently disengaged the hand she had +been holding, stood for a time looking down upon her, fondly but rather +sadly, and crept out of the room. It was nearly one o'clock, so long had +their confidences lasted, but as she came downstairs, for Cicely's room +was on the second floor, Walter came out of his bedroom dressed to go +out. + +"Hullo, mother!" he said. "Not in bed yet! I've been called up. Child +with croup. I don't suppose I shall be long, and Muriel is going down to +make me some soup. If you'd like a yarn with her----" + +Muriel came out in her dressing-gown. "I said I would always make him +soup when he was called out at night," she said, "and this is the first +time. I'm a good doctor's wife, don't you think so, Mrs. Clinton? Is +Cicely asleep?" + +"Yes, I have just left her. I will come down with you, dear, and help +you make Walter's soup." + +So they went down together and when they had done their work, bending +together over a gas stove in the kitchen, which was the home of more +black beetles than was altogether desirable, although it was otherwise +clean and bright and well-furnished, they sat by the dining-room table +awaiting Walter's return. + +There was sympathy between Mrs. Clinton and her daughter-in-law, who +recognised her fine qualities and loved her for them, privately thinking +that she was a woman ill-used by fate and her husband. Mrs. Graham +thought so too, but she and Mrs. Clinton had little in common, and in +spite of mutual esteem, could hardly be called friends. But the tie +which had bound Muriel to Kencote all her life had depended almost as +much upon Mrs. Clinton as upon Cicely, and until the last few months +more than it had upon Walter. They could talk together knowing that each +would understand the other, and Muriel's downrightness did not offend +Mrs. Clinton. + +She plunged now into the middle of things. "You know it is Jim I am +thinking of, Mrs. Clinton," she said, "now that this extraordinary +business is over. I want to know where Jim comes in." + +"I am afraid, my dear," said Mrs. Clinton, with a smile, "that poor Jim +has come in very little." + +"Did you know," asked Muriel, "that Jim was head over ears in love with +Cicely, or did you think, like everybody else, that he was slack about +it?" + +Mrs. Clinton thought for a moment. "I have never thought of him as head +over ears in love with Cicely," she said. + +"And I didn't either, till Walter told me. But he is. He behaved like a +brick to-day. Dick told Walter. And Cicely told me too. It was Jim who +got her away from that man--the horrible creature! How can a man be such +a brute, Mrs. Clinton?" + +"I don't want to talk about him, Muriel," said Mrs. Clinton quietly. "He +has come into our life and he has gone out again. I hope we shall never +see him again." + +"If I ever see him," said Muriel, "nothing shall prevent my telling him +what I think of him. How Cicely could! Poor darling, she doesn't know +how she could herself, now. She told me that she saw him as he was +beside Jim and Dick. He isn't a gentleman, for all the great things he +has done, and somehow that little fact seemed to have escaped her until +then. Don't you think it is rather odd that it matters so tremendously +to women like us whether the men we live with are gentlemen or not, and +yet we are so liable at first to make mistakes about them?" + +Mrs. Clinton was not quite equal to the discussion of a general +question. "It would matter to any one brought up as Cicely has been," +she said, "or you. Can you tell me exactly what you mean when you say +that Jim is head over ears in love with Cicely? I don't think he has +shown it to her." + +"Nobody quite knows Jim, except Walter," replied Muriel. "I don't, and +mother doesn't; and dear father never did. I suppose there is not much +doubt about his being rather slow. Slow and sure is just the phrase to +fit him. He is sure of himself when he makes up his mind about a thing, +and I suppose he was sure of Cicely. He was just content to wait. You +know, I'm afraid Walter thinks that Cicely has behaved very badly to +him." + +"Do you think so?" asked Mrs. Clinton. + +Muriel hesitated. "I think what Walter does," she said, rather doggedly. +"But I don't feel it so much. I love Cicely, and I am very sorry for +her." + +"Why are you sorry for her?" + +"Oh, well, one could hardly help being after what she has gone through." + +"Only that, Muriel?" + +Muriel hesitated again. "I don't think she has had quite a fair chance," +she said. + +"She has had the same chances that you have had." + +"Not quite, I think," said Muriel. She spoke with her head down and a +face rather flushed, as if she was determined to go through with +something unpleasant. "I'm not as clever as she is, but if I had +been--if I had wanted the sort of things that she wants--I should have +had them." + +"I think she could have had them, if she had really wanted them," said +Mrs. Clinton quietly. "I think I should have seen that she did have +them." + +"Oh, dear Mrs. Clinton, don't think I'm taking it on myself to blame +you. You know I wouldn't do that. But I must say what I think. Life is +desperately dull for a girl at houses like Kencote or Mountfield." + +"Kencote and Mountfield?" + +"Well, don't be angry with me if I say it is much more dull at Kencote +than at Mountfield. Cicely isn't even allowed to hunt. I was, and yet I +was glad enough to get away from it, although I love country life, and +so does Walter. We never see anybody, we never go anywhere. I am heaps +and heaps happier in this little house of my own than I was at +Mountfield." + +"Muriel," said Mrs. Clinton "what is it that Cicely wants? You and she +talk of the same things. First it is one thing and then it is another. +First it is that she has had no chances of learning. What has she ever +shown that she wants to learn? Then it is that she does not go away, and +does not see new faces. Is that a thing of such importance that the want +of it should lead to what has happened? Then it is that she is not +allowed to hunt! I will not add to Cicely's trouble now by rebuking +these desires. Only the first of them could have any weight with me, and +I do not think that has ever been a strong desire, or is now, for any +reason that is worth taking into consideration. But the plain truth of +the whole trouble is that Cicely had her mind upset by her visit to +London two months ago. _You_ should not encourage her in her discontent. +Her only chance of happiness is to see where her duty lies and to gauge +the amusements that she cannot have at their true value." + +"I haven't encouraged her," said Muriel, "I said much the same as you +have when she first talked to me. I told her she had had her head +turned. But, all the same, I think there is something in what she says, +and at any rate, she has felt it so strongly as nearly to spoil her life +in trying to get away from it all. She'll be pleased enough to get home +now, if--if--well, excuse my saying it, but--if Mr. Clinton will let her +alone--and yet, it will all come back on her when she has got used to +being at home. Do you know what I think, Mrs. Clinton? I think the only +thing that will give her back to herself now is for her to marry Jim as +quickly as possible." + +"But Kencote and Mountfield both are desperately dull for a girl!" + +Muriel laughed, "She wouldn't find Mountfield so if she really loved +Jim. I don't know whether she does or not. She won't hear of him now." + +Mrs. Clinton was silent for a time. Then she said slowly, "It was Jim +who rescued her to-day from a great danger. I think it is only Jim who +can rescue her from herself." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +CICELY'S RETURN + + +"When Cicely comes, send her in to me at once," said the Squire, with +the air of a man who was going to take a matter in hand. + +Cicely, convoyed by the reliable Miles, was returning to Kencote after +having stayed with Muriel for a fortnight. Mrs. Clinton had left her at +Melbury Park after a three days' visit. + +"And I won't have the children meeting her, or anything of that sort," +added the Squire. "She is not coming home in triumph. You can go to the +door, Nina, and send her straight in to me. We'll get this business put +right once for all." + +Mrs. Clinton said nothing, but went out of the room. She could have +small hopes that her husband would succeed when she had failed in +putting the business right. She told herself now that she had failed. +During her many talks with Cicely, although she had been able, with her +love and wisdom, to soothe the raw shame that had come upon her daughter +when she had looked back in cold blood to her flight with Mackenzie, she +had not been able to do away with the feeling of resentment with which +Cicely had come to view her home life. Her weapons had turned back upon +herself. Neither of them had been able to say to each other exactly what +was in their mind, and because Cicely had to stay herself with some +reason for her action, which with her father, at any rate, must be +defended somehow, she had fallen back upon the causes of her discontent +and held to them even against her mother. And there was enough truth in +them to make it difficult for Mrs. Clinton to combat her attitude, +without saying, what she could not say, that it was the duty of every +wife and every daughter to do as she had done, and rigidly sink her own +personality where it might clash with the smallest wish or action of her +husband. She claimed to have gained her own happiness in doing so, but +the doctrine of happiness through such self-sacrifice was too hard a one +for a young girl to receive. She had gained Cicely's admiration and a +more understanding love from the self-revelation which in some sort she +had made, but she had not availed to make her follow her example, and +could not have done so without holding it up as the one right course. +Cicely must fight her own battle with her father, and whichever of them +proved the victor no good could be expected to come of it. She was firm +in her conviction now that in Jim Graham's hands lay the only immediate +chance of happiness for her daughter. But Jim had held quite aloof. No +word had been heard from him, and no one had seen him since he had +parted with Dick on the evening after their journey to London, when they +had dined together and Jim had said he would bide his chance. If he were +to sink back now into what had seemed his old apathy, he would lose +Cicely again and she would lose her present chance of happiness. + +The twins, informed by their mother that they must not go to the station +to meet Cicely, or even come down into the hall, but that she would come +up to them when she had seen her father, of course gathered, if they had +not gathered it before, that their elder sister was coming home in +disgrace, and spent their leisure time in devising methods to show that +they did not share in the disapprobation; in which they were alternately +encouraged and thwarted by Miss Bird, whose tender affection for Cicely +warred with her fear of the Squire's displeasure. + +Mrs. Clinton was in the hall when the carriage drove up. Cicely came in, +on her face an expression of mixed determination and timidity, and her +mother drew her into the morning-room. "Father wants to see you at once, +darling," she said. "You must be good. If you can make him understand +ever so little you know he will be kind." + +It was doubtful if this hurried speech would help matters at all, and +there was no time for more, for the Squire was at his door asking the +servants where Miss Clinton was, for he wanted to see her at once. + +"I am here, father," said Cicely, going out into the hall again. + +"I want you in here," said the Squire. They went into his room and the +door was shut, leaving Mrs. Clinton alone outside. + +The Squire marched up to the empty fireplace and took his stand with his +back to it. Cicely sat down in one of the big chairs, which seemed to +disconcert him for a moment. + +"I don't know whether you have come home expecting to be welcomed as if +nothing had happened," he began. + +"No, I don't expect that, father," said Cicely. + +"Oh! Well now, what is the meaning of it? That's what I want to know. I +have been pretty patient, I think. You have had your fling for over a +fortnight, the whole house has been upset and I've said nothing. Now I +want to get to the bottom of it. Because if you think that you can +behave in that way"--here followed a vivid summary of the way in which +Cicely had behaved--"you are very much mistaken." The Squire was now +fairly launched. It only rested with Cicely to keep him going with a +word every now and then, for she knew that until he had wrought himself +into a due state of indignation and then given satisfactory vent to it, +nothing she could say would have any effect at all. + +"I am very sorry, father," she said. "I know it was wrong of me, and I +won't do it again." + +This was all that was wanted. "Won't do it again?" echoed the Squire. +"No, you won't do it again. I'll take good care of that." He then went +on to bring home to her the enormity of her offence, which seemed to +have consisted chiefly in upsetting the whole house, which he wouldn't +have, and so on. But when he had repeated all he had to say twice, and +most of it three or four times, he suddenly took his seat in the chair +opposite to her and said in quite a different tone, "What on earth made +you do it, Cicely?" and her time had come. + +"I was not happy at home, father," she said quietly. + +This set the Squire off on another oration, tending to show that it was +positively wicked to talk like that. There wasn't a girl in England who +had more done for her. He himself spent his days and nights chiefly in +thinking what he could do for the happiness of his children, and the +same might be said of their mother. He enumerated the blessings Cicely +enjoyed, amongst which the amount of money spent upon keeping up a place +like Kencote bulked largely. When he had gone over the field a second +time, and picked up the gleanings left over from his sheaves of oratory, +he asked her, apparently as a matter of kindly curiosity, what she had +to grumble about. + +She told him dispiritedly, leaving him time after each item of her +discontent to put her in the wrong. + +Item: She had nothing to do at home. + +He said amongst other things that he had in that very room a manuscript +volume compiled by her great-great-grandmother full of receipts and so +forth, which he intended to get published some day to show what women +could do in a house if they really did what they ought. + +Item: She hadn't been properly educated. + +That was wicked nonsense, and he wondered at a daughter of his talking +such trash. In the course of further remarks he said that when all the +girls in the board schools could play the piano and none of them could +cook, he supposed the Radicals would be satisfied. + +Item: There were a great many horses in the stable and she was not +allowed to ride one of them. + +Did she think she had gone the right way to work to have horses given +her, bolting out of the house without a with your leave or a by your +leave, etc.? Had her six great-aunts ever wanted horses to ride? Hunting +he would not have. He might be old-fashioned, he dared say he was, but +to see a woman tearing about the country, etc.----! But if she had come +to him properly, and it had been otherwise convenient, he gave her to +understand that a horse might have been found for her at any time. He +did not say that one would be found for her _now_. + +Item: She never went anywhere. + +A treatise on gadding about, with sub-sections devoted to the state of +drains in foreign cities, the game of Bridge, as played in country +houses, and the overcrowded state of the Probate and Divorce Court. + +Item: She never saw anybody interesting. + +A flat denial, and in the course of its expansion a sentence that +brought the blood to Cicely's face and left her pale and terrified. +"Why, only the other day," said the Squire, "one of the most talked of +men in England dined here. I suppose you would call Ronald Mackenzie an +interesting man, eh? Why, what's the matter? Aren't you well?" + +"Oh yes, father dear. Please go on." + +The Squire went on. Fortunately he had not noticed the sudden blush, but +only the paleness that had followed it. Supposing he had seen, and her +secret had been dragged out of her! She gave him no more material on +which to exercise his gift of oratory, but sat silent and frightened +while he dealt further with the subject in hand and showed her that she +was fortunate in living amongst the most interesting set of people in +England. Her uncle Tom knew as much as anybody about butterflies, her +Aunt Grace played the piano remarkably well for an amateur, Sir Ralph +Perry, who lived at Warnton Court, four miles away, had written a book +on fly-fishing, the Rector of Bathgate had published a volume of +sermons, the Vicar of Blagden rubbed brasses, Mrs. Kingston of Axtol was +the daughter of a Cambridge professor, and the Squire supposed he was +not entirely destitute of intelligence himself. At any rate, he had +corresponded with a good many learned gentlemen in his time, and they +seemed anxious enough to come to Kencote, and didn't treat him exactly +as if he were a fool when they did come. + +"The upshot of it all is, Cicely," concluded the Squire, "that you want +a great many things that you can't have and are not going to have, and +the sooner you see that and settle down sensibly to do your duty the +better." + +"Yes, father," said Cicely, longing to get away. + +The Squire bethought himself. He had nothing more to say, although as he +was considering what to do next he said over again a few of the more +salient things that he had said before. He hoped he had made an +impression, but he would have liked to end up on a note rather less tame +than this. With Cicely so meek and quiet, however, and his indignation +against her, already weakened by having been spread over a fortnight, +having now entirely evaporated by being expressed, as his indignation +generally did evaporate, he had arrived somehow at a loose end. He +looked at his daughter for the first time with some affection, and +noticed that she was pale, and, he thought, thinner. + +"Come here and give me a kiss," he said, and she went to him and put her +head on his big shoulder. "Now you're going to be a good girl and not +give us any more trouble, aren't you?" he said, patting her on the +sleeve; and she promised that she would be a good girl and not give any +more trouble, with mental reservations mercifully hidden from him. + +"There, don't cry," said the Squire. "We won't say any more about it; +and if you want a horse to ride, we'll see if we can't find you a horse +to ride. I dare say you think your old father a terrible martinet, but +it's all for your good, you know. You must say to yourself when you feel +dissatisfied about some little twopenny-halfpenny disappointment that he +knows best." + +Cicely gave him a hug. He was a dear old thing really, and if one could +only always bear in mind the relative qualities of his bark and his bite +there would be no need at all to go in awe of him. "Dear old daddy," she +said. "I am sorry I ran away, and I'm very glad to get home again." + +Then she went upstairs quite lightheartedly, and along the corridor to +the schoolroom. The twins, arrayed in long blue overalls, were tidying +up, after lessons, and Miss Bird was urging them to more conscientious +endeavour, avowing that it was no more trouble to put a book on a shelf +the right way than the wrong way, and that if there were fifty servants +in the house it would be wrong to throw waste paper in the fireplace, +since waste paper baskets existed to have waste paper thrown into them +and fireplaces did not. + +After a minute pause of observation, the twins threw themselves upon +Cicely with one accord and welcomed her vociferously, and Miss Bird +followed suit. + +"My own darling," she said warmly, "we have missed you dreadfully and +how are Muriel and Walter I suppose as happy as anything now Joan 'n +Nancy there is no occasion to pull Cicely to pieces you can be glad to +see her without roughness and go _at once_ and take off your overalls +and wash your hands for tea I dare say Cicely will go with you." + +"Have you been to your room yet, darling?" asked Joan. + +"Not yet," said Cicely. + +"Now _straight_ to your own room first," said Miss Bird, clapping her +hands together to add weight to her command. "You can go with Cicely +afterwards." + +"All right, starling darling, we'll be ready in time for tea," said +Nancy. "You finish clearing up" and one on each side of Cicely, they led +her to her own bedroom, and threw open the door. The room was garlanded +with pink and white paper roses. They formed festoons above the bed and +were carried in loops round the walls, upon which had also been hung +placards printed in large letters and coloured by hand. "Welcome to our +Sister," ran one inscription, and others were, "There is No Place like +Home," "Cicely for Ever," and "No Popery." + +The twins watched eagerly for signs of surprised rapture and were +abundantly rewarded. "But that's not all," said Joan, and led her up to +the dressing-table, upon which was an illuminated address running as +follows: + + "We, the undersigned, present this token of our continued esteem to + Cecilia Mary Clinton, on the occasion of her home-coming to Kencote + House, Meadshire. Do unto others as you would be done by. + + "_Signed_, Joan Ellen Clinton Nancy Caroline Clinton." + +"I think it's rather well done," said Nancy, "though our vermilions had +both run out and we didn't like to borrow yours without asking. Starling +bought us the gold paint on condition that we put in the Golden Rule. It +doesn't look bad, does it, Cicely?" + +"I think it's lovely," said Cicely. "I shall always keep it. Thanks so +much, darlings." + +After the subsequent embraces, Nancy eyed her with some curiosity. "I +say, there _was_ a dust-up," she said. "Have you made it up with father, +Cis?" + +"Don't be a fool," said Joan. "She doesn't want you bothering her. It is +quite enough that we're jolly glad to have her back." + +"I was rather dull," said Cicely, with a nervous little laugh, "so I +went away for a bit." + +"Quite right too," said Joan. "I should have done the same, and so would +Nancy. We thought of putting up 'Don't be Downtrodden,' but we were +afraid mother wouldn't like it, so we put up 'No Popery' instead. It +comes to the same thing." + +"We're doing the Gordon Riots in history," Nancy explained further. +"Father was awful at first, Cis, but he has calmed down a lot since. I +think Dick poured oil on the troubled waters. Dick is a brick. He gave +us half a sovereign each before he went up to Scotland." + +"We didn't ask him for it," said Nancy. + +"No," said Joan, "we only told him we were saving up for a camera, and +it took a long time out of a bob a week each pocket-money." + +"Flushed with our success," said Nancy, "we tried father; but the moment +was not propitious." + +"It was your fault," said Joan. "You would hurry it. Directly I said, +'When we get our camera we shall be able to take photographs of the +shorthorns,' you heaved a silly great sigh and said, 'It takes _such_ a +long time to save up with only a shilling a week pocket-money,' and of +course what _could_ he say but that when he was our age he only had +sixpence?" + +"I don't believe it for a moment," said Nancy. + +"It doesn't matter. He had to say it. I was going to lead up much more +slowly. How often has starling told you that if a thing's worth doing at +all it's worth doing well?" + +Here Miss Bird herself appeared at the door and said it was just as she +had expected, and had they heard her tell them to do a thing or had they +not, because if they had and had then gone and done something else she +should go straight to Mrs. Clinton, for she was tired of having her +words set at nought, and it was time to take serious measures, although +nobody would be more sorry to have to do so than herself, Joan and Nancy +being perfectly capable of behaving themselves as they should if they +would only set their minds to it and do exactly as she told them. + +Cicely heard the latter part of the address fading away down the +corridor, shut the door with a smile and began to take off her hat with +a sigh. The chief ordeal was over, but there was a good deal to go +through still before she could live in this room again as she had lived +in it before. If, indeed, she ever could. She looked round her, and its +familiarity touched her strangely. It spoke not of the years she had +occupied it, the five years since she had left the nursery wing, but of +the one night when she had prepared to leave it for ever. It would be +part of her ordeal to have that painful and confusing memory brought +before her whenever she entered it. She hated now to think of that night +and of the day and night that had followed it. She flushed hotly as she +turned again to her glass, and called herself a fool. Then she +resolutely turned pictures to the wall of her mind and made herself +think of something else, casting her thoughts loose to hit upon any +subject they pleased. They struck against her aunts at the dower-house, +and she grappled the idea and made up her mind to go and see them after +tea, and get that over. + +She found them in their morning-room, engaged as before, except that +their tea-table had been cleared away. "Well, dear Aunt Ellen and Aunt +Laura, I have come back," she said, kissing them in turn. "Muriel's +house _is_ so pretty. You would love to see it." + +But Aunt Ellen was not to be put off in this way. The Squire had come +down to them on the afternoon of the day after Cicely had disappeared, +and had gained more solid satisfaction from the attitude taken up by +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura when he had unfolded his news than from any +reception it had before or after. Cicely was still in their black books. + +"Oh, so you have returned at last," said Aunt Ellen, receiving her kiss, +but not returning it. Aunt Laura was not so unforgiving. She kissed her +and said, "O Cicely, if you had known what unhappiness your action would +cause, I am sure you would have thought twice about it." + +Cicely sat down. "I have made it all right with father now," she said. +"I would rather not talk about it if you don't mind, Aunt Laura. Muriel +sent her love to you. I said I should come and see you directly I came +back." + +"When I was a girl," said Aunt Ellen--"I am speaking now of nearly +eighty years ago--I upset a glass of table ale at the commencement of +luncheon, and your great-grandfather was very angry. But that was +nothing to this." + +"I have seldom seen your dear father so moved," said Aunt Laura. "I +cannot see very well without my glasses, and I had mislaid them; they +were on the sideboard in the dining-room where I had gone to get out a +decanter of sherry; but I believe there were tears in his eyes. If it +was so it should make you all the more sorry, Cicely." + +"I am very sorry," said Cicely, "but father has forgiven me. Mayn't we +talk about something else?" + +"Your father was very high-spirited as a child," said Aunt Ellen, "and I +and your aunts had some difficulty in managing him; not that he was a +naughty child, far from it, but he was full of life. And you must always +remember that he was a boy. But I feel quite sure that he would never in +his wildest moments have thought of going away from home and leaving no +word of his address." + +"I sent a telegram," pleaded Cicely. + +"Ah, but telegrams were not invented in the days I am speaking of," said +Aunt Ellen. + +"Pardon me, sister," said Aunt Laura. "The electric telegraph was +invented when Edward was a boy, but not when we were girls." + +"That may be so, sister," said Aunt Ellen. "It is many years since we +were girls, but I say that Edward would not have run away." + +"Certainly not," said Aunt Laura. "You should never forget, Cicely, what +a good father you have. I am sure when I heard the other day from Mr. +Hayles that your dear father had instructed him to refuse Lady Alistair +MacLeod's most advantageous offer to rent this house, solely on account +of your Aunt Ellen and myself, I felt that we were, indeed, in good +hands, and fortunate to be so." + +"It is quite true," said Aunt Ellen, "that this house is larger than +your Aunt Laura and I require, I told your father that with my own lips. +But at the same time it is unlikely that at my age I have many more +years to live, and I said that if it could be so arranged, I should wish +to die in this house as I have lived in it for the greater part of my +life." + +"He saw that at once," said Aunt Laura. "There is nobody that is quicker +at seeing a thing than your dear father, Cicely. He spoke very kindly +about it. He said we must all die some time or other, which is perfectly +true, but that if your Aunt Ellen did not live to be a hundred he should +never forgive her. He is like your dear Aunt Caroline in that; he is +always one to look at the bright side of things." + +"But didn't he tell you at once that he didn't want to let the house?" +asked Cicely. "Did he leave it to Mr. Hayles to tell you afterwards?" + +"There was a delicacy in that," replied Aunt Laura. "If there is one +thing that your dear father dislikes, it is being thanked. And we could +not have helped thanking him. We had gone through a week of considerable +anxiety." + +"Which he might have saved you," Cicely thought, but did not say. + +"When we lived at Kencote House with our father," said Aunt Ellen, "it +was never thought that the dower-house possessed any advantages to speak +of. I do not say that we have made it what it is, for that would be +boasting, but I do say that it would not be what it is if we had not +made it so; and now that the danger is past, it causes both your Aunt +Laura and myself much gratification, and would cause gratification to +your other dear aunts if they could know what had happened, as no doubt +they do, that it should now be sought after." + +The topic proved interesting enough to occupy the conversation for the +rest of Cicely's visit. She kept them to it diligently and got through +nearly an hour's talk without further recurrence to her misdoings. Then +she took her leave rather hurriedly, congratulating herself that she had +got safely over another fence. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE LIFE + + +Mrs. Graham, in spite of her good points, was not overburdened with the +maternal spirit. She had little love for children as children, and when +her own were small she had lavished no great amount of affection on +them. In the case of other people's children she frankly averred that +she didn't understand them and preferred dogs. But she was equable by +nature and had companionable gifts, and as Jim and Muriel had grown up +they had found their mother pleasant to live with, never anxious to +assert authority, and always interested in such of their pursuits as +chimed in with her own inclinations; also quite ready with sensible +advice and some sympathy when either was required of her, and showing no +annoyance at all if the advice was not followed. + +It was not altogether surprising then that Jim, when he had been back at +Mountfield for three or four days, should have taken her into his +confidence. She had heard what, thanks to the Squire, every one in that +part of the county had heard, that Cicely had run off to London without +taking any clothes with her--this point always emerged--and that Dick, +and, for some as yet unexplained reason, Jim, had gone up after her. But +when Jim returned, and told her simply that Cicely was staying with +Muriel and that everything was all right, she had asked no further +questions, although she saw that there was something that she had not +been told. She had her reward when Jim, sitting in her drawing-room +after dinner, told her that he would like to talk over something with +her. + +The drawing-room at Mountfield was a long, rather low room, hung with an +old French paper of nondescript grey, upon which were some water-colours +which were supposed to be valuable. The carpet was of faded green, with +ferns and roses. The curtains were of thick crimson brocade under a gilt +canopy. There was a large Chippendale mirror, undoubtedly valuable, over +the white marble mantelpiece, upon which were three great vases of blue +Worcester and some Dresden china figures. The furniture was upholstered +in crimson to match the curtains. There was an old grand piano, there +were one or two china cabinets against the walls, a white skin rug +before the fire, palms in pots, a rosewood table or two, and a low glass +bookcase with more china on the top of it. There was nothing modern, and +the chairs and sofas were not particularly comfortable. The room had +always been like that ever since Jim could remember, and his mother, +sitting upright in her low chair knitting stocking tops, also belonged +to the room and gave it a comforting air of home. She had on a black +gown and her face and neck were much redder than the skin beneath them, +but, like many women to whom rough tweeds and thick boots seem to be the +normal wear, she looked well in the more feminine attire of the evening. + +"Talk away, my dear boy," she said, without raising her head. "Two heads +are better than one. I suppose it is something about Cicely." + +"When Cicely went away the other day she didn't go to see Muriel; she +went to marry Mackenzie." + +She did raise her head then to throw an astonished look at her son, who +did not meet it, but she lowered it again and made one or two stitches +before she replied, "She didn't marry him, of course?" + +"No. Dick and I found them, and got her away just in time. That is all +over now, and I can't think about that fellow." + +"Well, I won't ask you to. But I suppose you won't mind telling me why +she did such an extraordinary thing." + +"Because she is bored to death at Kencote, and I don't wonder at it." + +"And do you still intend to bring her to be bored to death at +Mountfield?" + +"Yes, I do, if she will come. And I'll see that she's not bored. At +least that is what I want to talk to you about. Muriel could tell me +what she wants to make her happy, but I can't go to Muriel as long as +Cicely is there, and I can't write; I've tried. You've been happy enough +here, mother. You ought to be able to tell me." + +Mrs. Graham kept silence for a considerable time. Then she said, "Well, +Jim, I'm glad you have come to me. I think I can help you. In the first +place, you mustn't play the martinet as Mr. Clinton does." + +"It isn't likely I should treat her as he does Mrs. Clinton, if that is +what you mean." + +"I mean a good deal more than that. If Mr. Clinton knew how disagreeable +it was to other people to hear him talk to her as he does, he probably +wouldn't do it. But even if he didn't he might still make her life a +burden to her, by taking away every ounce of independence she had. I +don't know whether her life is a burden to her or not; I don't pretend +to understand her; but I do know that you couldn't treat Cicely like +that, and I suppose this escapade of hers proves it." + +"The poor old governor was a bit of a martinet," said Jim, after a +pause. + +"He thought he was," said Mrs. Graham drily. + +Jim looked at her, but did not speak. + +"I know what it all means," his mother went on. "I think things over +more than you would give me credit for, Jim, and I've seen it before. +This quiet country life happens to suit me down to the ground, but I +don't believe it satisfies the majority of women. And that is what men +don't understand. It suits _them_, of course, and if it doesn't they can +always get away from it for a bit. But to shut women up in a country +house all the year round, and give them no interests in life outside +it--you won't give one woman in ten what she wants in that way." + +"What _do_ they want then?" + +"It is more what Cicely wants, isn't it? I don't know exactly, but I can +give a pretty shrewd guess. If you want to find out something about a +person, it isn't a bad thing to look at their parentage on both sides. +On one side she comes of a race of yokels." + +"Oh, come, mother. The Birkets are----" + +"I'm not talking about the Birkets, I'm talking about the Clintons. Poor +dear Mr. Clinton _is_ a yokel, for all his ancestry. If he had been +changed at birth and brought up a farm labourer, he wouldn't have had an +idea in his head above the average of them; he would only have had a +little more pluck. Any Birket's brains are worth six of any Clinton's in +the open market. Mrs. Clinton is a clever woman, although she doesn't +show it, and her dear, stupid old husband would smother the brains of +Minerva if he lived with her. You've only got to look at their children +to see where the Birket comes in. Dick is exactly like his father, +except that he is not a fool; Humphrey _is_ a fool to my thinking, but +not the same sort of fool; Walter--there's no need to speak of him; +Frank I don't know much about, but he isn't a yokel; Cicely simply +hasn't had a chance, but she'll take it fast enough when she gets it; +and as for the twins, they're as sharp as monkeys, for all their blue +eyes and sweet innocence." + +"Well, what does it all lead to, mother?" + +"It leads to this, Jim: I believe Cicely will be as happy living in the +country as most girls, but at Kencote she doesn't even get the pleasures +that a woman _can_ get out of the country; those are all kept for the +men. You _must_ take her about a bit. Take her to other houses and get +people to come here. Don't shut her up. Take her to London every now and +then, and try and let her see some of the sort of people that go to her +Uncle Herbert Birket's house. I believe she could hold her own with any +of them, and you'll be proud of her. Let her stir her mind up; she +doesn't know what's in it yet. Take her abroad. That always helps; even +I should have liked it, only your father didn't, and I wasn't keen +enough to let it make a disturbance. Give her her head; that's what it +comes to. She won't lose it again." + +Jim thought for a long time while Mrs. Graham went on knitting. + +"A woman wants some brightness in her life, especially before the babies +begin to come," she said, before he spoke. + +"Thanks, mother," he said simply. "I'll think it all over." + +"I have thought it over," she answered, "and it's all sound sense." + +Jim's next speech was some time coming, but when it did come it was +rather a startling one. + +"I've given Weatherley notice to leave the Grange at Christmas." + +Mrs. Graham's needles stopped, and then went on again rather more +quickly. Her voice shook a little as she said in a matter-of-fact tone, +"I suppose you won't mind altering the stables for me. There is only one +loose-box." + +"I thought it would be best to add on a couple under another roof," said +Jim, and they went on to discuss other alterations that would be +necessary when Mrs. Graham should leave Mountfield to go to live at the +Grange, but without any approach to sentiment, and no expressions of +regret on either side. + +When they had done, and there had followed another of those pauses with +which their conversations were punctuated, Mrs. Graham said, "You are +making very certain of Cicely, Jim." + +"I'm going to claim her," said Jim quietly. "I was a fool not to do it +before. I've wanted her badly enough." + +Perhaps this news was as fresh to Mrs. Graham as it had been to all +those others who had heard it lately. Perhaps it was no news at all. She +was an observant woman and was accustomed to keep silence on many +subjects, except when she was asked to speak, and then she spoke +volubly. + +"I have often wondered," she said, "why you left it so long." + +Jim did not reply to this, but made another surprising statement. "I'm +going to stand for Parliament," he said. + +Mrs. Graham's observation had not covered this possibility. "Good +gracious!" she exclaimed. "Not as a Liberal, I hope!" + +"No, as a Free Trade Unionist." + +"I should think you might as well save your time and your money." + +"I don't expect to get in. But if I can find a seat to fight for, I'll +fight." + +"Well, I'll help you, Jim. I believe the others are right, but if you +will give me something to read I dare say I can persuade myself that +they're wrong. I like a good fight, and that is one thing you don't get +the chance of when you live with your pigs and your poultry. Excuse me +asking, but what about the money?" + +"I've settled all that, and I'm going to let this place for two years at +least." + +Mrs. Graham dropped her knitting once more. "Well, really, Jim!" she +said. "Have you got anything else startling to break to me, because I +wish you would bring it out all at once now. I can bear it." + +"That's all," said Jim, with a grin. "I shall save a lot of money. I +shall take a flat or a little house in London and do some work. There +are lots of things besides Free Trade; things I'm keener about, really. +I don't think Cicely will mind. I think she will go in with me." + +Mrs. Graham took up her knitting again and put on another row of +stitches. Then she said, "I don't know why you asked my advice as to +what Cicely wanted. It seems to me you have thought it out pretty well +for yourself." + + * * * * * + +Jim rode over to Kencote two days after Cicely's return. It was a lovely +morning, and harvesting was in full swing as he trotted along between +the familiar fields. He felt rather sad at being about to leave it all; +he was a countryman at heart, although he had interests that were not +bucolic. But there was not much room for sadness in his mind. He was +sure of himself, and had set out to grasp a great happiness. + +He met the Squire on his stout cob about a mile from Kencote, and pulled +up to speak to him. + +"How are you, Jim?" he said heartily. "Birds doing all right? Ours are +first-class this year." + +"I was coming to see you," he said. "I've got something to say." + +"Well, say it here, my boy," said the Squire, "I'm not going to turn +back." + +So they sat on their horses in the middle of the road and Jim said, "I +want to marry Cicely as soon as possible." + +The Squire's jaw dropped as he stared at the suitor. Then he threw back +his head and produced his loud, hearty laugh. "Well, that's a funny +thing," he said. "I was only saying to my wife this morning that Cicely +would die an old maid if she looked to you to come and take her." + +Jim's red face became a little redder, but the Squire did not give him +time to reply. "I was only joking, you know, Jim, my boy," he said +kindly. "I knew _you_ were all right, and I tell you frankly there's +nobody I'd sooner give my girl to. But why do you want to rush it now? +What about those rascally death duties?" + +"It's only a question of income," said Jim shortly. "And I'm going to +let Mountfield for a year or two." + +The Squire's jaw fell again. "Let Mountfield!" he cried. "O my dear +fellow, don't do that, for God's sake. Wait a bit longer. Cicely won't +run away. Ha! ha! Why she did run away--what? Look here, Jim, you're +surely not worrying yourself about that. She won't do it again, I'll +promise you that. I've talked to her." + +"I think it is time I took her," said Jim, "if she'll have me." + +"Have you? Of course she'll have you. But you mustn't let Mountfield. +Don't think of that, my boy. We'll square it somehow, between us. My +girl won't come to you empty-handed, you know, and as long as the +settlements are all right you can keep her a bit short for a year or +two; tell her to go easy in the house. She's a good girl, and she'll do +her best. No occasion to let down the stables, and you must keep a good +head of game. We'll make that all right, and it won't do you any harm to +economise a bit in other ways. In fact it's a good thing for young +people. You might put down your carriage for a year, and perhaps a few +maids--I should keep the men except perhaps a gardener or two. Oh, there +are lots of ways; but don't let the place, Jim." + +"Well, I'll think about it," said Jim, who had no intention of +prematurely disclosing his intentions to the Squire, "but you'll let me +have her, Mr. Clinton? I thought of going over to see her now." + +"Go by all means, my boy," said the Squire heartily. "You'll find her +about somewhere, only don't make her late for lunch. You'll stay, of +course. You haven't seen Hayles about anywhere, have you? He's not in +the office." + +Jim had not, and the Squire trotted off to find his agent, with a last +word of dissuasion on letting Mountfield. + +The ubiquitous twins were in the stableyard when he rode in, raiding the +corn bin for sustenance for their fantails. "Hullo, Jim, my boy," said +Joan. "You're quite a stranger." + +"You'll stay to lunch, of course," said Nancy. "How are the birds at +Mountfield? I think we ought to do very well here this year." + +"Where is Cicely?" asked Jim, ignoring these pleasantries. + +"She's out of doors somewhere," said Joan. "We'll help you find her. We +ought to be going in to lessons again, but starling won't mind." + +"I can find her myself, thanks," said Jim. "Is she in the garden?" + +"We'll show you," said Nancy. "You can't shake us off. We're like the +limpets of the rock." + +But here Miss Bird appeared at the schoolroom window, adjuring the twins +to come in _at once_. "Oh, how do you do, Jim?" she cried, nodding her +head in friendly welcome. "Do you want to find Cicely she has gone down +to the lake to sketch." + +"Bother!" exclaimed Joan. "Starling is so officious." + +"You will find our sister in the Temple of Melancholy," said Nancy. "It +will be your part to smooth the lines of trouble from her brow." + +"Oh, coming, coming, Miss Bird!" called out Joan. "We've only got an +hour more, Jim--spelling and dictation; then we will come and look you +up." + +Jim strode off across the park and entered the rhododendron dell by an +iron gate. He followed a broad green path between great banks of shrubs +and under the shade of trees for nearly a quarter of a mile. Every now +and then an open grassy space led to the water, which lay very still, +ringed with dark green. He turned down one of these and peeped round the +edge of a bush from whence he could see the white pillared temple at the +head of the lake. Cicely was sitting in front of it, drawing, and his +heart gave a little leap as he saw her. Then he walked more quickly, and +as he neared the temple began to whistle, for he knew that, thinking +herself quite alone. Cicely would be disagreeably startled if he came +upon her suddenly. + +Perhaps she thought it was a gardener who was coming, for she did not +move until he spoke her name, coming out from behind the building on to +the stained marble platform in front of it. Then she looked up with a +hot blush. "O Jim!" she said nervously. "I was just trying to paint a +picture." + +"It's jolly good," said Jim, looking at it with his head on one side, +although she had not as yet gone further than light pencil lines. + +"It won't be when I've finished," she said hurriedly. "How is Mrs. +Graham? I am coming over to see her as soon as I can, to tell her about +Muriel." + +"She's all right, thanks," said Jim. "She sent her love. Do you mind my +watching you?" + +"I'd much rather you didn't," she said, with a deprecating laugh. "I +shall make an awful hash of it. Do you want to see father? I'll go and +find him with you if you like." + +"No, I've seen him," said Jim, going into the temple to get himself a +chair. "I've come to see you, to tell you something I thought you'd be +interested in. I want to stand for Parliament, and I'm going to let +Mountfield." + +She looked up at him with a shade of relief in her face. "O Jim," she +said, "I do hope you will get in." + +"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't expect to get in," said Jim. "They +won't have fellows who think as I do in the party now if they can help +it. But there's a good deal to do outside that. I kept my eyes open when +I was travelling, and I do know a bit about the Colonies, and about land +too. There are societies I can make myself useful in, even if I don't +get into Parliament. Anyway I'm going to try." + +"I am so glad, Jim," said Cicely. "But won't you miss Mountfield +awfully? And where are you going to live?" + +"In London for a year or two. Must be in the thick of things." + +"I suppose you won't go before the spring." + +"I want to. It depends on you, Cicely." + +She had nothing to say. The flush that coloured her delicate skin so +frequently, flooded it new. + +"I want you to come and help me," said Jim. "I can't do it without you, +my dear. You're much cleverer than I am. I want to get to know people, +and I'm not much good at that. And I don't know that I could put up with +London, living there by myself. If you were with me I shouldn't care +where I lived. I would rather live all my life at Melbury Park with you, +than at Mountfield without you." + +"O Jim," she said in a low voice, bending over her drawing board, "you +are good and generous. But you can't want me now." + +"Look here, Cicely dear," he said, "let's get over that business now, +and leave it alone for ever. I blame myself for it, I blame--that man, +but I haven't got the smallest little piece of blame for you, and I +shouldn't have even if I didn't love you. Why, even Dick is the same. He +was angry at first, but not after he had seen you. And Walter thinks as +I do. I saw him one day and we had it all out; you didn't know. There's +not a soul who knows who blames you, and nobody ever will." + +"I know," she said, "that every one has been most extraordinarily kind. +I love Dick and Walter more than ever for it, because I know how it must +have struck them when they first knew. And you too, Jim. It makes me +feel such a beast to think how sweet you were to me, and how I've +treated you." + +Jim took her hand. "Cicely, darling," he said. "I'm a slow fellow, and, +I'm afraid, rather stupid. If I hadn't been this would never have +happened. But I believe I'm the only person in the world that can make +you forget it. You'll let me try, won't you?" + +She tried to draw away her hand, but he held it. + +"Oh, I don't know what to say," she cried. "It is all such a frightful +muddle. I don't even know whether I love you or not. I do; you know +that, Jim. But I don't know whether I love you in the right way. I +thought before that I didn't. And how can I when I did a thing like +that? I'm a girl who goes to any man who calls her." + +She was weeping bitterly. All the shame in her heart surged up. She +pulled her hand away and covered her face. + +"You never loved that man--not for a moment," said Jim firmly. + +"No, I didn't," she cried. "I _hate_ him now, and I believe I hated him +all the time. If I were to meet him I should die of shame. Oh, why did I +do it? And I feel ashamed before you, Jim. I can't marry you. I can't +see you any more. I am glad you are going away." + +"I am not going unless you come with me, Cicely," he said. "I want you. +I want you more than ever; I understand you better. If this hadn't +happened I shouldn't have known what you wanted; I don't think I should +have been able to make you happy. Good heavens! do you think I believe +that you wanted that man? I _know_ you didn't, or I shouldn't be here +now. You wanted life, and I had never offered you that. I do offer it +you now. Come and help me to do what I'm going to do. I can't do any of +it without you." + +She smiled at him forlornly. "You _are_ good," she said. "And you have +comforted me a little. But you can't forget what has happened. It isn't +possible." + +"Look here, my dear," said Jim simply. "Will you believe me when I say +that I have forgotten it already? That is to say it doesn't come into my +mind. I don't have to keep it out; it doesn't come. I've got other +things to think of. There's all the future, and what I'm going to do, +and you are going to help me to do. Really, if I thought of it, I ought +to be glad you did what you did, in a way, for all I've thought of since +comes from that. I saw what you were worth and what you could make of a +man if he loved you as I do, and you loved him. We won't play at it, +Cicely. I'm in earnest. I shall be a better fellow all round if I'm +trying to do something and not only sitting at home and amusing myself. +We shall have to make some sacrifices. We shall only be able to afford a +flat or a little house in London. I must keep things going here and put +by a bit for an election, perhaps. But I know you won't mind not having +much money for a time. We shall be together, and there won't be a thing +in my life that you won't share." + +She had kept her eyes fixed upon him as he spoke. "Do you really mean +it, Jim?" she asked quietly. "Do you really want _me_, out of all the +people in the world?" + +"I don't want anybody but you," he said, "and I don't want anything +without you." + +"Then I will come with you, dearest Jim," she said. "And I will never +want anything except what you want all my life." + +He took her in his arms, and she nestled there, laughing and crying by +turns, but happier than she had ever thought she could be. They talked +of a great many things, but not again of Cicely's flight. Jim had +banished that spectre, which, if it returned to haunt her thoughts +again, would not affright them. They came no nearer to it than a speech +of Cicely's, "I do love you, dear Jim. I love you so much that I must +have loved you all the time without knowing it. I feel as if there was +something in you that I could rest on and know that it will never give +way." + +"And that's exactly how I feel about you," said Jim. + +Two swans sailed out into the middle of the lake, creasing the still +water into tiny ripples. The air was hot and calm, and the heavy leaves +of trees and shrubs hung motionless. The singing-birds were silent. Only +in the green shade were the hearts of the two lovers in tumult--a tumult +of gratitude and confident happiness. + +The peace, but not the happiness, was brought to an end when the twins, +relaxed from bondage, heralded their approach by a vociferous rendering +of "The Campbells are coming." They came round the temple arm-in-arm. +Cicely was drawing, and Jim looking on. + +"Yes, that's all very well," said Joan, "but it doesn't take two hours +to make three pencil scratches." + +"Girls without the nice feeling that we possess," said Nancy, "would +have burst upon you without warning." + +"Without giving you time to set to partners," said Joan. + +Cicely looked up at them; her face was full of light. "Shall I tell +them, Jim?" she said. + +"Got to, I suppose," said Jim. + +"My child," said Joan, "you need tell us nothing." + +"Your happy faces tell us all," said Nancy. + +Then, with a simultaneous relapse into humanity, they threw themselves +upon her affectionately, and afterwards attacked Jim in the same way. He +bore it with equanimity. + +"You don't deserve her, Jim," said Joan, "but we trust you to be kind to +her." + +"From this day onwards," said Nancy, "you will begin a new life." + + + + +_CHRONICLES OF THE CLINTONS_ + +BY ARCHIBALD MARSHALL + +_To be read in the following order_ + + THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER + THE ELDEST SON + THE HONOUR OF THE CLINTONS + THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH + THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Squire's Daughter, by Archibald Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER *** + +***** This file should be named 31381-8.txt or 31381-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/8/31381/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 Squire's Daughter + Being the First Book in the Chronicles of the Clintons + +Author: Archibald Marshall + +Release Date: February 25, 2010 [EBook #31381] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER</h1> + +<h3><i>Being the First Book in the Chronicles of the Clintons</i></h3> + +<h2>BY ARCHIBALD MARSHALL</h2> + + +<h4>NEW YORK<br /> +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br /> +1920</h4> + +<h4>Published October, 1912<br /> +by<br /> +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY</h4> + +<h4>TO<br /> +ANSTEY GUTHRIE</h4> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>Archibald Marshall.</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I <span class="smcap">A Court Ball</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II <span class="smcap">In the Bay of Biscay</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III <span class="smcap">The Clintons of Kencote</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV <span class="smcap">Clintons Young and Old</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V <span class="smcap">Melbury Park</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI <span class="smcap">A Good Long Talk</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII <span class="smcap">The Rector</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII <span class="smcap">By the Lake</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX <span class="smcap">The Question of Marriage</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X <span class="smcap">Town Versus Country</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI <span class="smcap">A Wedding</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII <span class="smcap">Food and Raiment</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII <span class="smcap">Ronald Mackenzie</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV <span class="smcap">The Plunge</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV <span class="smcap">Bloomsbury</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI <span class="smcap">The Pursuit</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII <span class="smcap">The Contest</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII <span class="smcap">After the Storm</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX <span class="smcap">The Whole House Upset</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX <span class="smcap">Mrs. Clinton</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI <span class="smcap">Cicely's Return</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII <span class="smcap">The Life</span></a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHRONICLES_OF_THE_CLINTONS">CHRONICLES OF THE CLINTONS</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>A COURT BALL</h3> + + +<p>"I recollect the time," said the Squire, "when two women going to a ball +were a big enough load for any carriage. You may say what you like about +crinolines, but I've seen some very pretty women in them in my time."</p> + +<p>There were three people in the carriage passing slowly up the Mall in +the string, with little jerks and progressions. They were the Squire +himself, Mrs. Clinton, and Cicely, and they were on their way to a Court +Ball.</p> + +<p>The Squire, big, florid, his reddish beard touched with grey falling +over the red and gold of his Deputy-Lieutenant's uniform, sat back +comfortably beside his wife, who was dressed in pale lavender silk, with +diamonds in her smooth, grey-yellow hair. She was short and rather +plump. Her grey eyes, looking out on the violet of the night sky, the +trees, and the crowd of hilarious onlookers who had not been invited to +Buckingham Palace, had a patient and slightly wistful expression. She +had not spoken since the carriage had left the quiet hotel in which they +were staying for their fortnight in London.</p> + +<p>Cicely sat on the back seat of the carriage. On such an occasion as this +she might have been expected to be accorded the feminine privilege of +sitting at the side of her mother, but it had not occurred to the Squire +to offer it to her. She was a pretty girl, twenty-two years of age, with +a fair skin and abundant brown hair. She was dressed in costly white +satin, her gown simply cut. As she had stood before her glass, while her +mother's maid had held for her her light evening cloak, her beautiful +neck and shoulders had seemed warmly flushed by contrast with the dead +pallor of the satin. She also had hardly spoken since they had driven +off from their hotel, which was so quiet and private that it was hardly +like an hotel, and where some of the servants had stood in the hall to +see them get into their carriage, just as they might have done at home +at Kencote.</p> + +<p>It was a great occasion for Cicely. Her brothers—Dick, who was in the +Grenadier Guards, and Humphrey, who was in the Foreign Office—were well +enough used to the scenes of splendour offered by a London season, but +Cicely had hardly ever been in London at all. She had been brought up +four years before to be presented, and had been taken home again +immediately. She had seen nothing of London gaieties, either then or +since. Now she was to enjoy such opportunities of social intercourse as +might be open to the daughter of a rich squire who had had all he wanted +of town life thirty years before, and had lived in his country house +ever since. A fortnight was as long as the Squire cared to be away from +Kencote, even in the month of June; and a fortnight was to be the extent +of Cicely's London season. This was to be the crowning night of it.</p> + +<p>The Squire chattered on affably. He had had a good dinner and had not +been hurried over it, or afterwards. That was the worst of those +theatres, he would say; they didn't give you time even to drink your +glass of wine; and he had not been affable with his wife and daughter +the evening before, when driving to the play. But now he was rather +pleased with himself. He did not care for all this sort of thing, of +course; he had had quite enough of it as a subaltern, dancing about +London all night, and going everywhere—all very well for a young +fellow, but you got tired of it. Still, there was a certain flavour +about a Court Ball, even for a one-time subaltern in the Blues, who had +taken part in everything that was going on. Other people scrambled for +such things—they had to if they wanted them, and why they should want +them if they didn't come to them naturally, the Squire couldn't tell. To +a man of the importance of Edward Clinton of Kencote, they came as a +matter of course, and he accepted them as his due, but was pleased, too, +at having his social importance recognised in such a way, without his +stirring a finger. As a matter of cold fact, a finger had been stirred +to procure this particular honour, although it had not been his. But of +that he was not aware.</p> + +<p>The carriage drove slowly with the rest into the big court-yard, where a +military band was playing bright music. Cicely suddenly felt exhilarated +and expectant. They drove up before the great entrance, red-carpeted, +brightly lit, and went through the hall up the stairs into the +cloak-room. Cicely had a flush on her cheeks now as she waited for her +mother, who seemed to be taking an interminable time to settle her lace +and her jewels. Mrs. Clinton looked her over and her eyes brightened a +little. "Are you nervous, darling?" she asked; and Cicely said, "No, +mother, not a bit." The scent of flowers was in her nostrils, the +strains of the music expectantly in her ears. She was going to dance in +a royal palace, and she was such a country mouse that she was excited at +the prospect of seeing royalty at close quarters. She had been far too +nervous to take in anything when she had been presented, and that had +been four years ago.</p> + +<p>They went out and found the Squire waiting for them. He did not ask +them, as he generally did, why they had been so long.</p> + +<p>They seemed to go through interminable wide corridors, decorated in red +and gold, with settees against the walls and beautiful pictures hanging +above them, but came at last to the great ball-room.</p> + +<p>Cicely drew her breath as she entered. This was better than the +Meadshire County Ball, or the South Meadshire Hunt Ball. The women were +mostly in white, or pale colours, but their jewels were beyond anything +she had ever imagined. The lights from the great lustre chandeliers +seemed to be reflected in those wonderful clusters and strings and +devices of sparkling gems. Cold white and cold fire for the women, +colour for the men. Scarlet and gold pre-dominated, but there were +foreign attaches in uniforms of pale blue and silver, and other +unfamiliar colours, eastern robes and dresses encrusted with jewels or +richly embroidered in silks. It was gorgeous, a scene from fairyland.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden ebbing of the tide of chatter. The band in the +gallery began to play "God save the King." Doors were thrown open at the +end of the great room, and the royal party came in slowly, passed down +the open space on the red carpet between the lines of bowing and +curtseying guests, and took their places on the dais. Cicely gazed her +fill at them. They were just as she had seen them a hundred times in +pictures in the illustrated papers, but more royal, and yet, more human.</p> + +<p>They danced their opening quadrille, and after that every one could +dance. But of all the people there Cicely knew no one who would be +likely to dance with her. She sat by her mother on one of the raised +settees that ran in four rows the length of the room. The Squire had +found friends and was talking to them elsewhere. Her brother Dick, who +she knew was to have been there, she had not yet seen. Everything +depended upon him. Surely, people did not come casually late to a Court +Ball! If something had prevented his coming at all, it seemed to her +that she would have to sit there all the evening.</p> + +<p>Her eyes brightened. There was Dick making his way towards them. He +looked very smart in his guardsman's uniform, and very much at home with +himself, as if the King's ball-room was no more to him than any other +ball-room. He was always provokingly leisurely in his movements, and +even now he stopped twice to talk to people whom he knew, and stood with +them each time as if he would stay there for ever. Really, Dick could be +almost as provoking as the Squire, where their womenfolk were concerned.</p> + +<p>But at last he came, smiling very pleasantly. "Hullo, mother!" he said. +"Hullo, Siskin! Now you've seen the Queen in her parlour, eh? Well, how +do you like yourself?"</p> + +<p>He was a good-looking fellow, Dick, with his well-shaped, closely +cropped head, his well-trained moustache, his broad, straight shoulders +and lean waist and hips. He was over thirty, but showed few signs as yet +of the passing of youth. It was quite plain by the way he looked at her +that he was fond of his sister. She was nearly ten years younger than he +and still a child to him, to be patronised and petted, if she was taken +notice of at all. He didn't take much notice of his mother, contenting +himself with telling her that she "looked as smart as any of 'em." But +he stood and talked to Cicely, and his eyes rested on her as if he were +proud of her.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the delicious strains of a valse were swinging through +the great room, and the smooth floor was full of dancers, except in the +space reserved for the royalties, where only a few couples were +circling. Cicely's feet were moving. "Can't we dance, Dick?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Come on," said Dick, "let's have a scurry," and he led her down on to +the floor and floated her out into a paradise of music and movement. +Dick was the best partner she had ever danced with. He had often snubbed +her about her own dancing, but he had danced with her all the same, more +than most brothers dance with their sisters, at country balls, which +were the only balls she had ever been to. He was a kind brother, +according to his lights, and Cicely would have liked to dance with him +all the evening.</p> + +<p>That, of course, was out of the question. Dick knew plenty of people to +dance with to-night, if she didn't. In fact, he seemed to know half the +people in the room, although he gave her the impression that he thought +Court Balls rather mixed affairs. "Can't be certain of meeting your +friends here," he said, and added, "of course," as admitting handsomely +that people might be quite entitled to be asked who did not happen to be +his friends. "You're not the only country cousins, Siskin," he said, +which gave Cicely somehow a higher opinion of herself, his dissociation +of himself in this matter of country cousinhood from his family striking +her as nothing unreasonable. Indeed, it was not unreasonable with regard +to the Clintons, the men taking their part, as a matter of course, in +everything to which their birth and wealth entitled them, so long as +they cared to do so, the women living, for the most part, at home, in a +wide and airy seclusion.</p> + +<p>"Want to dance, eh?" said Dick, in answer to her little plea. "All +right, I'll bring up some young fellows."</p> + +<p>And he did. He brought up a succession of them and delivered them +off-hand to his mother and sister with a slight air of authority, doing +his duty very thoroughly, as a kind brother should.</p> + +<p>Most of them were quite young—as young, or younger than Cicely herself. +Some of them wore the uniform of Dick's own regiment, and were +presumably under his orders, professionally if not in private life. Some +of them were amazingly patronising and self-possessed, and these did not +ask Cicely to dance again. She felt, when they returned her to her +mother, that she had not been a success with them. Others were boyish +and diffident, and with them she got on pretty well. With one, a modest +child of nineteen or so with a high-sounding title, she was almost +maternally friendly, and he seemed to cling to her as a refuge from a +new and bewildering world. They ate ices together—he told her that he +had been brought up at home in Ireland under a priest, and had never +eaten enough ices at a sitting until he had joined his regiment a +fortnight before. He could not dance well, indeed hardly at all, +although he confessed to having taken lessons, and his gratitude when +Cicely suggested that they should go and look at some of the rooms +instead, warmed her heart to him and put their temporary friendship on +the best possible footing.</p> + +<p>They stayed together during three dances, went out on to the terrace, +explored wherever they were permitted to explore, paid two visits to the +buffet, and enjoyed themselves much in the same way as if they had been +school-children surreptitiously breaking loose from an assembly of +grown-ups. The boy became volubly friendly and bubbling over with +unexpected humour and high spirits. He tried to persuade Cicely to stay +away from the ball-room for a fourth dance. Nobody would miss them, he +explained. But she said she must go back, and when they joined the crowd +again her partner was haled off with a frightened look to the royal +circle, and she found her mother standing up before the seat on which +she had sat all the evening searching anxiously for her with her eyes, +and her father by her side.</p> + +<p>An old man, looking small and shrunken in his heavy uniform, but +otherwise full of life and kindliness, with twinkling eyes and a short +white beard, was with them, and she breathed a sigh of relief, for if +she was not frightened of what her mother might say about her long +absence, she rather dreaded the comments her father might be pleased to +pass on it. But her kinsman, Lord Meadshire, Lord-Lieutenant of the +county, a great magnate in the eyes of the world, was to her just a very +kind and playful old man, whose jokes only, because of their inherent +feebleness, caused her any discomfort. Cousin Humphrey would preserve +her from the results of her fault if she had committed one.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," he said in an affectionate, rather asthmatical voice, +"you've brought us some of the Meadshire roses, eh, what? Hope you're +enjoying yourself. If you had come a little earlier, I would have asked +you to dance with me."</p> + +<p>"Where have you been so long, Cicely?" asked her mother, but the twinkle +in Lord Meadshire's eyes showed that a joke was in progress, and he +broke in hurriedly, "Forty or fifty years earlier, I mean, my dear," and +he chuckled himself into a fit of coughing.</p> + +<p>The Squire was not looking quite pleased, but whatever the cause of his +displeasure it was not, apparently, Cicely's prolonged absence, for he +also asked if she was enjoying herself, and looked at her with some +pride and fondness. Going home in the carriage, she learned later that +Lord Meadshire, who would have done a great deal more to provide her +with social gaiety if he had not been living, now, mostly in retirement +with an invalid wife, had procured those commands which had brought them +up to London, and are not generally bestowed unasked on the belongings +of a country squire, however important he may be in the midst of his own +possessions.</p> + +<p>Lord Meadshire stayed with them for some little time and pointed out to +her some of the notabilities and the less familiar royalties. Then Dick +came up and took her away to dance again. After that she sat by her +mother's side until the end. She saw the boy with whom she had made +friends eying her rather wistfully. He had danced a quadrille with a +princess, and the experience seemed so to have shattered his nerve that +he was not equal to making his way to her to ask her to bear him company +again, and she could not very well beckon him, as she felt inclined to +do. The ball became rather dull, although she looked a good deal at the +King and Queen and thought how extraordinary it was that she should be +in the same room with them.</p> + +<p>Before she had quite realised that it had begun, the ball was over. The +band played "God save the King" again. Everybody stood up and the royal +procession was formed and went away to supper. With the light of royalty +eclipsed, her own supper seemed an ordinary affair. At country dances +she had shirked it whenever she could, taking advantage of a clearer +floor to dance with some willing partner right through a valse or a +two-step from beginning to end. After supper she danced once or twice, +but as she drove back to the very private hotel at about half-past one, +she only felt as if she had not danced nearly enough, and as she +undressed she hardly knew whether she had enjoyed herself or not.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>IN THE BAY OF BISCAY</h3> + + +<p>On the night on which Cicely Clinton was enjoying herself at the Court +Ball, the <i>Punjaub</i> homeward bound from Australia <i>via</i> Colombo and the +Suez Canal was steaming through the Bay of Biscay, which, on this night +of June had prepared a pleasant surprise for the <i>Punjaub's</i> numerous +passengers by lying calm and still under a bright moon.</p> + +<p>Two men were leaning over the side of the upper deck, watching the +phosphorescent gleam of the water as it slid past beneath them, and +talking as intimate friends. They were Ronald Mackenzie, the explorer, +returning home after his adventurous two years' expedition into the +wilds of Tibet, and Jim Graham, whose home was at Mountfield, three +miles away from Kencote, where the Clintons lived. They were not +intimate friends, in spite of appearances. They had joined the ship +together at Colombo, and found themselves occupying the same cabin. But +acquaintanceship ripens so fast on board ship that the most dissimilar +characters may adhere to one another for as long as a voyage lasts, +although they may never meet again afterwards, nor particularly wish to.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie was a tall, ruggedly fashioned man, with greying hair and a +keen, bold face. Jim Graham was more slightly built. He had an open, +honest look; he was rather deliberate in speech, and apparently in +thought, for in conversation he would often pause before speaking, and +he sometimes ignored a question altogether, as if he had not heard it, +or had not understood it. There were those who called him stupid; but it +was usually said of him that he was slow and sure. He had a rather ugly +face, but it was that pleasant ugliness which, with a well-knit athletic +body, clear eyes and a tanned skin, is hardly distinguishable, in a man, +from good looks.</p> + +<p>They were talking about London. "I can smell it and see it," said +Mackenzie. "I hope it will be raining when I get home. I like the wet +pavements, and the lights, and the jostling crowds. Lord! it will be +good to see it again. How I've pined for it, back there! But I'll be out +of it again in a month. It's no place for a man like me, except to get +back to every now and then."</p> + +<p>"That's how most of us take it," said Jim, "unless we have to work +there. I'm glad I haven't to, though I enjoy it well enough for a week +or two, occasionally."</p> + +<p>"Do you live in the country all the year round?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Mackenzie threw him a glance which seemed to take him in from top to +toe. "What do you do?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Jim Graham paused for a moment before replying. "I have a good deal to +do," he said. "I've got my place to look after."</p> + +<p>"That doesn't take you all your time, does it?"</p> + +<p>"It takes a good deal of it. And I'm on the bench."</p> + +<p>"That means sending poor devils to prison for poaching your game, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"Not quite that," said Jim, without a smile.</p> + +<p>"I suppose what it all does mean is that you live in a big country house +and shoot and hunt and fish to your heart's content, with just enough +work to keep you contented with yourself. By Jove, some men are lucky! +Do you know what my life has been?"</p> + +<p>"I know you have been through many adventures and done big things," said +Jim courteously.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm obliged to you for putting it like that. Seems to me I didn't +put my idea of your life quite so nicely, eh?" He stood up and stretched +his tall figure, and laughed. "I'm a rough diamond," he said. "I don't +mind saying so, because it's plain enough for any one to see. I +sometimes envy people like you their easy manners; but I've got to be +content with my own; and after all, they have served my turn well +enough. Look at us two. I suppose I'm about ten years older than you, +but I had made my name when I was your age. You were born in a fine +country house."</p> + +<p>"Not so very fine," said Jim.</p> + +<p>"Well, pretty fine compared to the house I was born in, which was the +workhouse. You were educated at Eton and Christchurch, and all that sort +of thing——"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to spoil any comparison you are going to make," said Jim, +"but I was at Winchester and New College."</p> + +<p>"That will do," said Mackenzie. "I was dragged up at the workhouse +school till I was twelve. Then I ran away and sold papers in the +streets, and anything else that I could pick up a few coppers by—except +steal. I never did that. I always made up my mind I'd be a big man some +day, and—I'm glad I didn't steal."</p> + +<p>"I didn't either, you know," said Jim, "although I'm not a big man, and +never shall be."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's where the likes of me scores. You've no call to ambition. +You have everything you can want provided for you."</p> + +<p>"There have been one or two big men born as I was," said Jim. "But +please go on with your story. When did you go on your first journey?"</p> + +<p>"When I was sixteen. I looked much older. I shipped before the mast and +went out to Australia, and home round Cape Horn. By Jove, I shan't +forget that. The devil was in the wind. We were five months coming home, +and nearly starved to death, and worked till we were as thin as hungry +cats. Then I shipped with the Boyle-Geering expedition—you know—North +Pole, and three years trying to get there. Then I tried a change of +climate and went to Central Africa with Freke. I was his servant, got +his bath, shaved him, brushed his clothes—he was always a bit of a +dandy, Freke, and lived like a gentleman, though I don't believe he was +any better than I was when he started; but he could fight too, and there +wasn't his equal with niggers. We had trouble that trip, and the men who +went out with him were a rotten lot. They'd found the money, or he +wouldn't have taken them. He knew a man when he saw one. When we came +home I was second in command.</p> + +<p>"It was easy after that. I led that expedition through Uganda when I was +only twenty-five; and the rest—well, the rest I dare say you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Jim. "You've done a lot."</p> + +<p>"Not so bad, eh, for a workhouse brat?"</p> + +<p>"Not so bad for anybody."</p> + +<p>"I'm up top now. I used to envy lots of people. Now most people envy +me."</p> + +<p>Jim was silent.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie turned to him. "I suppose you've had a pretty easy time +travelling," he said. There was a suspicion of a sneer on his long thin +lips.</p> + +<p>"Pretty easy," said Jim.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Your sort of travelling is rather different from mine. If you had +been roughing it in Tibet for the last two years you would be pretty +glad to be getting back."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to be getting back as it is."</p> + +<p>Mackenzie turned and leaned over the rail again. "Well, I don't know +that I don't envy you a bit after all," he said. "I've got no friends in +England. I'm not a man to make friends. The big-wigs will take me up +this time. I know that from what I've seen. I shall be a lion. I suppose +I shall be able to go anywhere I like. But there's nowhere I want to go +to particularly, when I've had enough of London. You've got your country +home. Lord, how I've thought of the English country, in summer time! +Thirsted for it. But it has to belong to you, in a way. I've a good mind +to buy a little place—I shall be able to afford it when my book comes +out. But I should want a wife to keep it warm for me. You're not +married, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Going to be?"</p> + +<p>Jim made no reply.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie laughed. "Mustn't ask questions, I suppose," he said. "I'm a +rough diamond, Graham. Got no manners, you see. Never had any one to +teach 'em to me. I apologise."</p> + +<p>"No need to," said Jim.</p> + +<p>There was silence for a space. The great round moon shone down and +silvered the long ripples on the water.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind answering your question," said Jim, looking out over the +sea. "There are some country neighbours of mine. One of the sons is my +chief pal. We were brought up together, more or less. He's going to +marry my sister. And—well, I hope I'm going to marry his."</p> + +<p>His face changed a little, but Mackenzie, looking straight before him +did not notice it. "Sounds a capital arrangement," he said drily.</p> + +<p>Jim flushed, and drew himself up. "Well, I think I'll be turning in," he +said.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie faced him quickly. "Tell me all about it," he said. "How old +is she? You have known her all your life. When did you first find out +you wanted to marry her? When are you going to be married?"</p> + +<p>Jim looked at him squarely. "You are taking liberties," he said.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie laughed again—his harsh, unamused laugh. "All right," he +said. "One has to be as delicate as a fine lady talking to fellows like +you. It's not worth it. When you live like a savage half your life, you +sort of hunger after hearing about things like that—people living in +the country, falling in love and getting married, and going to church +every Sunday—all the simple, homely things. A man without all the +nonsense about good form and all that sort of thing—a man who'd done +things—he would know why you asked him, and he would know he couldn't +find anybody better to tell his little happy secrets to."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Jim, slightly mollified.</p> + +<p>"I dare say you're right, though," said Mackenzie. "One doesn't blab to +every stranger. Even I don't, and I'm a rough diamond, as I've told +you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you've told me that."</p> + +<p>"Is the fellow who is going to marry your sister a country gentleman, +too?"</p> + +<p>"No. His father is. He's a younger son. He's a doctor."</p> + +<p>"A doctor! Isn't that a funny thing for a country gentleman's son to +be?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know that it is. He's a clever fellow. He went in for science +at Oxford, and got keen."</p> + +<p>"That's good hearing. I like to hear of men getting keen about a real +job. You might tell me about him, if I'm not taking another liberty in +asking."</p> + +<p>"Oh, look here, Mackenzie, I'm sorry I said that. I didn't understand +why you asked what you did."</p> + +<p>"I've told you. I like to hear about everything that goes on in the +world. It isn't curiosity, and yet in a way it is. I'm curious about +everything that goes on—everywhere. It isn't impertinent curiosity, +anyway."</p> + +<p>"I see that. I'll tell you about Walter Clinton. He's a good chap. His +father has a fine place next to mine. He's a rich man. His family has +been there since the beginning of all things. Walter is just my age. +We've always been a lot together."</p> + +<p>"Is there a large family? What do his brothers do?"</p> + +<p>"There's Dick, the eldest son. He's in the Guards. There's Humphrey in +the Foreign Office, and a younger son, a sailor. And—and there are +three girls—two of them are children—twins."</p> + +<p>"Well, now, aren't I right in saying it's odd for a son in a family like +that to become a doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I suppose in a way you are, though I can't see why he +shouldn't be. The fact is that they wanted to make a parson of +him—there's a rather good family living. But he wasn't taking any."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I thought I knew something about your country gentry. Well, I +admire the doctor. Was there a row?"</p> + +<p>"His father was rather annoyed. Perhaps it's not to be wondered at. His +half-brother is Rector at Kencote now, and when he dies they'll have to +give the living to a stranger. Of course they would rather have one of +the family."</p> + +<p>"It's like a chapter in a book—one of the long, easy ones, all about +country life and the squire and the parson. I love 'em. And the doctor +is going to marry your sister. Can I give 'em a skin for a wedding +present?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure they would be gratified. You'd better come down and make their +acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"I'll do that. I'd like to come and see you, Graham; and you mustn't +mind my roughness peeping out occasionally. I haven't had many chances +in life."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and then Jim said, "Walter Clinton's sister comes +next to him in the family. She's six or seven years younger. Of course, +I've known her ever since she was a baby. When I came back from Oxford +one summer vac., I found her almost grown up. She seemed quite different +somehow. I was always over there all the summer, or she was with my +sister. We fixed it up we would get married some day. They laughed at +us, and said we had better wait a few years; but of course they were +pleased, really, both my people and hers, though they thought it a bit +premature; she was only seventeen. When I went back to Oxford and +thought it over I said to myself it wasn't quite fair to tie her down at +that age. I would wait and see. So we fell back to what we had been +before."</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly. "Is that all?" asked Mackenzie in some surprise.</p> + +<p>"It's all at present."</p> + +<p>There was a long pause. "It's disappointing, somehow," said Mackenzie. +"I suppose I mustn't ask questions, but there are a lot I'd like to +ask."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ask away. When the ice is once broken one can talk. It does one +good to talk sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Women talk to each other about their love affairs. Men don't—not the +real ones—except on occasions."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll let this be an occasion, as you have started the subject." +He laughed lightly. "You've got a sort of power, Mackenzie. If any one +had told me yesterday that I should be talking to you to-night about a +thing I haven't mentioned to a soul for five years—except once or twice +to Walter Clinton—I should have stared at them. I'm not generally +supposed to be communicative."</p> + +<p>"It's impersonal," said Mackenzie, "like telling things to a priest. I'm +not in the same world as you. Five years, is it? Well, now, what on +earth have you been doing ever since? She's not too young to marry now."</p> + +<p>"No. I was at Oxford a year after what I told you of. Then I went for a +year to learn estate management on my uncle's property. When I came home +I thought I would fix it up with my father—he was alive then. He said, +wait a year longer. He was beginning to get ill, and I suppose he didn't +want to face the worry of making arrangements till he got better. But he +never got better, and within a year he died."</p> + +<p>"And then you were your own master. That's two years ago, isn't it? And +here you are coming back from a year's trip round the world. You seem to +be pretty slow about things."</p> + +<p>"One doesn't become one's own master immediately one succeeds to the +ownership of land. These death duties have altered all that. I shan't be +free for another year. Then I hope you will come to my wedding, +Mackenzie."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. Didn't the young lady object to keeping it all hanging on for +so long?"</p> + +<p>Jim did not reply for a moment. Then he said a little stiffly, "I wrote +to her from Oxford when I had thought things over. I thought it wasn't +fair to tie her up before I was ready to marry, and she so young."</p> + +<p>"And that means that you have never allowed yourself to make love to her +since."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it means that."</p> + +<p>"And yet you have been in love with her all the time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, it shows a greater amount of self-control than most people +possess—certainly a good deal more than I possess, I suppose you are +sure of her."</p> + +<p>Jim did not reply to this, but he said presently, "If it wasn't for the +death duties I should have hoped to be married before this."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I don't understand," said Mackenzie. "I suppose you +live in much the same way as your father did before you."</p> + +<p>"Yes. My mother lives with me, and my sister."</p> + +<p>"Well, surely you <i>could</i> get married if you wanted to. You've got your +house and everything, even if there isn't quite so much money to spend +for a bit. And as for ready money—it doesn't cost nothing to travel for +a year as you're doing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, an uncle of mine paid for that," said Jim. "I got seedy after my +father's death. There was a lot of worry, and—and I was fond of the old +man. The doctors told me to go off. I'm all right now. As for the +rest—well, there are such things as jointures and dowries. No, I +couldn't marry, giving my wife and my mother and sister everything they +ought to have, before another year. Even then it will be a close thing; +I shall have to be careful."</p> + +<p>They fell silent. The dark mass of the ship's hull beneath them slipped +on through the water, drawing ever nearer towards home. The moon climbed +still higher into the sky. "Well, we've had an interesting talk," said +Mackenzie, drawing himself up. "What you have told me is all so entirely +different from anything that would ever happen in my life. If I wanted +to marry a girl I should marry her, and let the money go hang. She'd +have to share and share. But I dare say when I want a thing I want it +for the moment a good deal more than you do; and, generally, I see that +I get it. Now I think I shall turn in. Give me ten minutes."</p> + +<p>He went down to the cabin they both occupied. As he undressed he said to +himself, "Rather a triumph, drawing a story like that from a fellow like +that. And Lord, <i>what</i> a story! He deserves to lose her. I should like +to hear her side of it."</p> + +<p>Jim Graham smoked another cigarette, walking round the deck. He felt +vaguely dissatisfied with himself for having made a confidant of +Mackenzie, and at the same time relieved at having given vent to what he +had shut up for so long in the secret recesses of his mind.</p> + +<p>A day or two later the two men parted at Tilbury. They had not again +mentioned the subject of their long conversation in the Bay of Biscay.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE CLINTONS OF KENCOTE</h3> + + +<p>Cicely was returning home with her father and mother after her short +taste of the season's gaieties. It was pleasant to lean back in a corner +of the railway carriage and look at the rich Meadshire country, so +familiar to her, running past the window. She had not wanted to go home +particularly, but she was rather glad to be going home all the same.</p> + +<p>The country in South Meadshire is worth looking at. There are +deep-grassed water-meadows, kept green by winding rivers; woods of beech +and oak; stretches of gorse and bracken; no hills to speak of, but +gentle rises, crowned sometimes by an old church, or a pleasant-looking +house, neither very old nor very new, very large nor very small. The big +houses, and there are a good many of them, lie for the most part in what +may be called by courtesy the valleys. You catch a glimpse of them +sometimes at a little distance from the line, which seems to have shown +some ingenuity in avoiding them, standing in wide, well-timbered parks, +or peeping from amongst thicker trees, with their court of farm and +church and clustered village, in dignified seclusion. For the rest, +there are picturesque hamlets; cottages with bright gardens; children, +and fluttering clothes-lines; pigs and donkeys and geese on the cropped +commons; a network of roads and country lanes; and everywhere a look of +smiling and contented well-being, which many an English county of higher +reputation for picturesque scenery might envy.</p> + +<p>The inhabitants of South Meadshire will tell you that it is one of the +best counties for all-round sport. Game is preserved, but not +over-preserved, and the mixture of pasture and arable land and frequent +covert, while it does not tempt the fox-hunting Londoner, breeds stout +foxes for the pleasure of those who know every inch of it; and there is +enough grass, enough water, and stiff enough fences to try the skill of +the boldest, and to provide occasionally such a run as from its +comparative rarity accords a gratification unknown to the frequenter of +the shires. Big fish are sometimes caught in the clear streams of South +Meadshire, and they are caught by the people who own them, or by their +friends. For in this quiet corner of England the life of the hall and +the village still goes on unchanged. At the meets—on lawn, at +cross-road, or by covert-side—everybody knows everybody else, at least +by sight; neighbours shoot with one another and not with strangers; and +the small fry of the countryside get their share of whatever fun is +going on.</p> + +<p>In the middle of this pleasant land lies the manor of Kencote, and a +good many fat acres around it, which have come to the Clintons from time +to time, either by lucky marriages or careful purchase, during the close +upon six hundred years they have been settled there. For they are an old +family and in their way an important one, although their actual +achievements through all the centuries in which they have enjoyed wealth +and local consideration fill but a small page in their family history.</p> + +<p>The Squire had, in the strong room of the Bathgate and Medchester Bank, +in deed-boxes at his lawyers, and in drawers and chests and cupboards in +his house, papers worthy of the attention of the antiquary. From time to +time they did engage the antiquary's attention, and, scattered about in +bound volumes of antiquarian and genealogical magazines, in the +proceedings of learned societies, and in county histories, you may find +the fruits of much careful and rewarding research through these various +documents. When the Squire was approached by some one who wished to +write a paper or read a paper, or compile a genealogy, or carry out any +project for the purposes of which it was necessary to gain access to the +Clinton archives, he would express his annoyance to his family. He would +say that he wished these people would let him alone. The fact was that +there were so few really old families left in England, that people like +himself who had lived quietly on their property for eight or nine +hundred years, or whatever it might be, had to bear all the brunt of +these investigations, and it was really becoming an infernal nuisance. +But he would always invite the antiquary to Kencote, give him a bottle +of fine claret and his share of a bottle of fine port, and every +facility for the pursuit of his inquiries.</p> + +<p><i>A History of the Ancient and Knightly Family of Clinton of Kencote in +the County of Meadshire</i>, was compiled about a hundred years ago by the +Reverend John Clinton Smith, M.A., Rector of Kencote, and published by +Messrs. Dow and Runagate of Paternoster Row. It is not very accurate, +but any one interested in such matters can, with due precaution taken, +gain from it valuable information concerning the twenty-two generations +of Clintons who have lived and ruled at Kencote since Sir Giles de +Clinton acquired the manor in the reign of Edward I.</p> + +<p>The learned Rector devoted a considerable part of his folio volume to +tracing a connection between the Clintons of Kencote and other families +of Clintons who have mounted higher in the world. It is the opinion of +later genealogists that he might have employed his energies to better +purpose, but, in any case, the family needs no further shelter than is +supplied by its own well-rooted family tree. You will find too, in his +book, the result of his investigations into his own pedigree, in which +the weakest links have to bear the greatest strain, as is often the case +with pedigrees.</p> + +<p>It remains only to be said that the Squire, Edward Clinton, had +succeeded his grandfather, Colonel Thomas, of whom you may read in +sporting magazines and memoirs, at the age of eighteen, and had always +been a rich man, and an honest one.</p> + +<p>Kencote lies about six miles to the south-west of the old town of +Bathgate. The whole parish, and it is an exceptionally large one, +belongs to the Squire, with a good deal more land besides in +neighbouring parishes. Kencote House is a big, rather ugly structure, +and was built early in the eighteenth century after the disastrous fire +which destroyed the beautiful old Tudor hall and nearly all its hoarded +treasures. This catastrophe is worth a brief notice, for nowadays an +untitled family often enjoys some consideration from the possession of +an old and beautiful house, and the Clintons of Kencote would be better +known to the world at large if they did not live in a comparatively new +one.</p> + +<p>It happened at the dead of a winter night. Young William Clinton had +brought home his bride, Lady Anne, only daughter and heiress of the Earl +of Beechmont, that afternoon, and there had been torches and bonfires +and a rousing welcome. Nobody knew exactly how it happened, but they +awoke to find the house in flames, and most of the household too +overcome by the results of their merry-making to be of any use in saving +it. The house itself was burnt to a shell, but it was long enough in the +burning to have enabled its more valuable contents to have been saved, +if the work had been set about with some method. The young squire, in +night-cap, shirt, and breeches, whether mindful of his pedigree at that +time of excitement, or led by the fantastic spirit that moves men in +such crises, threw as much of the contents of his muniment room out of +the window as he had time for, and the antiquarians bless him to this +day. Then he went off to the stables, and helped to get out his horses. +My Lady Anne, who was only sixteen, saved her jewels and one or two of +her more elaborate gowns, and then sat down by the sun-dial and cried. +The servants worked furiously as long as the devouring flames allowed +them, but when there was nothing left of Kencote Hall but smouldering, +unsafe walls, under a black, winter sky, and the piled-up heap of things +that had been got out into the garden came to be examined, it was found +to be made up chiefly of the lighter and less valuable pieces of +furniture, a few pictures and hangings, many tumbled folios from the +library, kitchen and house utensils, and just a few pieces of plate and +other valuables to salt the whole worthless mass.</p> + +<p>So perished in a night the chief pride of the Clintons of Kencote, and +the noble house, with its great raftered hall, its carved and panelled +chambers, its spoil of tapestries and furniture, carpets, china, silver, +pictures, books, all the possessions that had been gathered from many +lands through many years, was only a memory that must fade more and more +rapidly as time went on.</p> + +<p>The young couple went back to her ladyship's father, not many miles +away, and Kencote was left in its ruins for ten years or so. Then my +Lord Beechmont died, sadly impoverished by unfortunate dealings with the +stock of the South Sea Company, the house and land that remained to him +were sold, and Kencote was rebuilt with the proceeds, much as it stands +to-day, except that Merchant Jack, the father of Colonel Thomas, bitten +with the ideas of his time, covered the mellow red brick with a coating +of stucco and was responsible for the Corinthian porch, and the +ornamental parapet surmounted by Grecian urns.</p> + +<p>Merchant Jack had been a younger son and had made his fortune in the +city. He was modern in his ideas, and a rich man, and wanted a house as +good as his neighbours. Georgian brick, and tall, narrow, small-paned +windows had gone out of fashion. So had the old formal gardens. Those at +Kencote had survived the destruction of the house, but they did not +survive the devastating zeal of Merchant Jack. They were swept away by a +pupil of Capability Brown's, who allowed the old walls of the kitchen +garden to stand because they were useful for growing fruit, but +destroyed walls and terraces and old yew hedges everywhere else, brought +the well-treed park into relation, as he thought, with the garden, by +means of sunk fences, planted shrubberies, laid down vast lawns, and +retired very well pleased with himself at having done away with one more +old-fashioned, out-of-date garden, and substituted for it a few more +acres of artificial ugliness.</p> + +<p>He did just one thing that turned out well; he made a large lake in a +hollow of the park and ringed it with rhododendrons, which have since +grown to enormous size. At the end of it he caused to be built a stucco +temple overhung with weeping ashes, designed "to invite Melancholy." +There is no showing that Merchant Jack had any desire to respond to such +an invitation, but it was the fashion of the time, and no doubt he was +pleased with the idea.</p> + +<p>Merchant Jack also refurnished the house when his architect had had his +way with it and the workmen had departed. A few good pieces he kept, but +most of the furniture, which had been brought into the house when it was +rebuilt after the fire, disappeared, to make way for heavy mahogany and +rosewood. Some of it went down to the dower house, a little Jacobean +hall in a dark corner of the park, and there is reason to fear that the +rest was sold for what it would fetch.</p> + +<p>In all these lamentable activities, good, rich, up-to-date Merchant Jack +was only improving his property according to the ideas of his time, and +had no more idea of committing artistic improprieties than those people +nowadays who buy a dresser from a farm-house kitchen to put in their +drawing-room, and plaster the adjacent walls with soup plates. His +memorial tablet in Kencote church speaks well of him and his memory must +be respected.</p> + +<p>But we have left Edward Clinton with his wife and daughter sitting for +so long in the train between Ganton and Kencote, that we must now return +to them without any further delay.</p> + +<p>Having got into the railway carriage at the London terminus as a private +gentleman, of no more account than any other first-class passenger, and +weighed only by his potential willingness to pay handsomely for +attentions received, as the successive stages of his journey were +accomplished, he seemed to develop in importance. At Ganton, where a +change had to be made, although it was twenty miles and more from his +own parcel of earth, peaked caps were touched to him, and the +station-master himself, braided coat and all, opened his carriage door, +expressing, as he did so, a hope that the present fair weather would +continue. One might almost, until one had thought it over, have imagined +him to be appealing to the Squire as one who might take a hand in its +continuance if he were so minded, at any rate in the neighbourhood of +Kencote.</p> + +<p>At Kencote itself, so busy was the entire station staff in helping him +and his belongings out of the train, that the signal for starting was +delayed a full minute, and then given almost as an after-thought, as if +it were a thing of small importance. Heads were poked out of carriage +windows, and an impertinent stranger, marking the delay and its cause, +asked the station-master, as he was carried past him, where was the red +carpet. The answer might have been that it was duly spread in the +thoughts of all who conducted the Squire from the train to his carriage, +and was as well brushed as if it had been laid on the platform.</p> + +<p>The Squire had a loud and affable word for station-master and porters +alike, and another for the groom who stood at the heads of the two fine +greys harnessed to his phaeton. He walked out into the road and looked +them over, remarking that they were the handsomest pair he had seen +since he had left home. Then he took the reins and swung himself up on +to his seat, actively, for a man of his age and weight. Mrs. Clinton +climbed up more slowly to her place by his side, Cicely sat behind, and +with a jingle and clatter the equipage rolled down the road, while the +groom touched his hat and went back to the station omnibus in which Mrs. +Clinton's maid was establishing herself in the midst of a collection of +wraps and little bags. For, unless it was unavoidable, no servant of the +Clintons sat on the same seat of a carriage as a member of the family.</p> + +<p>It was in the drowsiest time in the afternoon. The sun shone on the +hay-fields, from which the sound of sharpened scythes and the voices of +the hay-makers came most musically. Great trees bordered the half-mile +of road from the station to the village, and gave a grateful shade. The +gardens of the cottages were bright with June flowers, and the broad +village street, lined with low, irregular buildings, picturesque, but +not at all from neglected age, seemed to be dozing in the still, hot +air. A curtsy at the lodge gates, a turn of the Squire's wrist, and they +were bowling along the well kept road through the park.</p> + +<p>A minute more, and they had clattered on to the stones under the big +porch.</p> + +<p>"Well, here we are again, Probin," said the Squire to his head coachman, +who himself took the reins from his hands. "And here, please God, we'll +stay for the present."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>CLINTONS YOUNG AND OLD</h3> + + +<p>The family tradition of the Clintons, whereby the interests and +occupations of the women were strictly subordinated to those of the men, +had not yet availed to damp the spirits or curb the activities of Joan +and Nancy, of whom Mrs. Clinton had made a simultaneous and somewhat +belated present to the Squire thirteen years before. Frank, the sailor, +the youngest son, had been seven at the time the twins were born, and +Dick a young man at Cambridge. Joan and Nancy were still the pets of the +household, strong and healthy pets, and unruly within the limits +permitted them. Released from their schoolroom, they now came rushing +into the hall, and threw themselves on to their parents and their sister +with loud cries of welcome.</p> + +<p>The Squire kissed them in turn—they approached him first as in duty +bound. It had taken him three or four years to get used to their +presence, and during that time he had treated them as the sort of +unaccountable plaything a woman brings into a house and a male +indulgently winks his eye at, a thing beneath his own notice, like a new +gown or a new poodle, or a new curate, but one in which she must be +permitted, in the foolish weakness of her sex, to interest herself. Then +he had gradually begun to "take notice" of them, to laugh at their +childish antics and speeches, to quote them—he had actually done this +in the hunting-field—and finally to like to have them pottering about +with him when duties of investigation took him no further than the +stables or the buildings of the home farm. He had always kept them in +order while they were with him; he had never lost sight of the fact that +they were, after all, feminine; and he had never allowed them to +interfere with his more serious pursuits. But he had fully accepted them +as agreeable playthings for his own lighter hours of leisure, just as he +might have taken to the poodle or the curate, and so treated them still, +although their healthy figures were beginning to fill out, and if they +had been born Clintons of a generation or two before they would have +been considered to be approaching womanhood.</p> + +<p>He now greeted them with hearty affection, and told them that if they +were good girls they might come and look at the pheasants with him when +he had read his letters and they had had their tea, and then took +himself off to his library.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton's greeting was less hearty, but not less affectionate. She +lingered just that second longer over each of them which gives an +embrace a meaning beyond mere convention, but she only said, "I must go +and see Miss Bird. I suppose she is in the schoolroom." She gathered up +her skirts and went upstairs, but when the twins had given Cicely a +boisterous hug, they went back to their mother, and walked on either +side of her. She was still the chief personage in their little world, +although their father and even their brothers were of so much more +importance in the general scheme of things. And not even in the presence +of their father and brothers did they "behave themselves" as they did +with their mother.</p> + +<p>The schoolroom was at the end of a long corridor, down two steps and +round a corner. It was a large room, looking on to the park from two +windows and on to the stableyard from a third. There were shelves +containing the twins' schoolbooks and storybooks, a terrestrial and a +celestial globe, purchased many years ago for the instruction of their +great-aunts, and besides other paraphernalia of learning, signs of more +congenial occupations, such as bird-cages and a small aquarium, boxes of +games, a big doll's house still in tenantable repair though seldom +occupied, implements and materials for wood-carving, and in a corner of +the room a toy fort and a surprising variety of lead soldiers on foot or +on horseback. Such things as these might undergo variation from time to +time. The doll's house might disappear any day, as the rocking-horse had +disappeared, for instance, a year before. But the furniture and other +contents of the room were more stable. It was impossible to think of +their being changed; they were so much a part of it. The Squire never +visited the room, but if he had done so he would have recognised it as +the same room in which he had been taught his own letters, with +difficulty, fifty years before, and if any unauthorised changes had been +made, he would certainly have expressed surprise and displeasure, as he +had done when Walter had carried off to Oxford the old print of Colonel +Thomas on his black horse, Satan, with a view of Kencote House, on a +slight eminence imagined by the artist, in the background. Walter had +had to send the picture back, and it was hanging in its proper place +now, and not likely to be removed again.</p> + +<p>Miss Bird, commonly known as "the old starling," to whom Mrs. Clinton +had come to pay an immediate visit upon entering the house, as in duty +bound, was putting things away. She was accustomed to say that she spent +her life in putting things away after the twins had done with them, and +that they were more trouble to her than all the rest of the family had +been. For Miss Bird had lived in the house for nearly thirty years, and +had acted as educational starter to the whole race of young Clintons, to +Dick, Humphrey, Walter, Cicely, and Frank, and had taken a new lease of +life when the twins had appeared on the scene with the expectation of a +prolonged period of service. She was a thin, voluble lady, as old as the +Squire, to whom she looked up as a god amongst mankind; her educational +methods were of an older generation and included the use of the globes +and the blackboard, but she was most conscientious in her duties, her +religious principles were unexceptionable, and she filled a niche at +Kencote which would have seemed empty without her.</p> + +<p>"O Mrs. Clinton I am so glad to see you back," she said, almost +ecstatically, "and you too Cicely dear—oh my a new hat and such a +pretty one! You look quite the town lady, upon my word and how did you +enjoy the ball? you must tell me all about it every word now Joan and +Nancy I will not put away your things for you once more and that I +declare and you hear me say it you are the most shockingly untidy +children and if I have told you that once I have told you a hundred +times O Mrs. Clinton a new bonnet too and I declare it makes you look +five years younger <i>at</i> least."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton took this compliment equably, and asked if the twins had +been good girls.</p> + +<p>"Well, good!" echoed the old starling, "they know best whether they have +been good, of their lessons I say nothing and marks will show, but to +get up as you might say in the dead of the night and let themselves down +from a window with sheets twisted into a rope and not fit to be seen +since, all creased, <i>most</i> dangerous, besides the impropriety for great +girls of thirteen if any one had been passing as I have told them and +should be <i>obliged</i> to report this behaviour to you Mrs. Clinton on the +first opportunity."</p> + +<p>Joan and Nancy both glanced at their mother tentatively. "We were only +playing Jacobites and Roundheads," said Joan. "It makes it more real."</p> + +<p>"And it wasn't in the middle of the night," added Nancy. "It was four +o'clock, and quite light."</p> + +<p>"Why, you might have killed yourselves!" exclaimed Cicely.</p> + +<p>"<i>Exactly</i> what I said the very words," corroborated the old starling.</p> + +<p>"We tied the sheets very tight," said Joan.</p> + +<p>"And tested them thoroughly," added Nancy.</p> + +<p>"And we won't do it again, mother," said Joan coaxingly.</p> + +<p>"Really, we won't," said Nancy impressively.</p> + +<p>"But what else will you do?" asked Mrs. Clinton. "You are getting too +big for these pranks. If your father were to hear of it, I am sure I +don't know what he would say."</p> + +<p>She knew pretty well that he would have laughed boisterously, and told +her that he didn't want the children molly-coddled. Time enough for that +by and by when they grew up. And the twins probably knew this too, and +were not unduly alarmed at the implied threat. But there was a quality +in their mother's displeasure, rare as it was, which made them +apprehensive when one of their periodical outbursts had come to light. +They were not old enough to perceive that it was not aroused by such +feats as the one under discussion, which showed no moral delinquency, +but only a certain danger to life and limb, now past. But their +experience did tell them that misbehaviour which caused her displeasure +was not thus referred to their father, and with many embraces and +promises of amendment they procured future oblivion of their escapade.</p> + +<p>"Well, I have done my duty," said the old starling, "and very unpleasant +it was to have to welcome you home with such a story, Mrs. Clinton, and +now it is all over and done with I will say and am glad to say that it +is the only <i>blot</i>. And that is what I said to both Joan and Nancy that +it was <i>such</i> a pity to have spoilt everything at the last moment, for +otherwise two better behaved children it would have been impossible to +find anywhere."</p> + +<p>At which Joan and Nancy both kissed the old starling warmly, and she +strained them to her flat but tender bosom and called them her precious +pets.</p> + +<p>They went with Cicely into her bedroom while she "took off her things." +They betrayed an immense curiosity for every detail of her recent +experiences, particularly that crowning one of the Court Ball. She was +exalted in their eyes; she had long been grown up, but now she seemed +more grown up than ever, a whole cycle in advance of their active, +sexless juvenility.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Joan doubtfully, fingering the new hat which Cicely +had taken off, "but I almost think it must be rather fun to wear pretty +things sometimes."</p> + +<p>But Nancy, the younger by some minutes, rebuked that unwholesome +weakness. "What rot, Joan," she said indignantly. "Sis, we have made up +our minds to ask mother if we may wear serge knickerbockers. Then we +shall be able to do what we like."</p> + +<p>When this sartorial revolution had been discussed, Cicely asked, "Has +Muriel been over while I have been away?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Joan. "Walter was at Mountfield on Sunday, and they came +over in the afternoon. They prowled about together. Of course they +didn't want us."</p> + +<p>"But they had us all the same," said Nancy, with a grin. "We stalked +them. They kissed in the Temple, and again in the peach-house."</p> + +<p>"But there were lucid intervals," said Joan. "They have made up their +minds about something or other; we couldn't quite hear what it was. They +were in the kitchen garden, and we were on the other side of the wall."</p> + +<p>"You weren't listening, darling?" hazarded Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, rather not! We wouldn't do such a thing. But Nancy and I like to +pace up and down the yew walk in contemplation, and of course if they +liked to pace up and down by the asparagus beds at the same time, we +couldn't help hearing the murmur of their voices."</p> + +<p>"It is something very serious," said Nancy. "Walter is going to tackle +Edward about it at once. And Muriel is quite at one with him in the +matter. She said so."</p> + +<p>"How they do go on together, those two!" said Joan. "You would think +they had never met in their lives until they got engaged six months ago. +When they came out of the peach-house Nancy said, 'And this is love!' +Then she ran away."</p> + +<p>"Only because Walter ran after me," said Nancy.</p> + +<p>"And Muriel put her arm round my neck," continued Joan, "and said, 'O +Joan, <i>darling</i>! I am so happy that I don't care <i>who</i> sees me.' +Positively nauseating, I call it. You and Jim don't behave like that, +Sis."</p> + +<p>"I should think not," said Cicely primly.</p> + +<p>"Well, you're engaged—or as good as," said Nancy. "But I do rather +wonder what Walter is going to tackle Edward about. It can't be to hurry +on the wedding, for it's only a month off now."</p> + +<p>"We shall know pretty soon," said Joan. "Father doesn't keep things to +himself."</p> + +<p>"No, I expect Edward will make a deuce of a row," said Nancy.</p> + +<p>"Nancy!" said Cicely sharply, "you are not to talk like that."</p> + +<p>"Darling!" said Nancy in a voice of grieved expostulation. "It is what +Walter said to Muriel. I thought there <i>couldn't</i> be any harm in it."</p> + +<p>The twins—they were called "the twankies" by their brothers—went off +after tea in the schoolroom to see the young pheasants with their +father. They were lively and talkative, and the Squire laughed at them +several times, as good-humoured men do laugh at the prattle of innocent +childhood. Arrived at the pens he entered into a long and earnest +conversation with his head keeper, and the twins knew better than to +interrupt him with artless prattle at such a time as that. But going +home again through the dewy park, he unbent once more and egged Nancy on +to imitate the old starling, at which he roared melodiously. He was a +happy man that evening. He had come back to his kingdom, to the serious +business of life, which had a good deal to do with keepers and broods of +pheasants, and to his simple, domestic recreations, much enhanced by the +playful ways of his "pair of kittens."</p> + +<p>The mellow light of the summer evening lay over the park, upon the thick +grass of which the shadows of the trees were lengthening. Sheep were +feeding on it, and it was flat round the house and rather uninteresting. +But it was the Squire's own; he had known every large tree since the +earliest days of his childhood, and the others he had planted, seeing +some of them grow to a respectable height and girth. He would have been +quite incapable of criticising it from the point of view of beauty. The +irregular roofs of the stables and other buildings, the innumerable +chimneys of the big house beyond them, seen through a gap in the trees +which hemmed it in for the most part on three sides, were also his own, +and objects so familiar that he saw them with eyes different from any +others that could have been turned upon them. The sight of them gave +him a sensation of pleasure quite unrelated to their æsthetic or even +their actual value. They meant home to him, and everything that he +loved in the world, or out of it. The pleasure was always there +subconsciously—not so much a pleasure as an attitude of mind—but this +evening it warmed into something concrete. "There's plenty of little +dicky-birds haven't got such a nest as my two," he said to the twins, +who failed to see that this speech, which they wriggled over, but +privately thought fatuous, had the elements of both poetry and religion.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Cicely had made her way over the park in another +direction to visit her aunts in the dower-house, for she knew they would +be itching for an account of her adventures, and she had not had time to +write to them from London.</p> + +<p>Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura were the only surviving representatives of the +six spinster daughters of Colonel Thomas Clinton, the Squire's +grandfather. One after the other Aunt Mary, Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Anna +and Aunt Caroline had been carried out of the dark house in which they +had ended their blameless days to a still darker and very narrow house +within the precincts of Kencote church, and the eldest sister, now an +amazingly aged woman, but still in the possession of all her faculties, +and the youngest, who although many years her junior, was well over +seventy, were all that were left of the bevy of spinster ladies.</p> + +<p>On their father's death, now nearly forty years ago, they had removed in +a body from the big house in which they had lived in a state of subdued +self-repression to the small one in which, for the first time, they were +to taste independence. For their father had been a terrible martinet +where women were concerned, and would as readily have ordered Aunt Ellen +to bed, at the age of fifty, if he had been displeased with her, as if +she had been a child of ten. And if he had ordered her she would have +gone.</p> + +<p>Some of the rooms in the dower-house had been occupied by the agent to +the Kencote estate who at that time was a bachelor, and the rest had +been shut up. The six sisters spent the happiest hours they had hitherto +known in the arrangement of their future lives and of the beautiful old +furniture with which the house was stocked. The lives were to be active, +regular, and charitable. Colonel Thomas, who had allowed them each +twenty pounds a year for dress allowance and pocket-money during his +lifetime, had astonished everybody by leaving them six thousand pounds +apiece in his will, which had been made afresh a year before his death. +He had just then inherited the large fortune of his younger brother, who +had succeeded to the paternal business in Cheapside, lived and died a +bachelor, and saved a great deal of money every year. By his previous +will they would have had a hundred a year each from the estate, and the +use of the dower-house. But even that would have seemed wealth to these +simple ladies as long as they remained together, and all of them alive. +For Colonel Thomas had forgotten, in that first will, to make provision +for the probability of one of them outliving the rest and being reduced +to a solitary existence on a hundred pounds a year. However, with +fifteen hundred a year or so between them, and no rent to pay, they were +exceedingly well off, kept their modest carriage, employed two men in +their garden, and found such pleasures in dividing their surplus wealth +amongst innumerable and deserving charities that the arrival by post of +a nurseryman's catalogue excited them no more than that of an appeal to +subscribe to a new mission.</p> + +<p>The beautiful old furniture, huddled in the disused rooms and in the +great range of attics that ran under the high-pitched roof, gave them +immense happiness in the arrangement. They were not in the least alive +to its value at that time, though they had become so in some degree +since, but kept rather quiet about it for fear that their nephew might +wish to carry some of it off to the great house. They thought it very +old-fashioned and rather absurd, and they also held this view of the +beautifully carved and panelled rooms of their old house, which were +certainly too dark for perfect comfort. But they disposed everything to +the best advantage, and produced without knowing it an effect which no +diligent collector could have equalled, and which became still more +delightful and satisfying as the years went on.</p> + +<p>Cicely walked across the level park and went through a deep wood, +entering by an iron gate the garden of the dower-house, which seemed to +have been built in a clearing, although it was older than the oldest of +the trees that hemmed it round. On this hot summer afternoon it stood +shaded and cool, and the very fragrance of its old-fashioned garden +seeming to be confined and concentrated by the heavy foliage. There was +not a leaf too many. But in the autumn it was damp and close and in the +winter very dark. A narrow drive of about a hundred yards led straight +from the main road to the porch and showed a blue telescopic glimpse of +distant country. If all the trees had been cut down in front to the +width of the house it would have stood out as a thing of beauty against +its green background, air and light would have been let into the best +rooms and the pleasant view of hill and vale opened up to them. But the +Squire, tentatively approached years before by his affectionate and +submissive aunts, had decisively refused to cut down any trees at all, +and four out of the six of them had taken their last look of this world +out of one or other of those small-paned windows and seen only a great +bank of laurels—even those they were not allowed to cut down—across a +narrow space of gravel, and the branches of oaks not quite ripe for +felling, above them.</p> + +<p>Cicely went through a garden door opening on to a stone-floored passage +which ran right through the house, and opened the door of her aunts' +parlour. They were sitting on either side of the fireless grate with +their tea-table not yet cleared between them. Aunt Ellen, ninety-three +years of age, with a lace cap on her head and a white silk shawl over +her shoulders, was sitting upright in her low chair, knitting. She wore +no glasses, and her old hands, meagre, almost transparent, with large +knuckles, and skin that looked as if it had been polished, fumbled a +little with her needles and the thick wool. Her eyesight was failing, +though in the pride of her great age she would not acknowledge it; but +her hearing was almost perfect. Aunt Laura, who was seventy-five, +looked, except for her hair, which was not quite white, the older of the +two. She was bent and frail, and she had taken to spectacles some years +before, to which Aunt Ellen alluded every day of her life with contempt. +They said the same things to each other, on that and on other subjects, +time after time. Every day for years Aunt Ellen had said that if dear +Edward had only been able to cut down the trees in front of the house it +would give them more light and open up the view, and she had said it as +if it had only just occurred to her. And Aunt Laura had replied that she +had thought the same thing herself, and did Ellen remember how dear +Anne, who was always one to say out what she wanted, had asked him if he +thought it might be done, but he had said—quite kindly—that the trees +had always been there, and there they would stay.</p> + +<p>The two old ladies welcomed Cicely as if she had been a princess with +whom it was their privilege to be on terms of affectionate intimacy. She +was, in fact, a princess in their little world, the daughter of the +reigning monarch, to whom they owed, and gave, loyal allegiance. Aunt +Laura had been up to the house that morning and heard that they were to +return by the half-past four o'clock train. They had been quite sure +that Cicely would come to see them at once and tell them all her news, +and they had debated whether they would wait for their own tea or not. +They had, in fact, waited for a quarter of an hour. They told her all +this in minute detail, and only by painstaking insistence was Aunt Ellen +herself prevented from rising to ring the bell for a fresh supply to be +brought in. "Well, my dear, if you are quite sure you won't," she said +at last, "I will ring for Rose to take the things away."</p> + +<p>Cicely rang the bell, and Rose, who five-and-thirty years before had +come to the dower-house as an apple-cheeked girl from the village +school, answered the summons. She wore a cap with coloured ribbons—the +two sisters still shook their heads together over her tendency to +dressiness—and dropped a child's curtsey to Cicely as she came in. She +had been far too well-trained to speak until she was spoken to, but Aunt +Ellen said, "Here is Miss Clinton returned from London, Rose, where she +has seen the King and Queen." And Rose said, "Well, there, miss!" with a +smile at Cicely, and before she removed the tea-tray settled the white +shawl more closely round Aunt Ellen's shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Rose is a good girl," said Aunt Ellen, when she had left the room, "but +I am afraid more fond of admiration than she should be. Well, dear, now +tell us all about what you have seen and done. But, first of all, how is +your dear father?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite well, thank you, Aunt Ellen," replied Cicely, "and very +pleased to get home, I think."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Aunt Ellen. "We have all missed him sorely. I am sure it is +wonderful how he denies himself all kinds of pleasure to remain here and +do his duty. It is an example we should all do well to follow."</p> + +<p>"When he was quite a young man," said Aunt Laura, "there was no one who +was gayer—of course in a <i>nice</i> way—and took his part in everything +that was going on in the higher circles of the metropolis. Your dear +Aunt Elizabeth used to cut out the allusions to him in the <i>Morning +Post</i>, and there was scarcely a great occasion on which his name was not +mentioned."</p> + +<p>"But after two years in his regiment he gave it all up to settle down +amongst his own people," said Aunt Ellen. "All his life has been summed +up in the word 'duty.' I wish there were more like him, but there are +not."</p> + +<p>"It seems like yesterday," said Aunt Laura, "that he joined the Horse +Guards Blue. We all wished very much to see him in his beautiful +uniform, which so became him, and your dear Aunt Anne, who was always +the one to make requests if she saw fit, asked him to bring it down to +Kencote and put it on. Dear Edward laughed at her, and refused—quite +kindly, of course—so we all took a little trip to London—it was the +occasion of the opening of the International Reformatory Exhibition at +Islington by the Prince of Wales, as he was then—and your dear father +was in the escort. How noble he looked on his black horse! I assure you +we were all very proud of him."</p> + +<p>Cicely sat patiently silent while these reminiscences, which she had +heard a hundred times before, were entered upon. She looked at Aunt +Ellen, fumbling with her knitting-needles, and wondered what it must be +like to be so very old, and at Aunt Laura, who was also knitting, with +quick and expert fingers, and wondered if she had ever been young.</p> + +<p>"Did the King show your dear father any special mark of esteem?" asked +Aunt Ellen. "It did occur to your Aunt Laura and myself that, not +knowing how heavy are the duties which keep him at Kencote, His Majesty +might have been—I will not say annoyed, because he would not be +that—but perhaps disappointed at not seeing him more often about his +Court. For in the days gone by he was an ornament of it, and I have +always understood, though not from him, that he enjoyed special +consideration, which would only be his due."</p> + +<p>"The King didn't take any notice of father," said Cicely, with the +brusque directness of youth, and Aunt Ellen seemed to be somewhat +bewildered at the statement, not liking to impute blame to her +sovereign, but unable for the moment to find any valid excuse for him.</p> + +<p>"I thought," she said hesitatingly, "that sending specially—the +invitation for all of you—but I suppose there were a great many people +there."</p> + +<p>Cicely took her opportunity, and described what she had seen and done, +brightly and in detail. She answered all her aunts' questions, and +interested them deeply. Her visits, and those of her mother, or the +twins with Miss Bird, were the daily enlivenment of the two old ladies, +and were never omitted. The Squire seldom went to the dower-house, but +when he did look in for a minute or two, happening to pass that way, +they were thrown into a flutter of pleasure and excitement which lasted +them for days.</p> + +<p>When Cicely took her leave an hour later, Aunt Ellen said: "The +consideration with which dear Edward's family treats us, sister, is +something we may well be thankful for. I felt quite sure, and I told +you, that some one would come to see us immediately upon their return. +Cicely is always so bright and interesting—a dear girl, and quite takes +after her father."</p> + +<p>"Dear Anne used to say that she took after her mother," said Aunt Laura; +to which Aunt Ellen replied: "I have not a word to say against Nina; she +has been a good wife to dear Edward, though we all thought at the time +of their marriage that he might have looked higher. But compared with +our nephew, quiet and unassuming as she is, she has very little +character, while Cicely <i>has</i> character. No, sister, Cicely is a +Clinton—a Clinton through and through."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>MELBURY PARK</h3> + + +<p>Family prayers at Kencote took place at nine o'clock, breakfast +nominally at a quarter past, though there was no greater interval +between the satisfaction of the needs of the soul and those of the body +than was necessary to enable the long string of servants to file out +from their seats under the wall, and the footmen to return immediately +with the hot dishes. The men sat nearest to the door and frequently +pushed back to the dining-room against the last of the outflowing tide; +for the Squire was ready for his breakfast the moment he had closed the +book from which he had read the petition appointed for the day. If there +was any undue delay he never failed to speak about it at once. This +promptness and certainty in rebuke, when rebuke was necessary, made him +a well-served man, both indoors and out.</p> + +<p>Punctuality was rigidly observed by the Clinton family. It had to be; +especially where the women were concerned. If Dick or Humphrey, when +they were at home, missed prayers, the omission was alluded to. If +Cicely, or even Mrs. Clinton was late, the Squire spoke about it. This +was more serious. In the case of the boys the rebuke hardly amounted to +speaking about it. As for the twins, they were never late. For one thing +their abounding physical energy made them anything but lie-abeds, and +for another, they were so harried during the ten minutes before the gong +sounded by Miss Bird that there would have been no chance of their +overlooking the hour. If they had been late, Miss Bird would have been +spoken to, and on the distressing occasions when that had happened, it +had put her, as she said, all in a twitter.</p> + +<p>When it still wanted a few minutes to the hour on the morning after the +return from London, Cicely was standing by one of the big open windows +talking to Miss Bird, the twins were on the broad gravel path +immediately outside, and two footmen were putting the finishing touches +to the appointments of the table.</p> + +<p>It was a big table, although now reduced to the smallest dimensions of +which it was capable, for the use of the six people who were to occupy +it. But in that great room it was like an island in the midst of a waste +of Turkey carpet. The sideboards, dinner-wagon, and carving-table, and +the long row of chairs against the wall opposite to the three windows +were as if they lined a distant shore. The wallpaper of red flock had +been an expensive one, but it was ugly, and faded in places where the +sun caught it. It had been good enough for the Squire's grandfather +forty years before, and it was good enough for him. It was hung with +portraits of men and women and portraits of horses, some of the latter +by animal painters of note. The furniture was all of massive mahogany, +furniture that would last for ever, but had been made after the date at +which furniture left off being beautiful as well as lasting. The +mantelpiece was of brown marble, very heavy and very ugly.</p> + +<p>At one minute to nine Mrs. Clinton came in. She carried a little +old-fashioned basket of keys which she put down on the dinner-wagon, +exactly in the centre of the top shelf. Cicely came forward to kiss her, +followed by Miss Bird, with comma-less inquiries as to how she had spent +the night after her journey, and the twins came in through the long +window to wish her good morning. She replied composedly to the old +starling's twittering, and cast her eye over the attire of the twins, +which was sometimes known to require adjustment. Then she took her seat +in one of the big easy-chairs which stood on either side of the +fireplace, while Porter, the butler, placed a Bible and a volume of +devotions, both bound in brown leather, before the Squire's seat at the +foot of the table, and retired to sound the gong.</p> + +<p>It was exactly at this moment that the Squire, who opened his letters in +the library before breakfast, was accustomed to enter the room, and, +with a word of greeting to his assembled family, perch his gold-rimmed +glasses on his fine straight nose, and with the help of two book-markers +find the places in the Bible and book of prayers to which the year in +its diurnal course had brought him. The gong would sound, either +immediately before or immediately after he had entered the room, the +maids and the men who had been assembling in the hall would file in, he +would throw a glance towards them over his glasses to see that they were +all settled, and then begin to read in a fast, country gentleman's voice +the portion of Scripture that was to hallow the day now officially +beginning.</p> + +<p>The gong rolled forth its sounding reverberation, Miss Bird and the +three girls took their seats, and then there was a pause. In a house of +less rigid habits of punctuality it would have been filled by small +talk, but here it was so unusual that when it had lasted for no more +than ten seconds the twins looked at one another in alert curiosity and +Cicely's eyes met those of her mother, which showed a momentary +apprehension before they fixed themselves again upon the shining steel +of the fire bars. Another ten seconds went by and then the library door +was heard to open and the Squire's tread, heavy on the paved hall.</p> + +<p>Four pairs of eyes were fixed upon him as he entered the room, followed +at a short but respectful interval by the servants. Mrs. Clinton still +looked inscrutably at the grate. The Squire's high colour was higher +than its wont, his thick grizzled eyebrows were bent into a frown, and +his face was set in lines of anger which he evidently had difficulty in +controlling. He fumbled impatiently with the broad markers as he opened +the books, and omitted the customary glance towards the servants as he +began to read in a voice deeper and more hurried than usual. When he +laid down the Bible and took up the book of prayers he remained +standing, as he sometimes did if he had a touch of rheumatism; but he +had none now, and his abstention from a kneeling position amounted to a +declaration that he was willing to go through the form of family prayers +for routine's sake but must really be excused from giving a mind to it +which was otherwise occupied.</p> + +<p>It was plain that he had received a letter which had upset his +equanimity. This had happened before, and the disturbance created made +manifest in much the same way. But it had happened seldom, because a man +who is in possession of an income in excess of his needs is immune from +about half the worries that come with the morning's post, and any +annoyance arising from the administration of his estate was not usually +made known to him by letter. The Squire's letter-bag was normally as +free of offence as that of any man in the country.</p> + +<p>The twins, eying one another with surreptitious and fearful pleasure, +conveyed in their glances a knowledge of what had happened. The thing +that Walter and Muriel had made up their minds about, whatever it +was—that was what had caused the Squire to remain behind a closed door +until he had gained some slight control over his temper, and led him now +to prefer the petitions appointed in the book bound in brown leather in +a voice between a rumble and a bark. Perhaps everything would come out +when Porter and the footman had brought in the tea and coffee service +and the breakfast dishes, and left the room. If it did not, they would +hear all about it later. Their father's anger held no terrors for them, +unless it was directed against themselves, and even then considerably +less than might have been supposed. He was often angry, or appeared to +be, but he never did anything. Even in the memorable upheaval of seven +years before—when Walter had finally refused to become a clergyman and +announced his determination of becoming a doctor—which had been so +unlike anything that had ever happened within their knowledge that it +had impressed itself even upon their infant minds, and of which they had +long since worried all the details out of Cicely, he had made a great +deal of noise but had given way in the end. He would give way now, +however completely he might lose his temper in the process. The twins +had no fear of a catastrophe, and therefore looked forward with +interest, as they knelt side by side, with their plump chins propped on +their plump hands, to the coming storm.</p> + +<p>The storm broke, as anticipated, when the servants had finally left the +room, and the Squire had ranged over the silver dishes on the side-table +for one to his liking, a search in which he was unsuccessful.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would tell Barnes that if she can't think of anything for +breakfast but bacon, and scrambled eggs, and whiting, and mushrooms, she +had better go, and the sooner the better," he said, bending a terrifying +frown on his wife. "Same thing day after day!" But he piled a plate with +bacon and eggs and mushrooms and carried it off to his seat, while his +daughters and Miss Bird waited round him until he had helped himself.</p> + +<p>"I have just had a letter from Walter," he began directly he had taken +his seat, "which makes me so angry that, 'pon my word, I scarcely know +what to do. Nina, this milk is burnt. Barnes shall go. She sends up food +fit for the pig-tub. Why can't you see that the women servants do their +duty? I can't take <i>everything</i> on my shoulders. God knows I've got +enough to put up with as it is."</p> + +<p>"Joan, ring the bell," said Mrs. Clinton.</p> + +<p>"Oh—God's sake—no, no," fussed the Squire. "I don't want the servants +in. Give me some tea. Miss Bird, here's my cup, please. Take it, please, +<i>take</i> it, Miss Bird. I don't know when I've felt so annoyed. You do all +you can and put yourself to an infinity of trouble and expense for the +sake of your children, and then they behave like this. Really, Walter +wants a good thrashing to bring him to his senses. If I had nipped all +this folly of doctoring in the bud, as I ought to have done, I might +have been able to live my life in peace. It's too bad; 'pon my word, +it's too bad."</p> + +<p>The twins, sustaining their frames diligently with bacon and eggs and +mushrooms—the whiting was at a discount—waited with almost too obvious +expectation for the full disclosure of Walter's depravity. Cicely, +alarmed for the sake of Muriel, ate nothing and looked at her father +anxiously. Miss Bird was in a state of painful confusion because she had +not realised effectively that the Squire had wanted his cup of coffee +exchanged for a cup of tea, and might almost be said to have been +"spoken to" about her stupidity. Only with Mrs. Clinton did it rest to +draw the fire which, if she did it unskilfully, might very well be +turned upon herself. A direct question would certainly have so turned +it.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry that Walter has given you any further cause of complaint, +Edward," she said.</p> + +<p>This was not skilful enough. "Cause of complaint!" echoed the Squire +irritably. "Am I accustomed to complain about anything without good +reason? You talk as if I am the last man in the world to have the right +to expect my wishes to be consulted. Every one knows that I gave way to +Walter against my better judgment. I allowed him to take up this +doctoring because he had set his mind on it, and I have never said a +word against it since. And how now does he reward me when he has got to +the point at which he might begin to do himself and his family some +credit? Coolly writes to me for money—<i>to me</i>—<i>for money</i>—to enable +him to buy a practice at Melbury Park, if you please. Melbury <i>Park</i>! +Pah!!"</p> + +<p>The Squire pushed his half-emptied plate away from him in uncontrollable +disgust. He was really too upset to eat his breakfast. The utterance of +the two words which summed up Walter's blind, infatuated stampede from +respectability brought back all the poignant feelings with which he had +first read his letter. For the moment he was quite beside himself with +anger and disgust, and unless relief had been brought to him he would +have left his breakfast unfinished and stalked out of the room.</p> + +<p>Nancy brought the relief with the artless question, "Where is Melbury +Park, father?"</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue," said the Squire promptly, and then drew a lurid +picture of a place delivered over entirely to the hovels of nameless +people of the lower middle classes, and worse, a place in which you +would be as effectually cut off from your fellows as if you went to live +in Kamschatka. Indeed, you would not be so cut off if you went to +Kamschatka, for you might be acknowledged to be living there, but to +have it said that you lived at Melbury Park would <i>stamp</i> you. It would +be as easy to say you were living in Halloway Goal. It was a place they +stopped you at when you came into London on the North Central Railway, +to take your tickets. The Squire mentioned this as if a place where they +took your tickets was of necessity a dreadful kind of a place. "Little +have I ever thought," he said, "when I have been pulled up there, and +looked at those streets and streets of mean little houses, that a son of +mine would one day want to go and <i>live</i> there. 'Pon my word, I think +Walter's brain must be giving way."</p> + +<p>It was Cicely who asked why Walter wanted to live at Melbury Park, and +what Muriel said about it.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't say a word about Muriel," snapped the Squire. "I suppose +Muriel is backing him up. I shall certainly speak to Jim and Mrs. Graham +about it. It is disgraceful—positively disgraceful—to think of taking +a girl like Muriel to live in such a place. She wouldn't have a soul to +speak to, and she would have to mix with all sorts of people. A doctor's +wife can't keep to herself like other women. Oh, I don't know why he +wants to go there. Don't ask me such questions. I was ready to start him +amongst nice people, whatever it had cost, and he might have been in a +first-class position while other men of his age were only thinking about +it. But no, he must have his own silly way. He shan't have his way. I'll +put my foot down. I won't have the name of Clinton disgraced. It has +been respected for hundreds of years, and I don't know that I've ever +done anything to bring it down. It's a little too much that one of my +own sons should go out of his way to throw mud at it. I've stood enough. +I won't stand any more. Melbury Park! A pretty sort of <i>park</i>!"</p> + +<p>Having thus relieved his feelings the Squire was enabled to eat a fairly +good breakfast, with a plateful of ham to follow his bacon and eggs and +mushrooms, a spoonful or two of marmalade, and some strawberries to +finish up with. It came out further that Walter was coming down by the +afternoon train to dine and sleep, and presumably to discuss the +proposal of which he had given warning, and that the Squire proposed to +ask Tom and his wife to luncheon, or rather that Mrs. Clinton should +drop in at the Rectory in the course of the morning and ask them, as he +would be too busy.</p> + +<p>Then Cicely asked if she might have Kitty, the pony, for the morning, +and the Squire at once said, "No, she'll be wanted to take up food for +the pheasants," after which he retired to his room, but immediately +returned to ask Cicely what she wanted the pony for.</p> + +<p>"I want to go over to Mountfield," said Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Very well, you can have her," said the Squire, and retired again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton made no comment on the disclosures that had been made, but +took up her basket of keys and left the room.</p> + +<p>"Now, Joan and Nancy, do not linger but get ready for your lessons at a +quarter to ten punctually," Miss Bird broke forth volubly. "Every +morning I have to hunt you from the breakfast table and my life is spent +in trying to make you punctual. I am sure if your father knew the +trouble I have with you he would speak to you about it and then you +would see."</p> + +<p>"Melbury Park!" exclaimed Nancy in a voice of the deepest disgust, as +she rose slowly from the table. "'Pon my word, Joan, it's too bad. I +spend my life in trying to make you punctual and then you want to go to +Melbury Park! Pah! A nice sort of a <i>park</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to see Muriel, Cicely?" asked Joan, also rising +deliberately. "Starling, <i>darling</i>! Don't hustle me, I'm coming. I only +want to ask my sister Cicely a question."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Cicely. "If I couldn't have had Kitty I should have walked."</p> + +<p>"How unreasonable you are, Cicely," said Nancy. "The pony is wanted to +take chickweed to the canaries at Melbury Park."</p> + +<p>"Find out all about it, Cis," said Joan in process of being pushed out +of the room. "Oh, take it, Miss Bird, <i>please</i>, <span class="smcap">take it</span>."</p> + +<p>Cicely drove off through the park at half-past ten. Until she had passed +through the lodge gates and got between the banks of a deep country +lane, Kitty went her own pace, quite aware that she was being driven by +one whose unreasonable inclinations for speed must subordinate +themselves to the comfort of pony-flesh as long as she was in sight of +house or stables. Then, with a shake of her head, she suddenly quickened +her trot, but did not escape the cut of a whip which was always +administered to her at this point. With that rather vicious little cut +Cicely expressed her feelings at a state of things in which, with +fourteen or fifteen horses in the stable and half a dozen at the home +farm, the only animal at the disposal of herself and her sisters was +always wanted for something else whenever they asked for it.</p> + +<p>The Squire had four hunters—sometimes more—which nobody but himself +ever used, and the price of a horse that would carry a man of his weight +comfortably ran into treble figures more often than not. Dick kept a +couple always at Kencote, even Walter had one, and Humphrey and Frank +could always be mounted whenever they wanted a day with the South +Meadshire. There were nine or ten horses, standing in stalls or loose +boxes or at grass, kept entirely for the amusement of her father and +brothers, besides half a dozen more for the carriages, the station +omnibus, the luggage cart, and all the dynamic demands of a large +household. The boys had all had their ponies as soon as their legs could +grip a saddle. This very pony that she was driving was really Frank's, +having been rescued for him from a butcher's cart in Bathgate fourteen +years before, and nobody knew how old she was. She was used for the +mowing machine and for every sort of little odd job about the garden, +and seemed as if she might go on for ever. It was only when Cicely or +the twins drove her that the reminder was given that she was not as +young as she had been, and must not be hustled.</p> + +<p>And she was all they were ever allowed to drive, and then only when she +was not wanted for something else. It was a Clinton tradition, deriving +probably from Colonel Thomas and his six stay-at-home daughters, that +the women of the family did not hunt. They were encouraged to drive and +allowed to ride to the meets of hounds if there was anything to carry +them, and in Cicely's childhood there had been other ponies besides +Kitty, left-offs of her elder brothers, which she had used. But she had +never been given a horse of her own, and the hunters were far too +precious to be galled by a side-saddle. What did she want to ride for? +The Squire hated to see women flying about the country like men, and he +wasn't going to have any more horses in the stable. The men had more +than enough to do as it was. It was part of the whole unfair scheme on +which life at Kencote was based. Everything was done for the men and +boys of the family, and the women and girls must content themselves with +what was left over.</p> + +<p>Pondering these and other things, Cicely drove along the country lanes, +between banks and hedges bright with the growth of early summer, through +woods in which pheasants, reared at great expense that her father and +brothers and their friends might kill them, called one another hoarsely, +as if in a continual state of gratulation at having for a year at least +escaped their destined end; between fields in which broods of partridges +ran in and out of the roots of the green corn; across a bridge near +which was a deep pool terrifically guarded by a notice-board against +those who might have disturbed the fat trout lying in its shadows; +across a gorse-grown common, sacred home of an old dog-fox that had +defied the South Meadshire hounds for five seasons; and so, out of her +father's property on to that of Jim Graham, in which blood relations of +the Kencote game and vermin were protected with equal care, in order +that the Grahams might fulfil the destiny appointed for them and the +Clintons and the whole race of squirearchy alike.</p> + +<p>The immediate surroundings of Mountfield were prettier than those of +Kencote. The house stood at the foot of a wooded rise, and its long +white front showed up against a dark background of trees. It was older +in date than Georgian Kencote, and although its walls had been stuccoed +out of all resemblance to those of an old house, its high-pitched roof +and twisted chimney stacks had been left as they were. The effect was so +incongruous that even unæsthetic Alexander Graham, Jim's father, had +thought of uncovering the red brick again. But the front had been +altered to allow for bigger windows and a portico resembling that at +Kencote, and the architect whom he had consulted, had pressed him to +spend more money on it than he felt inclined to. So he had left it alone +and spent none; and Jim, who was not so well off as his father by the +amount of Muriel's portion and the never-to-be-forgiven Harcourt duties, +was not likely to have a thousand pounds to spare for making his rooms +darker for some years to come.</p> + +<p>The old stable buildings, untouched by the restorer, flanked the house +on one side and the high red brick wall of the gardens on the other. The +drive sloped gently up from the gates through an undulating park more +closely planted than that of Kencote. There were some very old trees at +Mountfield and stretches of bracken here and there beneath them. It was +a pity that the house had been spoilt in appearance, but its amenities +were not wholly destroyed. Cicely knew it almost as well as she knew +Kencote, but she acknowledged its charm now as she drove up between the +oak and the young fern. Under the blue June sky strewn with light +clouds, it stood for a peaceful, pleasant life, if rather a dull one, +and she could not help wondering whether her friend would really be +happier in a house of her own in Melbury Park, which, if painted in +somewhat exaggeratedly dark colours by Cicely's father, had not struck +her, when she had seen it from the railway, as a place in which any one +could possibly live of choice. Perhaps Walter had over-persuaded her. +She would know very soon now, for Muriel told her everything.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>A GOOD LONG TALK</h3> + + +<p>Mrs. Graham—she was the Honourable Mrs. Graham, a daughter of the +breeder of Jove II. and other famous shorthorns—came out of the door +leading to the stableyard as Cicely drove up. She had been feeding young +turkeys, and wore a shortish skirt of brown tweed, thick boots and a +green Tyrolean hat, and was followed by three dogs—a retriever, a +dachshund, and one that might have been anything. She was tall and +spare, with a firm-set, healthy face, and people sometimes said that she +ought to have been a man. But she was quite happy as a woman, looking +after her poultry and her garden out of doors, and her dogs and her +household within. She had hardly moved from Mountfield since her +marriage thirty years before, and the only fly in the ointment of +content in which she had embalmed herself was that she would have to +leave it when Jim married. But she greeted Cicely, who was expected to +supplant her, with bright cordiality, and lifted up a loud voice to +summon a groom to lead off Kitty to the stable.</p> + +<p>"My dear," she said; "such a nuisance as this wedding is you never knew. +It's as much as I can do to keep the birds and the animals fed, and how +<i>I</i> shall look in heliotrope and an aigrette the Lord only knows. But I +suppose nobody will look at me, and Muriel will be a picture. Have you +heard that Walter is going to take her to live at Melbury Park? It seems +a funny place to go to live in, doesn't it? But I suppose they won't +mind as long as they are together. I never saw such a pair of +love-birds."</p> + +<p>"Walter wrote to father about it this morning," said Cicely, "and he is +coming down this afternoon. Father is furious with him."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm sure I don't know why," said Mrs. Graham equably. "I +shouldn't care to live in Melbury Park myself, and I don't suppose Mr. +Clinton would. But nobody asks him to. If <i>they</i> want to, it's their own +affair. I'm all for letting people go their own way—always have been. I +go mine."</p> + +<p>"Why does Walter choose such a place as that to take Muriel to?" asked +Cicely, who had not remained quite unimpressed by the Squire's diatribe +against the unfortunate suburb.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's convenient for his hospital and gives him the sort of practice +he wants for a year or two. <i>I</i> don't know. They won't live there for +ever. I don't suppose it will kill them to know a few people you +wouldn't ask to dinner. It hasn't killed me. I get on with farmers' +wives better than anybody—ought to have been one."</p> + +<p>"Father is going to ask you to put your foot down and say Muriel shan't +go there," said Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Well then, I won't," replied Mrs. Graham decisively. "I'm not a snob." +Then she added hurriedly, "I don't say that your father is one either; +but he does make a terrible fuss about all that sort of thing. I should +have thought a Clinton was good enough to be able to know anybody +without doing himself any harm. But you had better go and talk to Muriel +about it, my dear. You will find her upstairs, with her clothes. Oh, +those clothes! I must go and look after the gardeners. They are putting +liquid manure on the roses, and I'm afraid they will mix it too strong."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Graham went off to attend to her unsavoury but congenial task, and +Cicely went indoors and up to Muriel's room, where she found her friend +with a maid, busy over some detail of her trousseau. They greeted one +another with coolness but affection, the maid was sent out of the room, +and they settled down in chintz-covered easy-chairs by the window for +the usual good long talk.</p> + +<p>Muriel was a pretty girl, less graceful than Cicely, but with her big +brown eyes and masses of dark hair, a foil to her friend's fair beauty. +She had her mother's sensible face, but was better-looking than her +mother had ever been.</p> + +<p>"Now you must tell me every word from the beginning," she said. "You +said nothing in your letters. You didn't make me see the room, or any +one in it."</p> + +<p>Cicely had a good deal to say about her late experiences, but her +friend's own affairs were of more recent interest. "But I want to hear +about Walter and Melbury Park first," she said. "There is a rare to-do +about it at Kencote, I can tell you, Muriel."</p> + +<p>"Is there?" said Muriel, after a short pause, as if she were adjusting +her thoughts. "That was what Walter was afraid of."</p> + +<p>"Don't you mind going to live in a place like that?" asked Cicely. +"Father thinks it is a shame that Walter should take you there."</p> + +<p>"O my dear," said Muriel, with a trifle of impatience, "you know quite +well what I think about all that sort of thing. We have talked it over +hundreds of times. Here we are, stuck down in the middle of all this, +with nothing in the world to do but amuse ourselves, if we can, and +never any chance of pushing along. We have <i>got</i> it all; there is +nothing to go for. That's what I first admired about my darling old +Walter. He struck out a line of his own. If he had been content just to +lop over the fence into Kencote Rectory, I don't think I should ever +have fallen in love with him. I don't know, though. He <i>is</i> the sweetest +old dear."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't begin about Walter," urged Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will begin about Walter," replied Muriel, "and I'll go on with +Walter. He says now that the only thing he is really keen about—except +me—is his work. He always liked it, in a way, but when he made up his +mind to be a doctor it was only because he knew he must have some +profession, and he thought he might as well have one that interested +him. But now it takes up all his thoughts, except when he comes down +here for a holiday, and you know how the old pet enjoys his holidays. +Well, I'm going to do all I can to help him to get on. He says this +practice at Melbury Park is just what he wants, to get his hand in; he +won't be worried with a lot of people who aren't really ill at all, but +have to be kept in a good humour in case they should go off to another +doctor. It will be hard, sound work, and he will be in touch with the +hospital all the time. He is immensely keen about it. I don't want to +say anything against Mr. Clinton, but why <i>can't</i> he see that Walter is +worth all the rest of your brothers put together, because he has set out +to do something and they are just having a good time?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, Muriel, I can't allow that," said Cicely. "Dick is quite a +good soldier. He got his D.S.O. in the war. And besides, his real work +is to look after the property, and he knows as much about that as +father. And Humphrey <i>has</i> to go about a lot. You must, in the Foreign +Office. And Frank—he is doing all right. He was made doggy to his +Admiral only the other day."</p> + +<p>"Well, at any rate," replied Muriel, "they start from what they are. And +you can't say that their chief aim isn't to have a good time. Walter has +gone in against men who <i>have</i> to work, whether they want to or not, and +he has done as well as any of them. He owes nothing to being the son of +a rich man. It has been against him, if anything."</p> + +<p>"Father hoped he was going to set up as a consulting physician," said +Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and why?" asked Muriel. "Only because he wants him to live amongst +the right sort of people. He doesn't care a bit whether he would make a +good consultant or not. Walter says he isn't ready for it. He wants more +experience. It will all come in time. He is not even quite sure what he +wants to specialise on, or if he wants to specialise at all. At present +he only wants to be a G.P., with plenty of work and time for the +hospital."</p> + +<p>"What is a G.P.?" asked Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a general practitioner. It's what Walter calls it."</p> + +<p>"Then why can't he be a G.P. in a nicer place than Melbury Park? It is +rather hard on you, Muriel, to take you to a place where you can't know +anybody."</p> + +<p>"O my dear, what <i>do</i> I care for all that nonsense about knowing people? +Surely there's enough of that here! Is this person to be called on, who +has come to live in a house which nobody ever called at before, or that +person, because nobody has ever heard of her people? I'm sick of it. +Even mother won't call on Bathgate people, however nice they may be, and +she's not nearly so stuck up as most of the county women."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know all that, and of course it's nonsense. But you must admit +that it is different with people who aren't gentle-people at all."</p> + +<p>"I'm not a fool, and I don't pretend that I'm going to make bosom +friends of all Walter's patients, though I <i>am</i> going to do what I can +to make things pleasant all round. We shall see our friends in London, +of course. Jim is going to give us a jolly good motor-car, and we shall +be able to dine out and go to the play and all that if we want to, and +people ask us. But it is all so unimportant, Cicely, that side of it. +Walter wants to get out of it. He'll be very busy, and the best times we +shall have will be in our own little house alone, or going right away +when we get a holiday."</p> + +<p>"I dare say you are quite right," said Cicely. "Of course it will be +jolly to have your own house and do what you like with it. Has Walter +got a house yet?"</p> + +<p>"There is quite a decent one we can have where the man who wants to sell +the practice lives. It is really bigger than we want, although it's only +a semi-detached villa. I should be able to have my friends to stay with +me. Cicely, you <i>must</i> come directly we move in, and help to get things +straight, if we go there."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you'll go there all right, if Walter has made up his mind about +it," said Cicely. "Father thinks he will hold out, but he knows, really, +that he won't. That's what makes him so wild."</p> + +<p>Both the girls laughed. "He is a funny old thing," said Muriel +apologetically, "but he has been very nice to me."</p> + +<p>"Only because you have got ten thousand pounds, my dear, and are the +right sort of match for Walter. He wouldn't be very nice to you if +Walter had found you at Melbury Park; not even if you had your ten +thousand pounds. Oh dear, I wish I had ten thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"What would you do with it?"</p> + +<p>"I should travel. At any rate I should go away from Kencote. Muriel, I +am sick to death of it."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is because it seems dull after London. You haven't told me a +word about all that you have been doing, and I have been talking about +myself all the time."</p> + +<p>"I didn't care a bit about London. I didn't enjoy it at all—except the +opera."</p> + +<p>"Don't try to be <i>blasée</i>, my dear girl. Of course you enjoyed it."</p> + +<p>"I tell you I didn't. Look here, Muriel, really it <i>is</i> unfair the way +the boys have everything in our family and the girls have nothing."</p> + +<p>"I do think it is a shame you are not allowed to hunt."</p> + +<p>"It isn't only that. It is the same with everything. I have seen it much +more plainly since I went to London."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, you went to a Court Ball, and to all the best houses. +The boys don't do more than that. I shouldn't do as much if I went to +London in the season."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I went. And I went because Cousin Humphrey took the trouble to get +cards for us. He is an old darling. Do you suppose father would have +taken the smallest trouble about it—for me and mother?"</p> + +<p>"He knows all the great people. I suppose a Clinton is as good as +anybody."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a <i>man</i> Clinton. That is just it. Dick and Humphrey go everywhere +as a matter of course. I saw enough of it to know what society in London +means. It is like a big family; you meet the same people night after +night, and everybody knows everybody else—that is in the houses that +Cousin Humphrey got us invited to. Dick and Humphrey know everybody like +that; they were part of the family; and mother and I were just country +cousins who knew nobody."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, they are there all the time and you were only up for a +fortnight. Didn't they introduce you to people?"</p> + +<p>"O yes. Dick and Humphrey are kind enough. They wanted me to have a good +time. But you are not supposed to want introductions in London. You are +supposed to know enough men to dance with, or you wouldn't be there. And +the men don't like it. I often heard Dick and Humphrey apologising to +their friends for asking them to dance with me. You know the sort of +thing, Muriel: 'You might take a turn with my little sister, old man, if +you've nobody better. She's up here on the spree and she don't know +anybody.'"</p> + +<p>"O Cicely, they wouldn't give you away like that."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not quite as bad as that. Dick and Humphrey are nice enough as +brothers, and I believe they're proud of me too, in a way. They always +danced with me themselves, and they always noticed what I was wearing, +and said I looked a topper. I know I looked all right, but directly I +opened my mouth I gave myself away, just like a maid in her mistress's +clothes."</p> + +<p>"O Cicely!"</p> + +<p>"Well, it was like that. I had nothing to talk about. I don't know +London; I can't talk scandal about people I don't know. Of course I had +to tell them I had always lived in the country, and then they began to +talk about hunting at once. Then I had to say that I didn't hunt, and +then they used to look at me through their eyeglasses, and wonder what +the deuce I did do with myself. The fact is, that I can't do anything. +Even the ones with brains—there <i>were</i> a few of them—who tried me with +things besides hunting, couldn't get anything out of me, because there +is nothing to get. I've never been anywhere or seen anything. I don't +know anything—nothing about books or pictures or music or plays. Why on +earth <i>should</i> they want to talk to me? Hardly any of them did twice, +unless it was those who thought I was pretty and wanted to flirt with +me. I felt such a <i>fool</i>!"</p> + +<p>She was almost in tears. Her pretty face under its white motor-cap was +flushed; she twisted her gloves in her slender hands.</p> + +<p>"O Cicely, darling!" said Muriel sympathetically, "you are awfully +bright and clever, really. You've many more brains than I have."</p> + +<p>"I'm not clever, but I've got as many brains as other girls. And what +chance have I ever had of learning anything? Dick and Humphrey and +Walter were all sent to Eton and Oxford or Cambridge. They have all had +the most expensive education that any boys could have, and as long as +they behaved themselves pretty well, nobody cared in the least whether +they took advantage of it or not. What education have <i>I</i> had? Miss +Bird! I don't suppose she knows enough to get a place as teacher in a +village school. I suppose I know just about as much as the girls who do +go to a village school. I haven't even had lessons in drawing or music, +or anything that I might perhaps have been good at. I'm an ignorant +<i>fool</i>, and it's all father's fault, and it isn't fair."</p> + +<p>She had talked herself into actual tears now. Muriel said, in a dry +voice which did not accord with her expression of face, "This sudden +rage for learning is a new thing, my dear."</p> + +<p>Cicely dabbed her eyes impatiently and sat up in her chair. "I dare say +I am talking a lot of nonsense," she said, "but I have been wondering +what I <i>do</i> get for being the daughter of a rich country gentleman; +because father <i>is</i> rich, as well as being the head of an important +family, as he is always reminding us, though he pretends to think +nothing of it. He has never gone without anything he wanted in the whole +of his life, and the boys have everything they want too, that can be got +for money."</p> + +<p>"Your allowance was just twice as much as mine, when father was alive," +Muriel reminded her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know I can have plenty of nice clothes and all that," said +Cicely, "and I have nice food too, and plenty of it, and a nice room, +and a big house to live in. But I don't call it living, that's all. +Father and the boys can live. We can't. Outside Kencote, we're nobody at +all—I've found that out—and mother is of no more importance than I am. +We're just the women of the family. Anything is good enough for us."</p> + +<p>"I don't think you are quite fair, Cicely. Mrs. Clinton doesn't care for +going about, does she? It would depend more upon her than your father +and brothers."</p> + +<p>"What would depend on her?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I mean you grumble at Dick and Humphrey knowing more people than +you do."</p> + +<p>"I suppose what you do mean is that the Birkets aren't as good as the +Clintons."</p> + +<p>There was the slightest pause. Then Muriel said, a little defiantly, +"Well, the Grahams aren't as good as the Conroys."</p> + +<p>"I know that mother isn't only as good as father; she is a great deal +better."</p> + +<p>Cicely spoke with some heat, and Muriel made a little gesture with her +hands. "Oh, all right, my dear," she said, "if you don't want to talk +straight." It was a formula they used.</p> + +<p>Cicely hesitated. "If you mean," she began, but Muriel interrupted her. +"You know quite well what I mean, and you know what I don't mean. You +know I would never say that Mrs. Clinton wasn't as good as anybody in +the world, in the sense you pretended to take my words. We were talking +of something quite different."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Muriel," replied Cicely. This was another formula. "We did go to +a dance at Aunt Emmeline's, you know. If I hadn't been to all those +other houses I should have enjoyed it immensely. Well, I did enjoy +it—better, really. Aunt Emmeline saw that I had heaps of partners and I +got on well with them. They were mostly barristers and people like that. +They took the trouble to talk, and some of them even made me talk. It is +a lovely house—of course not like one of the great London houses, but +with two big drawing-rooms, and Iff's band, and everything done very +well. If I had gone straight up from here to that ball, it would have +been one of the best I had ever gone to."</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Birket is a famous barrister, and I suppose is very well off +too. I should think he knows as many interesting people as anybody."</p> + +<p>"Interesting people, yes; but there wasn't a soul there that I had seen +at the other houses, except Dick and Humphrey."</p> + +<p>"Were they there?"</p> + +<p>"There!" cried Cicely triumphantly. "You see you are quite surprised at +that."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Muriel firmly, "they <i>were</i> there. And how did they +behave?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they behaved all right. Humphrey went away early, but Dick stayed +quite a long time. Dick can be very sweet if he likes, and he doesn't +give himself airs, really—he only takes it for granted that he is a +great personage. And so he is; you would say so if you saw him in +London. Do you know, Muriel, I was next to the Duchess of Pevensey at +Dunster House, and I heard her whisper to her daughter, quite sharply, +'Evelyn, keep a valse for Captain Clinton, in case he asks you.' Of +course she hadn't an idea that I was Captain Clinton's sister. She had +looked down her nose at me just before, and wondered what I was doing +there."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she didn't say so."</p> + +<p>"Her nose did. You should have seen her face when Dick came up the +moment after and said, 'Here you are, Siskin; come and have a spin'; and +didn't take any notice of dear Evelyn, who must have been at least +thirty."</p> + +<p>"Well, go on about Mrs. Birket's."</p> + +<p>"Yes, well, Dick said, 'Now, Siskin, I don't know any of the pretty +ladies here, and I'm going to dance with you.' But when Aunt Emmeline +came up and insisted upon introducing him to a lot of girls, he went off +as nicely as possible and danced with the whole lot of them. And, you +know, a man like Dick isn't supposed to have to do that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>Muriel laughed; and Cicely, who had recovered her good humour, laughed +too. "Of course, it wasn't anything to fuss about, really," she said, +"but you see what I mean, Muriel, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't," said Muriel, "unless you mean exactly what I said just +now, and you bit my head off for. Mr. Clinton is what some people call a +swell, and Dick is a swell too. The Grahams aren't swells, and the +Birkets aren't either. And if you want it quite straight, my dear, +neither you nor I are swells; we're only what they call county."</p> + +<p>"You're so sensible, Muriel darling!" said Cicely.</p> + +<p>"And you've had your head turned, Cicely darling!" retorted Muriel. "You +have been taken up by your great relations, and you have come back to +your simple home discontented."</p> + +<p>"It's all very well, though," said Cicely, becoming serious again, "but +I'm a Clinton just as much as the boys are, and just as much as you are +a Graham. You say the Grahams are not swells—you do use horrible +language, Muriel dear—but I suppose Lord Conroy is, and so, according +to your argument, you ought to be."</p> + +<p>"Uncle Blobs isn't a swell—he's only a farmer with a title."</p> + +<p>"Oh! then I don't know what you mean by a swell."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course the Conroys <i>are</i> swells in a way, but they don't care +about swelling. If mother had liked—and father had let her—she could +have been a fashionable lady, and dear Muriel could have been a +fashionable girl, with her picture in the illustrated papers, sitting in +front of a lattice window with a sweet white frock and a bunch of +lilies. 'We give this week a charming photograph of Miss Muriel Graham, +the only daughter of the Honourable Mrs. Graham. Mrs. Graham is a +daughter of' and so on. As it is, dear Muriel is just the daughter of a +country squire."</p> + +<p>"That is all dear Cicely is, though you said just now that father was a +swell. I don't see, really, that he is much more of a swell than Mr. +Graham was—here."</p> + +<p>"No—he isn't—here. That's just it. That is what you are running your +head against, my dear. Perhaps he isn't really a swell at all, now. But +he could be if he liked, and he was when he was young. It is because he +likes being a country squire best that you have got to put up with being +a country squire's daughter. I'm sorry for you, as you seem to feel it +so much, but I'm afraid there's no help for it. I don't think, really, +you have much to grumble at, but I suppose if you live for a fortnight +exclusively amongst dukes and duchesses, you <i>are</i> apt to get a little +above yourself. Now tell me all about the Court Ball."</p> + +<p>Cicely told her all about the Court Ball; then they talked about other +things, and Muriel said, "You have never asked about Jim. His ship is +due in London next Wednesday and he will be home the day after."</p> + +<p>"Dear old Jim," said Cicely—she was at work on some embroidery for +Muriel. "It will be jolly to see him back again. But it doesn't seem +like a year since he went away."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> don't seem to have missed him much."</p> + +<p>"O yes, I have. But it was like when the boys went back to school or to +Cambridge—frightfully dull at first, and then you got used to it, and +they were back before you knew where you were."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. But I don't feel like that about Walter now. I don't know +what I should do if he were to go off for a year."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's quite different. You are deeply in love, my dear."</p> + +<p>"So were you once."</p> + +<p>"Never in the world, Muriel, and you know that quite well. I was a +little donkey. I had only just put my hair up and I thought it a fine +thing to be engaged. Not that that lasted long. Dear old Jim soon +repented, and I don't blame him."</p> + +<p>"Jim is pretty close about things, but I sometimes doubt whether he has +repented."</p> + +<p>"You mean that he still cherishes a tender passion for sweet Cicely +Clinton."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder."</p> + +<p>"Well, I should. Anyway, it isn't returned. I love Jim, but if I heard +that he had come home engaged, as I dare say he will, I shouldn't mind +in the very least. I should be the first to congratulate him."</p> + +<p>"No, you wouldn't. He would tell mother and me first. And you needn't +give yourself airs, you know. Jim would be a very good match for you. +You would be mistress of Mountfield. I'm not making half such a +brilliant alliance."</p> + +<p>"Brilliant! I'm quite sure you would rather be going to marry somebody +who had his way to make, like Walter, than trickle off from one big, +dull country house to another. Wouldn't you, now?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, I would. But it wouldn't make any difference to me, really, +if I had Walter. If Dick were to die, which I'm sure I hope he won't, +and Walter were to succeed to Kencote, I should like it just as much."</p> + +<p>"Well, I dare say it would be all right when one got older. At present I +think it would be burying yourself alive when you ought to have the +chance of doing something and seeing something. No, Muriel, dear. I have +been a squire's daughter all my life, and there's no money in it, as +Humphrey says. The last thing I want to be at present is a squire's +wife. I believe Jim has forgotten all that silliness as much as I have. +If I thought he hadn't, I shouldn't be so glad as I am at the prospect +of seeing him back."</p> + +<p>"I dare say he has. You're not good enough for him."</p> + +<p>"And he isn't good enough for me. I must be going home, or father will +accuse me of over-driving Kitty. I always do over-drive her, but he +doesn't notice unless I am late. Good-bye, Muriel. It has done me good +to talk to you."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE RECTOR</h3> + + +<p>The Rector was shown into the library where the Squire was reading the +<i>Times</i>, for which a groom rode over to Bathgate every morning at eleven +o'clock, and woe betide him if he ever came back later than half-past +twelve. It was a big room lined with books behind a brass lattice which +nobody ever opened. Though the Squire used it every day, and had used it +for five-and-thirty years, he had never altered its appointments, and +his grandfather had not lived in it. Merchant Jack had furnished it +handsomely for a library, and the Reverend John Clinton Smith, the +historian of Kencote, had bought the books for him, and read most of +them for him too. If he had returned from the tomb in which he had lain +for a hundred years to this room where he had spent some of the happiest +hours of his life, he would only have had to clear out a boxful or two +of papers from the cupboards under the bookshelves and the drawers of +the writing-tables, and remove a few photographs and personal +knick-knacks, and there would have been nothing there that was not +familiar, except the works of Surtees and a few score other books, which +he would have taken up with interest and laid down again with contempt, +in some new shelves by the fireplace. The Squire had no skill with a +room. He hated any alteration in his house, and he had debated this +question of a new bookcase to hold the few books he did read from time +to time with as much care as the Reverend John Clinton Smith, book-lover +as he was, had devoted to the housing of the whole library.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear Tom," said the Squire heartily, "I'm glad you came up. I +should have come down to you, but I've been so busy all the morning that +I thought you wouldn't mind a summons. Have you brought Grace?"</p> + +<p>"She is with Nina," said the Rector, and sat heavily down in the +easy-chair opposite to that from which the Squire had risen. He was a +big man, with a big face, clean shaven except for a pair of abbreviated +side whiskers. He had light-blue eyes and a mobile, sensitive mouth. His +clothes were rather shabby, and except for a white tie under a +turned-down collar, not clerical. His voice, coming from so massive a +frame, seemed thin, but it was of a pleasant tenor quality, and went +well with the mild and attractive expression of his face. All the +parishioners of Kencote liked the Rector, though he was not at all +diligent in visiting them. Perhaps they liked him the better on that +account.</p> + +<p>The Rector was the Squire's half-brother. Colonel Thomas Clinton, the +Squire's grandfather, had followed, amongst other traditions of his +family, that of marrying early, and marrying money. His wife was a city +lady, daughter of Alderman Sir James Banket, and brought him forty +thousand pounds. Besides his six daughters, he had one son, who was +delicate and could not support the fatigue of his own arduous pursuit of +sport. He was sent to Eton and to Trinity College, and a cornetcy was +bought for him in the Grenadier Guards. He also married early, and +married, following an alternative tradition, not money, but blood. His +wife was a sister of a brother officer, the Marquis of Nottingham, and +they were happy together for a year. He died of a low fever immediately +after the birth of his son, Edward, that Squire of Kencote with whom we +have to do.</p> + +<p>Colonel Thomas took a great deal more pride in his sturdy grandson than +ever he had been able to take in his weakly son. He taught him to ride +and to shoot, and to tyrannise over his six maiden aunts, who all took a +hand in bringing him up. His own placid, uncomplaining wife had died +years before, and Lady Susan Clinton, tired of living in a house where +women seemed to exist on sufferance, had married again, but had not been +allowed to take her child to her new home. She had the legal right to do +so, of course, but was far too frightened of the weather-beaten, +keen-eyed old man, who could say such cutting things with such a sweet +smile upon his lips, to insist upon it. Her second husband was the +Rector of a neighbouring parish, who grew hot to the end of his days +when he thought of what he had undergone to gain possession of his +bride. He did not keep her long, for she died a year later in giving him +a son. That son was now the Reverend Thomas Beach, Rector of Kencote, to +which preferment the Squire had appointed him nearly thirty years +before, when he was only just of canonical age to receive it. And in the +comfortable Rectory of Kencote, except for a year's curacy to his +father, he had lived all his clerical life.</p> + +<p>The Squire and the Rector were not altogether unlike in appearance. They +were both tall and well covered with flesh, and there was a family +resemblance in their features. But the Squire's bigness and ruddiness +were those of a man who took much exercise in the open air, the Rector's +of a man physically indolent, who lived too much indoors, and lived too +well.</p> + +<p>But if they were not unlike in appearance, they were as dissimilar as +possible in character. The Squire's well-carried, massive frame +betokened a man who considered himself to have a right to hold his head +high and plant his footsteps firmly; the Rector's big body disguised a +sensitive, timorous character, and a soul never quite at ease in its +comfortable surroundings. That ponderous weight of soft flesh, insistent +on warmth and good food and much rest, had a deal to answer for. Spare +and active, with adventures of the spirit not discouraged by the +indolence of the flesh, the Rector of Kencote might have been anything +in the way of a saint that his Church encourages. He would certainly not +have been Rector of Kencote for thirty years, with the prospect of being +Rector of Kencote for thirty years more if he lived so long. He had a +simple, lovable soul. It told him that he did nothing to speak of in +return for his good income and the fine house in which he lived in such +comfort, and troubled him on this score more than it would have troubled +a man with less aptitude for goodness; and it omitted to tell him that +he had more direct influence for righteousness than many a man who would +have consciously exercised all the gifts with which he might have been +endowed. He simply could not bring himself to visit his parish +regularly, two or three afternoons a week, as he had made up his mind to +do when he was first ordained. The afternoons always slipped away +somehow, and there were so many of them. The next would always do. So it +had been for the first years of his pastorate, and he had long since +given way altogether to his indolence and shyness in respect of visiting +his flock; but his conscience still troubled him about it. He was a +great reader, but his reading had become quite desultory, and he now +read only for his own entertainment. His sermons were poor; he had no +delivery and no gift of expression; he could not even give utterance to +the ideas that did, not infrequently, act on his brain, nor hardly to +the human tenderness which was his normal attitude towards mankind. But +he did go on writing fresh ones, stilted and commonplace as they were. +Mental activity was less of a burden to him than bodily activity, and he +had kept himself up to that part of what he thought to be his clerical +duty.</p> + +<p>For the rest, he was fond of his books and his garden, fond of his +opulent, well-appointed house, and all that it contained, and fond of +the smaller distractions of a country life, but no sportsman. He had no +children, but a graceful, very feminine wife, who reacted pleasantly on +his intellect and looked well after the needs of his body. He sometimes +went to London for a week or two, and had been to Paris; but he liked +best to be at home. He watched the progress of the seasons with +interest, and knew something about birds, something about flowers and +trees, was a little of a weather prophet, and often thought he would +study some branch of natural science, but had lacked the energy to do +so. He liked the winter as well as the summer, for then his warm house +called him more seductively. He liked to tramp home along muddy country +roads in the gloaming, drink tea in his wife's pretty drawing-room, chat +to her a little, and then go into his cosy, book-lined study and read +till dinner-time. He would have been a happy man as a layman, relieved +of that gnawing conviction that his placid, easy life was rather far +from being apostolic. And nobody, not even his wife, had any idea that +he was not quite contented, and grateful for the good things that he +enjoyed.</p> + +<p>"Well, Tom," said the Squire, "I'm infernally worried again. It's that +boy Walter. What do you think he wants to do now?" He spoke with none of +the heat of the morning. It might have been thought that he had already +accepted the inevitable and was prepared to make the best of it.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Edward," said the Rector; and the Squire told him.</p> + +<p>"And you have a particular objection to this place, Melbury Park?" +inquired the Rector guilelessly.</p> + +<p>"O my dear Tom," said the Squire impatiently, "have you ever seen the +place?"</p> + +<p>"From the railway only," admitted the Rector; "and chiefly its +back-gardens. It left an impression of washing on my mind."</p> + +<p>"It left an impression of <i>not</i> washing on mine," said the Squire, and +leant back in his chair to laugh heartily at his witticism.</p> + +<p>The Rector also did justice to it, perhaps more than justice, with a +kind smile. "Well, Edward," he said, "it may be so, but it is, +otherwise, I should say, respectable. It is not like a slum. Has Walter +any particular reason for wishing to go there?"</p> + +<p>The Squire gave a grudging summary of the reasons Walter had advanced +for wishing to go there, and made them appear rather ridiculous reasons. +He also produced again such of the arguments he had advanced at +breakfast-time as seemed most weighty, and managed to work himself up +into a fair return of his morning's feeling of being very badly treated.</p> + +<p>"Well, Edward," said the Rector gently, when he had come to an end, "I +think if I were you I should not make any objections to Walter's going +to Melbury Park."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't?" asked the Squire, rather weakly.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think I would. You see, my dear Edward, some of us are +inclined to take life too easily. I'm sometimes afraid that I do +myself."</p> + +<p>"You do your duty, Tom. Nobody is asked to do more than that."</p> + +<p>"Well, you may be right, but I am not sure. However, what I was going to +say was that one cannot help respecting—perhaps even envying—a young +fellow like Walter who doesn't want to take life easily."</p> + +<p>"He has stuck to his work," said the Squire. "I will say that for the +boy; and he's never come to me for money to pay bills with, as Humphrey +has, and even Dick—though, as far as Dick goes, he'll have the property +some day, and I don't grudge him what he wants now within reason."</p> + +<p>"You see, Edward, when a man has congenial work which takes up his time, +he is not apt to get into mischief. I think, if I may say so, that you +ought to admit now, however much you may have objected to Walter's +choice of a profession in the first instance, that he has justified his +choice. He put his hand to the plough and he has not looked back. That +is a good deal to say for a young man with Walter's temptations towards +an easy, perhaps idle, life."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Squire, "I do admit it. I do admit it, Tom. I have my +natural prejudices, but I'm the last man in the world that any one has a +right to call obstinate. I objected to Walter becoming a doctor in the +first instance. It was natural that I should. He ought to have succeeded +you, as Dick will succeed me. And none of our family have ever been +doctors. But I gave way, and I've every wish, now, that he should +succeed in his profession. And the reason I object to this move so +strongly is that as far as my judgment goes it is not a step in the +right direction. It might be so for the ordinary doctor—I don't know +and I can't say—but I'm willing to help a son of mine over some of the +drudgery, and it will be very disagreeable for me to have Walter +settling down to married life in a place like Melbury Park, when he +might do so much better. You must remember, Tom, that he is the first of +the boys to get married. Dick will marry some day soon, I hope and +trust, and Humphrey too, but until they do, Walter's son, if he has one, +will be heir to this property, eventually. He ought <i>not</i> to be brought +up in a place like Melbury Park."</p> + +<p>"There is a good deal in what you say, Edward," replied the Rector, who +privately thought that there was very little; "but the contingency you +mention is a very unlikely one."</p> + +<p>"I don't lay too much stress on it. If I thought that Walter was right +from the point of rising in his profession to go to this place I would +leave all that out of the question."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you what, Edward," said the Rector, with an engaging +smile, "supposing you keep an open mind on the question until you have +heard what Walter has to say about it. How would that be?"</p> + +<p>The Squire hummed and ha'd, and thought that on the whole it might be +the best thing to do.</p> + +<p>"You see," said the Rector in pursuance of his bright idea, "it is just +possible that there may be reasons which Walter has considered, and may +wish to urge, that <i>might</i> make it advisable for him, even with the +exceptional advantages you could give him, to go through the training +afforded by just such a practice as this. I should let him urge them, +Edward, if I were you. I should let him urge them. You can but repeat +your objections, if they do not appeal to your judgment. You will be in +a better position to make your own views tell, if you dispose your mind +to listen to his. I should take a kindly tone, I think, if I were you. +You don't want to set the boy against you."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't want that," said the Squire. "And I should have done what +you advise, in any case. It's the only way, of course. Let us go in and +have some luncheon. Then you don't think, Tom, that there would be any +serious objection to my giving way on this point, if Walter is +reasonable about it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Edward, do you know, I really don't think there would," replied +the Rector, as they crossed the hall to the dining-room.</p> + +<p>The ladies were already there. Mrs. Beach was by the window talking to +the twins, who adored her. She was getting on for fifty, but she was +still a pretty woman, and moved gracefully as she came across the room +to shake hands with her brother-in-law. "It is very nice to see you back +again, Edward," she said, with a charming smile. "You do not look as if +London had disagreed with you."</p> + +<p>"My dear Grace," said the Squire, holding her white, well-formed hand in +his big one. "I'll tell you my private opinion of London, only don't let +it go any further. It can't hold a candle to Kencote." Then he gave a +hearty laugh, and motioned her to a seat on his right. The twins cast a +look of intelligence at one another, and Cicely glanced at her mother. +The Squire had recovered his good humour.</p> + +<p>"For these an' all his mercies," mumbled the Squire, bending his +head.—"Oh, beg your pardon, Tom," and the Rector said grace.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard what that silly fellow Walter wants to do, Grace?" asked +the Squire.</p> + +<p>"Nothing except that he hopes to get married next month," replied Mrs. +Beach, helping herself to an omelette, "and I hope that he will make a +better husband than Tom."</p> + +<p>The Rector, already busy, spared her a glance of appreciation, and the +twins giggled at the humour of their favourite.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is going to be married, and he proposes to take Muriel to live +at Melbury Park, of all places in the world."</p> + +<p>"Then in that case," replied Mrs. Beach equably, "Tom and I will not +give them the grand piano we had fixed upon for a wedding present. They +must content themselves with the railway whistles."</p> + +<p>The twins laughed outright and were ineffectively rebuked by Miss Bird. +That they were to be seen and not heard at table was a maxim she had +diligently instilled into them. But they were quite right to laugh. Aunt +Grace was surpassing herself. She always kept the Squire in a good +humour, by her ready little jokes and the well-disguised deference she +paid him. The deference was not offered to him alone, but to all men +with whom she came in contact, even her husband, and men liked her +immensely. She teased them boldly, but she deferred to their manhood. +Women sometimes grew tired of her sweetness of manner, which was +displayed to them too, and quite naturally. She was a sweet woman, if +also, in spite of her ready tongue, rather a shallow one. Mrs. Clinton +did not like her, but did not show it, except in withholding her +confidence, and Mrs. Beach had no idea that they were not intimate. +Cicely was indifferent towards her, but had loved her as a child, for +the same reason that the twins thought her the most charming of +womankind, because she treated them as if they were her equals in +intelligence, as no doubt they were. It had never occurred to them to +mimic her, which was a feather in her cap if she had known it. And +another was that Miss Bird adored her, being made welcome in her house, +and, as she said, treated like anybody else.</p> + +<p>By the time luncheon was over the Squire had so overcome his bitter +resentment at the idea of Walter's going to live at Melbury Park, that +he could afford to joke about it. Aunt Grace had suggested that they +should all go and live there, and had so amused the Squire with a +picture of himself coming home to his villa in the evening and eating +his dinner in the kitchen in his shirt sleeves, with carpet slippers on +his feet, which was possibly the picture in her mind of "how the poor +live," that he was in the best of humours, and drank two more glasses of +port than his slightly gouty tendency usually permitted.</p> + +<p>The twins persuaded Miss Bird to take them to the station to meet Walter +in the afternoon. They were not allowed to go outside the park by +themselves, and walked down the village on either side of the old +starling, each of them over-topping her by half a head, like good girls, +as she said herself. They wore cool white dresses, and shady hats +trimmed with poppies, and looked a picture. When they reached the +by-road to the station, Joan said, "One, two, three, and away," and they +shot like darts from the side of their instructress, arriving on the +platform flushed and laughing, not at all like good girls, while Miss +Bird panted in their rear, clucking threats and remonstrances, to the +respectful but undisguised amusement of the porter, and the groom who +had preceded them with the dog-cart.</p> + +<p>Walter got out of a third-class carriage when the train drew up and +said, "Hullo, twanky-diddleses! Oh, my adorable <i>Sturna vulgaris vetus</i>, +embrace me! Come to my arms!"</p> + +<p>"Now, Walter, do behave," said Miss Bird sharply. "What will people +think and Joan 'n Nancy I shall certainly tell Mrs. Clinton of your +<i>disgraceful</i> behaviour I am quite ashamed of you running off like that +which you <i>know</i> you are not allowed to do you are very <i>naughty</i> girls +and I am seriously displeased with you."</p> + +<p>"Ellen Bird," said Walter, "don't try and put it on to the twankies. I +looked out of the carriage window and saw you sprinting along the +station road yourself. You have had a little race and are annoyed at +being beaten. I shall put you up in the cart and send you home, and I +will walk back with the twankies." And in spite of Miss Bird's almost +frenzied remonstrances, up into the cart she was helped, and driven off +at a smart pace, with cheers from the twins, now entirely beyond her +control.</p> + +<p>"Well, twanky dears," said Walter, starting off at a smart pace with a +twin on either side, "I suppose there's a deuce of a bust up, eh? Look +here, you can't hang on. It's too hot."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be too hot for Muriel to hang on," said Joan, her arm +having been returned to her.</p> + +<p>"There was a bust up this morning at breakfast," said Nancy. "Edward +came in purple with passion two minutes late for prayers."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Walter sharply. "Look here, you mustn't speak of the governor +like that."</p> + +<p>"It's only her new trick," said Joan. "She'll get tired of it."</p> + +<p>"You're not to do it, Nancy, do you hear?" said Walter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right," said Nancy. "Mr. Clinton of Kencote, J.P., D.L., was so +put out that he wouldn't kneel down to say his prayers."</p> + +<p>"Annoyed, eh?" said Walter.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joan, "but he's all right now, Walter. Aunt Grace came to +lunch, and beat Bogey."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"It's only her new trick," said Nancy. "She'll get tired of it. She +means put him in a good humour."</p> + +<p>"Really, you twankies do pick up some language. Then there's nothing +much to fear, what?"</p> + +<p>"No, we are all coming to live at Melbury Park, and Aunt Grace is going +to take in our washing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's the line taken, is it?" said Walter. "Well, I dare say it's +all very funny, but I can't have you twankies giving yourselves airs, +you know. I don't know why they talk over things before you. The +governor might have kept it to himself until he had seen me."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Clinton doesn't keep things to himself," said Nancy. "You might +know that by this time; and Joan and I are quite old enough to take an +intelligent interest in family affairs. We do take the deepest interest +in them, and we know a lot. Little pitchers have long ears, you know."</p> + +<p>"So have donkeys, and they get them pinched if they're not careful," +retorted Walter. "How are you getting on with your lessons, twankies?"</p> + +<p>"I believe our progress is quite satisfactory, thank you, Dr. Clinton," +replied Joan. "Perhaps you would like to hear us a few dates, so that +our afternoon walk may not pass entirely unimproved."</p> + +<p>"You had much better look at Joan's tongue," said Nancy. "Starling said +last night that her stomach was a little out of order, and we rebuked +her for her vulgarity."</p> + +<p>"You are a record pair, you two," said Walter, looking at them with +unwilling admiration. "I don't believe any of us led that poor old woman +the dance that you do. Do you want some jumbles, twankies?"</p> + +<p>"Ra-<i>ther</i>," said the twins with one voice, and they turned into the +village shop.</p> + +<p>The tea-table was spread on the lawn, and the Squire came out of the +window of the library as Walter reached the garden. "Well, my boy," he +said, "so you're going to settle down at Melbury Park, are you? That's a +nice sort of thing to spring on us; but good luck to you! You can always +come down here when you want a holiday."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>BY THE LAKE</h3> + + +<p>Whitsuntide that year fell early in June, and the weather was glorious. +Cicely awoke on Friday morning with a sense of happiness. She slept with +her blinds up, and both her windows were wide open. She could see from +her pillow a great red mass of peonies backed by dark shrubs across the +lawn, and in another part of the garden laburnums and lilacs and +flowering thorns, and all variations of young green from trees and grass +under a sky of light blue. Thrushes and blackbirds were piping sweetly. +She loved these fresh mornings of early summer, and had often wakened to +them with that slight palpitation of happiness.</p> + +<p>But, when she was fully awake, it had generally happened that the +pleasure had rather faded, at any rate of late years, since she had +grown up. In her childhood it had been enough to have the long summer +day in front of her, especially in holiday time, when there would be no +irksome schoolroom restraint, nothing but the pleasures and adventures +of the open air. But lately she had needed more, and more, at Kencote, +had seldom been forthcoming. Moreover she had hardly known what the +"more" was that she had wanted. She had never been unhappy, but only +vaguely dissatisfied, and sometimes bored.</p> + +<p>This morning her waking sense of well-being did not fade as she came to +full consciousness, but started into full pleasure as she remembered +that her cousins, Angela and Beatrice Birket, with their father and +mother, were in the house. And Dick and Humphrey had come down with them +the evening before. Guests were so rare at Kencote that to have a party +of them was a most pleasurable excitement. Dick and Humphrey would see +that there was plenty of amusement provided, quiet enough amusement for +them, no doubt, but for Cicely high pleasure, with something to do all +the day long, and people whom she liked to do it with.</p> + +<p>And—oh yes—Jim had returned home from his travels the day before, and +would be sure to come over, probably early in the morning.</p> + +<p>She jumped out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and went to the window. +The clock from the stable turret struck six, but she really could not +lie in bed on such a morning as this, with so much about to happen. She +would dress and go out into the garden. A still happier thought—she +would go down to the lake and bathe from the Temple of Melancholy. It +was early in the year, but the weather had been so warm for the last +month that it was not too early to begin that summer habit. Perhaps the +twins would come with her. They were early risers.</p> + +<p>She was just about to turn away from the window when she saw the twins +themselves steal round the corner of the house. Their movements were +mysterious. Although there was nobody about, they trod on tiptoe across +the broad gravel path and on to the dewy lawn. Joan—she could always +tell them apart, although to the outside world they were identical in +form and feature—carried a basket which probably contained provisions, +a plentiful supply of which was generally included in the elaborate +arrangements the twins made for their various games of adventure. There +was nothing odd in this, but what was rather odd was that she also held +a long rope, the other end of which was tied around Nancy's neck, while +Nancy's hands were knotted behind her.</p> + +<p>When they got on to the grass they both turned at the same moment to +glance up at the windows of the house, and caught sight of Cicely, who +then perceived that Joan's features were hidden by a mask of black +velvet. She saw them draw together and take counsel, and then, without +speaking, beckon her insistently to join them. She nodded her head and +went back into the room, smiling to herself, while the twins pursued +their mysterious course towards the shrubberies. She thought she would +not bathe after all; but she dressed quickly and went down into the +garden, a little curious to learn what new invention the children were +busying themselves with.</p> + +<p>It proved to be nothing more original than the old game of buccaneers. +Nancy had awakened to find herself neatly trussed to her bed and Joan in +an unfinished state of attire, but wearing the black velvet mask, +brandishing in her face a horse pistol, annexed from the collection of +old-fashioned weapons in the hall. Thus overpowered she had succumbed +philosophically. It was the fortune of war, and if she had thought of it +she might just as well have been kneeling on Joan's chest, as Joan was +kneeling, somewhat oppressively, on hers. Given her choice of walking +the plank from the punt on the lake or being marooned on the +rhododendron island, she had accepted the latter alternative, +stipulating for an adequate supply of food; and a truce having been +called, while pirate and victim made their toilets and raided together +for the necessary rations, she had then allowed herself to be bound and +led off to the shore where the pirate ship was beached.</p> + +<p>All this was explained to Cicely—the search for provisions having no +particular stress laid on it—when she joined them, and she was awarded +the part of the unhappy victim's wife, who was to gaze across the water +and tear her hair in despair at being unable to go to the rescue.</p> + +<p>"You must rend the air with your cries," Joan instructed her, "not too +loud, because we don't want any one to hear. The pirate king will then +appear on the scene, and stalking silently up behind you—well, you'll +see. I won't hurt you."</p> + +<p>Nancy was already comfortably marooned. She could be seen relieved of +her bonds seated amongst the rhododendrons, which were in full flower on +the island and all round the lake, making her first solitary meal off +cold salmon and a macedoine of fruit, and supporting her painful +situation with fortitude.</p> + +<p>Cicely accepted her rôle, but dispensed with the business of tearing her +hair. "O my husband!" she cried, stretching her arms across the water. +"Shall I never see thee more? What foul ruffian has treated thee thus?"</p> + +<p>"Very good," said Nancy, with her mouth full—she was only twenty yards +away—"keep it up, Sis."</p> + +<p>"I will not rest until I have discovered the miscreant and taken his +life," proceeded Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Shed his blood," corrected Nancy. "Say something about my bones +bleaching on the shore."</p> + +<p>"Thy bones will bleach on the shore," Cicely obeyed. "And I, a +disconsolate widow, will wander up and down this cruel strand—oh, +don't, Joan, you are hurting."</p> + +<p>For she found herself in the grip of the pirate king, who hissed in her +ear, "Ha, ha, fair damsel! Thou art mine at last. 'Twas for love of thee +I committed this deed. Thy lily-livered husband lies at my mercy, and +once in Davy Jones's locker will be out of my path. Then the wedding +bells shall ring and we will sail together over the bounding main. +Gently, gently, pretty dove! Do not struggle. I will not hurt thee."</p> + +<p>"Unhand me, miscreant," cried Cicely. "Think you that I would forget my +brave and gallant husband for such as thou, steeped in crime from head +to foot? Unhand me, I say. Help! Help!"</p> + +<p>"Peace, pretty one!" cooed the pirate king. "Thou art in my power and +thy cries do not daunt me. I have only to lift my voice and my brave +crew will be all around me. Better come with me quietly. There is a +cabin prepared for thee in my gallant barque. None shall molest thee. +Cease struggling and come with me."</p> + +<p>Urged towards the shore by the pirate king, Cicely redoubled her cries +for assistance, but no one was more surprised than she to see an elderly +gentleman in a grey flannel suit and a straw hat bound from behind the +bushes, level a latch-key at the head of the masked bandit, and cry, +"Loose her, perjured villain, or thy brains shall strew the sand."</p> + +<p>Nancy's clear, delighted laugh came from the island, Joan giggled and +said, "O Uncle Herbert!"</p> + +<p>"Uncle me no Herberts," said Mr. Birket. "Put up your hands or I shoot. +(Cicely, if you will kindly swoon in my arms—Thank you.) Know, base +buccaneer, that I represent his Britannic Majesty on these seas, and +wherever the British flag flies there is liberty. Allow me to disarm you +of your weapon."</p> + +<p>"I yield to superior force," said the bold buccaneer in stately tones.</p> + +<p>"Very wise of you. I should fold my arms and scowl if I were you. +Behold, the lady cometh to. She is, yes she is, the daughter I have +mourned these many years. And you, base marauder, though you know it +not, are the long-lost brother of that luckless wight starving, if I +mistake not, to death on the island. Well for you that your hands are +not imbrued in his gore. Put off at once in your stout ship—and be +careful not to tumble overboard—and restore him to his hapless bride."</p> + +<p>"I will obey your bidding," said the pirate king proudly. "The claims of +relationship are paramount."</p> + +<p>"Well put. I have hopes of you yet. I am also hungry. Bring back the +victim's basket, and we will eat together and forget this unfortunate +occurrence."</p> + +<p>Joan punted across to the island and the marooned Nancy was brought to +the mainland with her somewhat depleted store of provisions. Mr. Birket +dropped his rôle while the embarkation proceeded, and mopped his brow +with a bandana handkerchief. He was a short, grey-haired man with a keen +lawyer's face. "Well, my dear," he said to Cicely, "I think that went +off very well, but it is somewhat exhausting."</p> + +<p>Cicely laughed. "The twins will never forget it," she said. "Did you see +them come out?"</p> + +<p>"I saw them come on to the lake. I was in the Temple, getting through a +little work."</p> + +<p>"What ever time did you get up?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, half-past five. My regular hour in the summer. I'm kept pretty +busy, my dear. But I don't generally have such a charming place as this +to work in. Now then, pirate, hurry up with those victuals. Your uncle +is hungry."</p> + +<p>They picnicked on the shore—the twins' provisioning having fortunately +been ample—and Mr. Birket proved himself an agreeable companion. Joan +said to Nancy afterwards that the practice of the law seemed to brighten +people's brains wonderfully. He smoked a cigar, told them stories, and +made them laugh. At half-past eight he fetched his papers from the +Temple and they went indoors to get ready for breakfast. "I think," he +said, as they crossed the lawn, "we had better say nothing about the +startling occurrences of the morning. They might come as a shock to our +elders and betters." And Joan and Nancy, remembering the contents of the +basket and the source from which they had been derived, agreed.</p> + +<p>Herbert Birket was Mrs. Clinton's only brother. Their father had been a +Colonel in the Indian Army, and had retired to end his days in a little +house on the outskirts of Bathgate, desiring nothing more than to read +the <i>Times</i> through every morning and find something in it to disagree +with, walk so many miles a day, see his son well started in the +profession he had chosen, and his daughter well, but not splendidly, +married. He had gained his desires in all but the last item. The young +Squire of Kencote, in all the glory of his wide inheritance and his +lieutenancy in the Household Cavalry, had ridden past the little house +on his way to Bathgate and seen a quiet, unassuming, fair-haired girl +watering her flowers in the garden, had fallen in love with her, met her +at a county ball, fallen still more deeply in love, and finally carried +her off impetuously from the double-fronted villa in the Bathgate Road +to rule over his great house at Kencote.</p> + +<p>South Meadshire had rung with the romance, and old Colonel Birket had +not been altogether delighted with his daughter's good fortune, wishing +to spend his last days in peace and not in glory. The wedding had taken +place in London, with a respectable show of relations on the bride's +side and all the accompaniments of semi-military parade on the +bridegroom's. There was no talk of a misalliance on the part of his +friends, nor was there a misalliance, for the Birkets were good enough +people; but the young Squire's six maiden aunts had returned to the +dower-house at Kencote after the wedding and shaken their respective +heads. No good would come of it, they said, and had, perhaps, been a +little disappointed ever afterwards that no harm had come of it, at any +rate to their nephew.</p> + +<p>The old Colonel had long since been laid in his grave, and the little +house in the Bathgate Road, now in the respectable occupancy of a +retired druggist, would have seemed as strange a dwelling-place to the +daughters of Herbert Birket, who had prospered exceedingly, as to the +children of Mrs. Clinton of Kencote.</p> + +<p>Angela and Beatrice Birket were handsome girls, both of them younger +than Cicely, but with their assured manners and knowledge of the world, +looking older. They had been brought up strictly by their mother, who +had paid great attention to their education. They might have been seen +during their childhood on any reasonably fine afternoon walking in +Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park with a highly priced French governess, +two well, but plainly dressed children with long, straight hair and +composed faces. They never appeared in their mother's drawing-room when +visitors were there, being employed in a room upstairs either at +lessons, or consuming the plainest variety of schoolroom tea. They were +taken sometimes to an afternoon concert, and on very rare occasions to a +play. When they were at home in London, their days were given to their +lessons, with the requisite amount of regular exercise to keep them in +good health. In holiday time, in the summer, at Christmas and at Easter, +they were allowed to run quite wild, in old clothes at some +out-of-the-way seaside place, in country farmhouses, where they +scrambled about on ponies and amongst ducks and chickens, or in the +country houses of their friends and relations, where there were other +children of their age for them to play with. So they had loved the +country and hated London, and had never been so surprised in their lives +as when they were duly presented and launched in society to find that +London was the most amusing place in the world and that all the pains +and drudgery to which they had been put there had prepared them for the +enjoyment of the manifold interests and pleasures that came in their +way. They had developed quickly, and those who had known them in their +rather subdued childhood would hardly have known them now.</p> + +<p>Of all the places in which they had spent their holidays in days gone by +they had liked Kencote best. It had been a paradise of fun and freedom +for them; they and Cicely had been happy from morning till night. The +elder boys home from school or college had been kind to them, and Frank, +the sailor, who was about their own age, and not too proud to make a +companion of his sister and cousins, had led the way in all their happy +adventures. And they had loved the twins, whom they had seen grow up +from babyhood. No, there had been no place like Kencote in the old days, +and the pleasure of a visit there still persisted, although it was no +longer the most congenial house at which they visited.</p> + +<p>All the party assembled for prayers in the dining-room. That was +understood to be the rule. The twins were there, very clean and well +brushed and very demure. Mr. Birket wished them good-morning solemnly +and hoped that they had slept well, at which they giggled and were +rebuked by Miss Bird, when their uncle turned away to ask the same +question of Cicely. As Miss Bird said,—What would their uncle think of +them if they could not answer a civil question without behaving in that +silly fashion? At which they giggled again. Angela and Beatrice, tall +and glossy-haired, dressed in white, made a handsome quartet with Dick +and Humphrey, the one in smart grey flannel, the other in white.</p> + +<p>"This little rest will do you both good," said Dick. "You shall lie +about, and Miss Bird shall read to you. You will go back to the +excitements of the metropolis thoroughly refreshed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we are going to be very energetic," said Angela. "We want to play +lawn tennis, for one thing. One never gets a chance nowadays, and we +both hate croquet."</p> + +<p>"We'll get up a tournament," said Humphrey, "and invite the +neighbourhood. You'll see some queer specimens. I hear you're writing a +book, Trixie."</p> + +<p>Beatrice laughed, and blushed a little. "I've left off," she said.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I've heard stories about you," said Dick. "Soon have something else +to do, eh? Don't blush. I won't tell anybody. Look here, we'll play golf +this morning. We laid out quite a decent little course in the park last +autumn. And in the afternoon we'll have a picnic."</p> + +<p>"Oh, preserve us!" said Humphrey.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do let us have a picnic," said Angela.</p> + +<p>"It will be like old times," said Beatrice.</p> + +<p>"We'll go to Blackborough Castle," said Dick, "and take the twankies. We +must give them a little fun. Siskin, how about a picnic?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Birket was telling Mrs. Clinton that Beatrice's engagement would be +announced when they returned to London. "She is young," she said, "but +both the girls are older in mind than in age."</p> + +<p>"You have educated them well," Mrs. Clinton said. She looked across the +room at the two handsome, smiling girls, and at her own pretty daughter, +who had not been very well educated and was not older in mind than in +age. But just then the gong sounded, every one took their seats, the +Squire came in with a hearty "Good-morning! Good-morning!" which +greeting his assembled family and guests might take and divide amongst +them, and the proceedings of the day began.</p> + +<p>Later in the morning Angela and Beatrice, Dick and Humphrey were +actively engaged at lawn tennis. Cicely was sitting under a great lime +on the lawn waiting for her turn. The twins, having discovered an +unusually congenial companion in their uncle, had carried him off +somewhere out of sight, and Cicely was alone for the moment. A voice +behind her, "Hullo, Cicely!" made her start, and then she sprang up. +"Jim!" she cried. "How jolly to see you back! I thought you would come +over this morning."</p> + +<p>The game had to be interrupted while the returned traveller was +welcomed. "You look as fit as a fiddle, old boy," said Dick. "You'll be +able to stay at home and enjoy yourself now, I hope. Will you play when +we've finished this? I can lend you a pair of shoes."</p> + +<p>"No thanks," said Jim. "I'll talk to Cicely." So the others went back on +to the lawn.</p> + +<p>"Come and have a stroll round," Jim suggested; and Cicely, with a +half-regretful glance at the tennis lawn, rose to go with him.</p> + +<p>They went to the rhododendron dell round the lake. It was where every +one went naturally if they wanted to walk and talk at the same time. +Jim's honest, weathered face was very frequently turned towards Cicely's +fair, young one, and there was a light in his eyes which made her turn +hers away a little confusedly when they met it. But Jim's voice was +level enough, and his speech ordinary. "I'm jolly glad to get back +again," he said. "I've never liked Mountfield half so well. I was up at +six o'clock this morning, and out and about."</p> + +<p>"So was I," said Cicely, and she told him, laughing, of the events of +the morning.</p> + +<p>"I expect they've grown, those young beggars," said Jim, alluding thus +disrespectfully to the twins. "I've often thought of them while I've +been away, and of everybody at Kencote—you especially."</p> + +<p>"We've all thought of you, too," said Cicely, "and talked about you. You +haven't been forgotten, Jim."</p> + +<p>"I hoped I shouldn't be," he said simply. "By Jove, how I've looked +forward to this—coming over here the first moment I could. I wish you +hadn't got all these people here, though."</p> + +<p>"All these people!" echoed Cicely. "Why, Jim, you know them as well as +we do."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm a selfish beggar. I wanted to have you all to myself."</p> + +<p>Cicely was a little disturbed in her mind. Jim had not talked to her +like this for five years. Ever since that long, happy summer when he and +she had been together nearly every day, when he had made love to her in +his slow, rather ponderous way, and she, her adolescence flattered, had +said "yes" when he had asked her to marry him—or rather ever since he +had written to her from Oxford to say that he must wait for some years +before he could expect to marry and that she was to consider herself +quite free—he had never by word or sign shown whether he also +considered himself free, or whether he intended, when the time came, to +ask her again to be his wife. When he had come back to Mountfield at +Christmas he had been in all respects as he had been up to six months +before, friendly and brotherly, and no more. It made it easier for her, +for her pride had been a little wounded. If he had held aloof, but shown +that, although he had given her her freedom, he hoped she had not +accepted it, she would have felt irked, and whatever unformed love she +had for Jim would quickly have disappeared. But, as it was, his equable +friendship kept alive the affection which she had always felt for him; +only it seemed to make the remembrance of their love passages a little +absurd. She was not exactly ashamed of what had happened, but she never +willingly thought of it, and after a year or so it became as much a part +of her past life as the short frocks and pinafores of her childhood. She +had been mildly chaffed about Jim on occasions, and there was no doubt +that in the minds both of her family and of Jim's the expectation of an +eventual marriage had never altogether subsided. Nor, strangely enough, +had it altogether subsided in hers, although if she had ever asked +herself the question as to whether she was in love with Jim in the +slightest degree she would have answered it forcibly in the negative. +But—there it was, as it is with every young girl—some day she would be +married; and it might happen that she would be married to Jim.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember," Jim asked her when they had walked the length of the +lake and come out in front of the Temple, "how you used to try to teach +me to draw here?"</p> + +<p>Yes, it was obviously Jim's intention to open up a buried subject, and +she was not by any means prepared for that. The sketching lessons had +been a shameless subterfuge for obtaining privacy, for Jim had about as +much aptitude for the arts as a dromedary, and his libels on the lake +and the rhododendrons would have made old Merchant Jack and his +landscape gardener turn in their graves.</p> + +<p>Cicely laughed. "Have you brought back any sketches from your travels?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>"No. I've got lots of photographs, though." Jim was always literal.</p> + +<p>"Angela and Beatrice paint beautifully," Cicely said. "We are going to +make sketches at Blackborough this afternoon. Will you come with us, +Jim? We are all going."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll come," said Jim. "Cicely, are you glad to see me home again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, I'm glad. We have all missed you awfully, Jim."</p> + +<p>"You can't think how bucked up I am to think that I need never leave +Mountfield again as long as I live. That's what's so jolly about having +a place of your own. It's part of you. You feel that, don't you, +Cicely?"</p> + +<p>"Well, as I haven't got a place of my own, Jim, I don't know that I do."</p> + +<p>"When those beastly death duties are paid off," Jim began, but Cicely +would not let him finish. "Anyhow," she said, "I should hate to think I +was going to stay in one place all my life, however much I liked it. Of +course, it is natural that you should feel as you do when you have been +travelling for a year. If I ever have the chance of travelling for a +year perhaps I shall feel like that about Kencote." She laughed and +looked him in the face, blushing a little. "Let us go back and play +tennis," she said.</p> + +<p>His face fell, and he walked by her side without speaking. Cicely little +knew how keen was his disappointment. This was the hour he had been +looking forward to every day for the last year, and this the place, with +the sun glinting through the young green of beech and ash and lighting +up those masses and drifts of brilliant colour everywhere about them. It +was true that he had meant to come to no conclusions with the girl he +loved with all his heart. The time for that would not be for another +year at least, according to the decision he had long since come to. But +he had so hungered for her during his long exile, for such it had seemed +to him in spite of the various enjoyments and interests he had gained +from it, that the thought had grown with him that he would take just a +little of the sweetness that a word from her, to show that she was his +as he was hers, would give him. She had not spoken the word, and Jim's +heart was heavy as he walked back to the garden by her side.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE QUESTION OF MARRIAGE</h3> + + +<p>"Blackborough Castle?" said the Squire at luncheon. "Well, if you +like—but you'll take your tea in the company of Dick, Tom and Harry, +and I think you would be more comfortable at home."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose there'll be anybody else there to-day," said Dick, "and +the spirit of youth cries aloud for tea on the floor." So it was +settled. Mrs. Clinton and Mrs. Birket went in the carriage, Angela rode +with Humphrey, and Dick drove the rest of the party, which did not +include the Squire, in the brake.</p> + +<p>"You look like bean-feasters," said Humphrey, as they drove past him and +Angela. "But you need not behave as such," said Miss Bird to the twins, +who, one on each side of their uncle, were inclined to be a trifle +uproarious.</p> + +<p>They had the old keep of the castle pretty well to themselves, spread +their cloth on the green turf by the battlements, where centuries ago +men-at-arms had tramped the now covered stones, and made merry in true +picnic style. There was a footman to clear away, and the party broke up +into little groups, and explored the ruins, and wandered in the thick +woods which surrounded them.</p> + +<p>Jim looked a little wistfully at Cicely as she went away with her arm in +that of Beatrice Birket, but made no attempt to join her, and presently +allied himself to the storming party which Joan was collecting to rescue +Miss Bird, confined in the deepest dungeon.</p> + +<p>"Now, Trixie, you have got to tell me all about it," Cicely said, when +the two girls were out of hearing of the rest.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Beatrice, laughing, "I told you last night that he had +asked me and I had said yes, and that I am very happy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know. But that was before Angela, and she said we were to have no +raptures. I want raptures, please."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm afraid you won't get them. I'm too well drilled. You know, +Cicely, I rather envy you being brought up as you were. You're more +natural, somehow, than Angela and I."</p> + +<p>"Well, I envy <i>you</i>; so we're quits. But never mind about that now. +Trixie, is Angela just the least bit jealous?"</p> + +<p>"No, not a bit," said Beatrice loyally. "But you see she's a year older, +and ever so much cleverer, and prettier too."</p> + +<p>"She's none of those things except a year older. But she's a dear all +the same, and so are you. I don't wonder at anybody falling in love with +you. Are you very much in love too?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Cicely, I don't mind telling you in strict confidence that I am. +But, perhaps, it's in a way you would not sympathise with particularly."</p> + +<p>"Tell me in what way, and you'll see."</p> + +<p>"Of course George isn't especially good-looking; in fact he isn't +good-looking at all, except for his eyes. I used to think I should never +love anybody unless he was as handsome as—as, well, Dick is, for +instance—that sort of man—you know—smart and well set up, and"—with +a laugh—"rather ignorant."</p> + +<p>"Dick isn't ignorant," said Cicely indignantly.</p> + +<p>"My dear, compared to George he is a monument of ignorance, a pyramid of +it; so are most men. It was just that; George is so clever, and he's +making such use of his brains too. He is one of the youngest men in +parliament, and is in office already. It was looking up to him as a +pillar of wisdom, and then finding that he looked to me of all people, +to help him on."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you will help him on. I heard some one say in London that many +politicians owed a great deal of their success to their wives."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean quite in that way. I don't think George is ambitious, +though I am for him. He wants to get things done. Father says it is +because he is so young. He tells me about everything, and it makes me +grateful—you know, I think when you are very grateful, that is being in +love."</p> + +<p>"You dear thing!" said Cicely, squeezing her arm. "Does Uncle Herbert +like him? They are not on the same side in politics, are they?"</p> + +<p>"No. But it doesn't seem to matter. It doesn't matter in the least to +me. Of course, there <i>are</i> things. George is a tremendous churchman, you +know, and I have never thought much about religion—not deeply, I mean. +But it is a real thing with him, and I'm learning. You see, Cicely, we +are rather a different engaged couple from most, although we don't +appear so to the world at large. Outside our two selves, George is a +coming man, and I am a lucky girl to be making such a match."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you have told me about it all," Cicely said. "It must be +splendid to be looking forward to helping your husband in all the good +things he is going to do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is. I am ever so happy. And George is the dearest soul—so kind +and thoughtful, for all his cleverness. Cicely, you must meet him."</p> + +<p>"I should love to," said Cicely simply. "I never meet anybody +interesting down here." Her incipient sense of revolt had died down for +the time; she was young enough to live in the present, if the present +was agreeable enough, as it was with this mild, unwonted, holiday stir +about her. She only felt, vaguely, a little sorry for herself.</p> + +<p>"It is lovely," said Beatrice; "but I own I shouldn't care for it all +day and every day. It is rather jolly to feel you're in the middle of +things."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know it is," said Cicely, laughing. "<i>I</i> was in the middle of +things in London, and I enjoyed it immensely."</p> + +<p>Beatrice's engagement was the subject of another conversation that +evening. When the party got back from the picnic, Cicely set out for the +dower-house. Nobody had been near the old aunts that day; it was seven +o'clock, and there was just time to pay them a short visit. Mr. Birket +was in the hall as she passed through, and she asked him to go with her.</p> + +<p>"I should like to pay my respects to those two admirable ladies," he +said. "They make me feel that I am nobody, which is occasionally good +for the soul of man."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Cicely, as they went across the garden together, "you are a +wicked Radical, you see, and you want to disestablish their beloved +Church."</p> + +<p>"Do I?" said Mr. Birket. "How truly shocking of me. My dear, don't +believe everything you hear. I am sure that my chief fault is that I +don't possess land. Cicely, how much land must you possess if you really +want to hold your head up? Would a hundred acres or so do the trick? I +suppose not. Two hundred acres, now! I might run to that if the land was +cheap."</p> + +<p>"Two hundred acres, I should think, uncle," said Cicely, "with a +manor-house, and, say, a home farm. And if you could get the advowson of +a living, it would be all to the good."</p> + +<p>"Would it? Thank you for telling me. But then I should have to ask the +parson to dinner, and we might not get on. And I should have to go to +church. I like going to church when I'm not obliged to—that is if +they'll preach me a good sermon. I insist upon a good sermon. But if I +had to go to set an example—well, I shouldn't go; and then I should get +into trouble."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think you would, uncle. You can't live your own life entirely in +the country. There are responsibilities."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you've thought of that, have you? You do think things over?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I do think things over. There's nothing much else to do."</p> + +<p>Mr. Birket cast a side glance at her. The sun striking through the trees +of the park flushed translucently the smooth, fair flesh of her cheek +and her ungloved hand. In her white frock, moving freely, with the +springy grace of a young animal, she attracted the eye. Her head, under +her wide hat-brim, was pensive, but she looked up at him with a smile. +"If you could bring yourself to it, you know," she began, and broke off. +"I mean," she began again, "I think you must either be a man, or—or +very young, or not young at all."</p> + +<p>Mr. Birket was a man of very quick perception. His face softened a +little. "My dear," he said, "when you are very young things are +happening every day, when you are a little older anything may happen, +and when you are older still happenings don't matter. But you haven't +got to the third stage yet."</p> + +<p>"No," Cicely said, "I suppose not. Happenings do matter to me; and there +aren't enough of them."</p> + +<p>The two old ladies received Mr. Birket courteously. He was accidentally +allied to the Clintons, and in his own path of life had striven, not +without success, to make himself worthy of the alliance. He came to see +them, two old ladies who had lived all their long lives in a small +country village, had hardly ever been to London, and never out of +England, who had been taught to read and write and to add up pounds, +shillings and pence, and had never felt the lack of a wider education. +He came with his great reputation, his membership of Parliament, his +twenty thousand a year of income earned by the exercise of his brain, +and a judgeship looming in the near future, and as far as they were +concerned he came straight out of the little house on the Bathgate Road, +now fitly occupied by a retired chemist. But far be it from them to show +a brother of their nephew's wife that he was not welcome among them.</p> + +<p>They talked of the weather, of Blackborough Castle, of Jim Graham's +return, and of Walter's coming marriage with Muriel.</p> + +<p>"Well, that will be the first wedding in the new generation," said Mr. +Birket. "But there will be another very soon. Have you heard that my +girl, Beatrice, is going to be married?"</p> + +<p>The old ladies had not heard this piece of news and expressed their +interest. Privately they thought it a little odd that Mr. Birket should +talk as if there were any connection between the two events, although, +of course, it was true that Walter was of the new Birket generation as +well as the new Clinton generation.</p> + +<p>"She is rather young," pursued Mr. Birket, "but George Senhouse is a +steady fellow as well as a successful one. It is George Senhouse she is +going to marry—you have heard of him?"</p> + +<p>"Any relation, if I may ask, to Sir George Senhouse of whom we read in +the House of Parliament?" asked Aunt Ellen.</p> + +<p>"Yes—George Senhouse—that's the man. Not on my side, you know, Miss +Clinton, but I'm sure you won't think that a drawback."</p> + +<p>Indeed it was not. Mr. Birket was a Liberal, and therefore a deadly foe +to the true religion of the Church of England as by compromise +established, and to all the societies for raising mankind to a just +appreciation of that religion which the Misses Clinton supported. And +Sir George Senhouse, a capable and earnest young man, with an historic +name, had early devoted his powers to the defence of those things in the +outside world which they held dear. It was, indeed, a surprising piece +of good fortune for Mr. Birket—and no wonder that he was so evidently +pleased.</p> + +<p>"I hope your daughter will be strengthened to assist him in all the good +work he does," said Aunt Ellen.</p> + +<p>"I sincerely hope she will," said Mr. Birket. "The engagement is not +announced yet; but I tell <i>you</i>, Miss Clinton—and Miss Laura."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we should not say a word before the proper time," said Aunt Laura.</p> + +<p>When Cicely and Mr. Birket had gone, Aunt Ellen said, "You may take my +word for it, sister, that it is owing to the Clinton connection. We have +lived a retired life, but I know very well how these things tell."</p> + +<p>As Cicely dressed for dinner—it was the first time she had been alone +during the day—she thought about Jim, and what he had said to her, or +tried to say to her, early in the morning. He had disturbed her mind and +given her something that she had to think about. She had told Mr. Birket +that she thought things over, and it was true; she had courage in that +way. With but little in her education or scope of life to feed it, her +brain was active and inquiring. It worked on all matters that came +within her ken, and she never shirked a question. She was affectionate, +loyal, and naturally light-hearted, but she was critical too, of herself +no less than of others. It would have been easy for her, if she had had +less character, to put away from her, as she had done for the last five +years, the consideration of her relationship to Jim, to have ignored his +approach to her, since she had stopped him from coming closer, and to +have deferred searching her own mind until he should have approached her +again and in such a way that she could no longer have avoided it. But +she had locked up the remembrance of the happenings of five years before +in a cupboard of her brain, and locked the key on it. If she had thought +of it at all, she would have had to think of herself as having made a +present to Jim which he had returned to her. And because she could not +altogether escape from the memory of it, she had come to look upon +herself as a rather foolish and very immature young person in those +days, who had not in the least known what she was about when she allowed +herself to be made love to.</p> + +<p>With regard to Jim her thoughts had been even less definite. His +attitude to her had been so entirely brotherly that she had never felt +the necessity of asking herself whether he was still keeping his +expressed love for her alive, although he would not show it, or whether +he, too, thought of their love-making as a piece of rather childish +folly, and had put it completely behind him. Beyond the first slight +awkwardness of meeting him when he came back from Oxford after his +letter to her, she had felt none in his presence, and until this very +morning her attitude towards him had been frank and her feelings +affectionate. He had made that possible by showing the same attitude and +apparently the same feelings.</p> + +<p>But what she now had to consider was whether he had actually been so +frank towards her as she to him; whether he had not been keeping +something back, and, in effect, playing a part. If it were so, their +relationship was not as she had thought it, and would have to be +adjusted.</p> + +<p>She turned her mind to this point first. It would really be rather +surprising if Jim had been in love with her all this time and she had +not known it. She thought she must have known if it were so, and she +rejected the idea. What she could not get away from—it hardly needed +stating in her mind—was that he had tentatively made love to her that +morning. Or rather—and here she rather congratulated herself on making +the distinction, as a process of pure thought—he had seemed to show her +that marriage was in his mind, perhaps as a thing already settled +between them, although she, for her part, had long since given up +thinking of it as a matter to be considered, however loosely, settled. +Of course she knew he was fond of her, as she was of him. If he was not +in love with her, as once he had been, he might still want to marry her, +as the nicest person he could find, and the requisite impulsion might +come from his return after a long absence. She would be included in his +heightened appreciation of all his home surroundings. These +considerations passed through her mind, in no logical sequence of +thought, but at various points of her self-questioning, and when she was +also thinking further of her own part in what might follow, trying to +discover what she wanted and to decide what she should do. The fact that +he had opened and would probably open again the subject of their +marriage was all that really mattered, and she knew that without +thinking.</p> + +<p>She knew, too, without thinking, that she did not want to engage herself +again to marry Jim, at any rate not yet; and, in fact, she would not do +so. What her honesty of mind impelled her to was the discovery of the +root from which this femininely instinctive decision had flowered. What +were her reasons for not wanting to marry Jim now, or soon; and would +they take from her, when examined, that always present but always +unstated possibility of some day finding herself living at Mountfield as +his wife? She a little dreaded the conclusion, which may have shown that +she had already made up her mind; but it was here that an answer had to +be found, and she faced it bravely.</p> + +<p>She was not ready to marry Jim now, or soon, because in the first place +she did not love him—not in that way—and in the second place because +she did not love, in any way, what he stood for.</p> + +<p>When she said to herself that she did not love Jim her mind recoiled a +little. He was such a good sort, so kind, so reliable. It was just as if +she had said that she did not love her brothers. It was ungracious, and +ungrateful. She did love him. Dear old Jim! And she would be sorry to +cause him pain. But, if she did not want him to make love to her—and +certainly she didn't—she couldn't possibly love him as a girl ought to +love her prospective husband—as Beatrice, for instance, loved her young +parliamentarian. That seemed settled. And because she did think things +over, and was no longer very young indeed, she saw that the change of +circumstances in a girl's life when she was going to be married counted +for something, something of the pleasure, something of the excitement. +It was so with Beatrice, and with Muriel. They loved the men they were +going to marry, but they also got a great deal of satisfaction out of +the change in their surroundings, quite apart from that. What sort of +change would she have as Jim's wife? She would step straight out of one +large house into another, and she would no more be the mistress of +Mountfield than she had been of Kencote. So she told herself. For the +mistresses of houses like Kencote and Mountfield were really a sort of +superior housekeeper, allowed to live with the family, but placed where +they were with the sole object of serving their lords and masters, with +far less independence than a paid housekeeper, who could take her money +and go if she were dissatisfied with her position.</p> + +<p>What a prospect! To live out the rest of her life in the subjection +against which she had already begun to rebel, in exactly similar +surroundings and in exactly the same atmosphere! If she married Jim she +would not even have the pleasure of furnishing her own house. It would +be Jim's house, and the furniture and all the appurtenances of it were +so perfect in Jim's eyes that she knew he would never hear of her +altering a thing. She would not be able to rearrange her drawing-room +without his permission. That was what it meant to marry a country +gentleman of Jim's sort, who disliked "gadding about," and would expect +his wife to go through the same dull round, day after day, all her life +long, while he amused himself in the way that best suited him.</p> + +<p>When she had reached this point, and the end of her toilet together, +Cicely suddenly determined that she would <i>never</i> marry Jim, and if he +pressed her she would tell him so. She didn't want to marry anybody. If +only she could get away from Kencote and be a hospital nurse, or +something of the sort, that was all she wanted. With this rather +unsatisfactory conclusion she cleared her mind, ran downstairs, and +found Jim himself alone in the drawing-room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>TOWN <i>versus</i> COUNTRY</h3> + + +<p>"Hullo!" said Jim. "You're down early."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know you were here," said Cicely, and was annoyed at herself, +and blushed in consequence.</p> + +<p>But whatever conclusion Jim may have drawn from her hurried, rather +eager entrance, her denial, and her blush, he only said, "Mother and +Muriel are upstairs."</p> + +<p>"I wonder why Muriel didn't come to my room," said Cicely. "I think I'll +go and find her."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Jim, and Cicely went out of the room again.</p> + +<p>Jim took up a book from a table, turned over a few leaves, and then +threw it down and went to the window, where he stood looking out, with +his hands in his pockets.</p> + +<p>By and by Mr. Birket came in, and joined him. "Shame to be indoors on an +evening like this," he said. "I should like to dine at nine o'clock in +the summer."</p> + +<p>"What about the servants?" asked Jim.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," said Mr. Birket. "Is it true you are a Free Trader, Graham?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," said Jim, with a shade of defiance.</p> + +<p>"So am I," said Mr. Birket.</p> + +<p>Jim smiled. "Well, you've got to be in your party," he said.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. It isn't a question of party. It's a question of +common-sense."</p> + +<p>"That's just what I think. I've looked into it with as much intelligence +as I'm capable of—they say about here that isn't much—and I can't see +why you shouldn't be a Tory as good as any of 'em and still stick to +Free Trade."</p> + +<p>"Nor can I," said Mr. Birket. "But they won't let you. You had better +join us, Graham. Anybody with any dawning of sense must be very +uncomfortable where you are."</p> + +<p>"I should be a jolly sight more uncomfortable with you," said Jim. "And +I've got keen on the Empire since I've been travelling."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you've seen it," said Mr. Birket, somewhat cryptically, and then +the door opened, and Mrs. Clinton and Mrs. Birket came in together.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Birket was a tall, good-looking woman, who held herself upright, +was well dressed and well informed. She had a good manner, and in mixed +company never allowed a drop in the conversation. But as she talked well +this was not so tiresome as it might have been. She was quoted amongst +her circle, which was a wide one, as an excellent hostess, and the +tribute was deserved, because, in addition to her conversational +aptitude, she had the art of looking after her guests without apparent +effort. She had been strict with her daughters, but they were now her +companions, and devoted to her. Mrs. Clinton talked to her, perhaps more +than to any other woman she knew, and the two were friends, although the +circumstances of their lives were wide apart.</p> + +<p>The two ladies were followed by the four girls, who came in chattering, +and by Mrs. Graham, who, even in evening clothes, with a necklace of +diamonds, looked as if she liked dogs. Then came Humphrey, +extraordinarily well dressed, his dark hair very sleek; and Dick, very +well dressed too, but with less of a town air; and then the Squire, just +upon the stroke of eight, obviously looking forward to his dinner.</p> + +<p>"Nina, what on earth can have become of Tom and Grace?" he asked when he +had greeted Mrs. Graham and Muriel. "No sign of 'em anywhere. We can't +wait, you know."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton glanced at the ormolu clock, representing Time with a +scythe and hour-glass, on the mantelpiece, but said nothing. As it began +to chime the door opened and the Rector and Mrs. Beach were announced.</p> + +<p>"Grace! Grace!" said the Squire, holding up a warning finger, but +smiling affably. "I've never known you run it so fine before."</p> + +<p>"My dear Edward," said Mrs. Beach, with her sweet smile, "Tom broke a +collar stud. It is one of those little accidents that nobody can foresee +and nobody can guard against."</p> + +<p>"Except by laying in a stock," said Mrs. Graham.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear Grace, you were just <i>not</i> late," said the Squire, "I +will forgive you."</p> + +<p>So they all went in to dinner amicably, and a very good dinner it was, +although there was an entire absence of what the Squire called French +fal-lals. English <i>versus</i> French cooking was a favourite dinner-table +topic of his, and he expatiated on it this evening. "It stands to +reason," he said, "that natural food well cooked—of course it must be +well cooked, before an open range, and so on—is better than made-up +stuff. Now what have we got this evening?" He put on his gold-rimmed +glasses and took up a menu-card. A shade of annoyance passed over his +face when he discovered that it was written in French. "Who wrote this +rubbish?" he asked, looking over his glasses at Mrs. Clinton.</p> + +<p>"I did, father," said Cicely, blushing.</p> + +<p>"Good for you, Siskin!" broke in Dick. "Very well done. It gives the +entertainment an air."</p> + +<p>"I helped with the accents," said Angela.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Squire, "I don't like it. As far as I can make out it's +a purely English dinner, except, perhaps, the soup, and it ought to be +described in English. What's the good of calling roast lamb 'agneau +rôti'?" He pronounced it "rotty," with an inflection of scorn. "There's +no sense in it. But as I was saying—where are you going to find better +food than salmon and roast lamb, new potatoes, asparagus, peas—of +course they're forced, but they're English—and so on?" He threw down +the card and took off his glasses. "Everything grown on the place except +the salmon, which old Humphrey Meadshire sent me."</p> + +<p>"You've left out the 'Pêche à la Melba'," said Mrs. Beach. "It is the +crowning point of the whole dinner. But I quite agree with you, Edward, +you couldn't have a better one anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Rather on the heavy side," commented Humphrey.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "The fruits of the earth in due season, +or, if possible, a little before it; that's the best dinner any man can +have."</p> + +<p>"Every country has its own cooking," said Mrs. Birket. "I really think +the English is the best if it is well done."</p> + +<p>"Which it very seldom is," said Mrs. Graham.</p> + +<p>"Of course this is the very best time of all the year for it," said the +Rector. "Did you bring back any new curry recipes from India, Jim?"</p> + +<p>Jim replied that he had not, and the Squire said, "By the bye, Jim, I +see that fellow Mackenzie came home in the <i>Punjaub</i>. The papers are +full of him this evening. Did you happen to meet him?"</p> + +<p>Jim said that he had shared the same cabin, and that Mackenzie had +promised to spend a week-end at Mountfield some time or other.</p> + +<p>"We are going to make a lion of him in London," said Humphrey. "We +haven't had an explorer for a long time. I believe he's shaggy enough to +be a great success."</p> + +<p>"You must bring him over to dine, Jim," said the Squire. "It's +interesting to hear about these fellows who trot all over the world. But +heavens, what a life!"</p> + +<p>"A very good life, I think," said Mr. Birket. "Not much chance to get +moss-grown."</p> + +<p>"Now, I'm sure that is a dig at us people who live in the country," said +Mrs. Beach. "Because <i>you</i> don't get moss-grown, Mr. Birket."</p> + +<p>"He would if he lived in the country," said Mrs. Birket. "He would lie +on his back all day long and do nothing at all. He has an unequalled +power of doing nothing."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "I'm a very hard worker. Cicely caught me +at it at six o'clock this morning, didn't you, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"You've no responsibilities, Herbert," the Squire broke in. "If you +owned land you wouldn't want to lie on your back."</p> + +<p>"He is trying to make the land lie on <i>our</i> backs," said Dick. "We +shan't have any left soon."</p> + +<p>"All you Radicals," began the Squire; but Mrs. Beach had something to +say: "Mr. Birket, you despise us country folk at the bottom of your +heart. I'm sure you do."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "I think you live a peaceful and idyllic +existence, and are much to be envied."</p> + +<p>"Peaceful!" the Squire snorted. "That's all you Radicals know about it. +I assure you we work as hard as anybody, and get less return for it. I +wish you'd tell your precious leaders so, Herbert."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Mr. Birket.</p> + +<p>"What with one thing and another," proceeded the Squire, "the days are +gone as soon as they are begun."</p> + +<p>"But when they are finished something has always been done," said Mrs. +Beach. "That is the difference between a town life and a country life. +In London you are immensely busy and tire yourself to death, but you've +nothing to show for it."</p> + +<p>"Your brains are sharpened up a bit," said Humphrey.</p> + +<p>"If you have any," suggested Mrs. Graham.</p> + +<p>"Mother, don't be rude," said Muriel.</p> + +<p>"The remark had no personal bearing," said Humphrey, with a grin.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say so," retorted Mrs. Graham.</p> + +<p>"I think it is a matter of temperament," said Mrs. Birket. "Everybody +who lives in London likes the country, and everybody who lives in the +country likes London—for a change. But if you had to live in one or the +other all the year round——"</p> + +<p>"I would choose the country," said Mrs. Beach, "and I'm sure you would, +Edward."</p> + +<p>"Of course I would," said the Squire. "I do live in the country all the +year round. I've had enough of London to last me all my life."</p> + +<p>"Two for the country," said Dick. "Now we'll go round the table. Mother, +where do your tastes lie?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton did not reply for a moment; then she said, "I don't think I +should mind which it was if I had my family round me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now, Nina," said the Squire, "that's no answer. Surely <i>you</i> +don't want to become a town madam."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't bring pressure, Edward," said Mrs. Beach. "We shall have +quite enough on our side."</p> + +<p>"Mother neutral," said Dick. "Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the country," said Jim.</p> + +<p>"Three for the country. Angela?"</p> + +<p>"London."</p> + +<p>"You must give a reason," said Mrs. Beach.</p> + +<p>Angela laughed. "I like music, and plays," she said, "and hearing people +talk."</p> + +<p>"Well, surely you can hear people talk in the country," said the Squire.</p> + +<p>"And such talk!" added Mrs. Graham, at which everybody laughed except +the Squire, who saw no humour in the remark.</p> + +<p>"Three to one," said Dick. "Aunt Grace, you've had your turn. Now it's +mine. I don't want to bury myself yet awhile, but when the time comes I +expect I shall shy at London as the governor does. I'm country."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Angela.</p> + +<p>"Oh, because there's more to do. Now then, Beatrice. You're London, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Beatrice. "Because there's more to do."</p> + +<p>"Good for you! That's four to two. Mrs. Graham!"</p> + +<p>"Can you ask?" said that lady. "And I won't give any reasons. I like the +country best because I like it best."</p> + +<p>"Father is country. Five to two."</p> + +<p>"And my reason," said the Squire, "is that every man who doesn't like +the country best, when he can get it, isn't a man at all. He's a +popinjay."</p> + +<p>"Well, at the risk of being called the feminine for popinjay," said Mrs. +Birket, with a smile, "I must choose London."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I don't include the women, my dear Emmeline," said the Squire. +"And I don't include men like Herbert either, who've got their work to +do. I'm thinking of the fellows who peacock about on pavements when they +might be doing 'emselves good hunting, or some such pursuit. It's +country sport that's good for a man, keeps him strong and healthy; and +he sees things in the proper light too. England was a better country +than it is now when the House of Commons was chiefly made up of country +gentlemen. You didn't hear anything about this preposterous socialism +then. I tell you, the country gentlemen are the backbone of England, and +your party will find it out when you've turned them out of the country."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but we shan't do that," said Mr. Birket. "That would be too +dreadful."</p> + +<p>"No politics," said Dick. "We're five to three. Tom, you're a country +man, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>But the Rector was not at all sure that he was. He sometimes thought +that people were more interesting than Nature. On the whole, he thought +he would choose the town.</p> + +<p>"Then I change round," said Mrs. Beach. "Where thou goest, Tom, I will +go. Dick, I'm town."</p> + +<p>"Then that changes the game. Town's one up. Muriel, be careful."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not country," said Muriel. "I've had enough of it. I think +the best place to live in is a suburb."</p> + +<p>"Melbury Park!" laughed the Squire. "Ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>"That's town," said Dick. "Four to six. We yokels are getting worsted."</p> + +<p>"I'll come to your rescue," said Humphrey. "I don't want to be cut off +with a shilling. Give me a big country house and a season ticket, and +I'm with you."</p> + +<p>"Five to six then. Now, Siskin, make it all square."</p> + +<p>"No," said Cicely. "I hate the country."</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed the Squire.</p> + +<p>"It's so dreadfully dull," said Cicely. "There's nothing in the world to +do."</p> + +<p>"But this is a revolt!" said Dick.</p> + +<p>"Nothing to do!" echoed the Squire, in a voice of impatient censure. +"There's everything to do. Don't talk nonsense, Cicely. You have got to +live in the country whether you like it or not, so you had better make +the best of it."</p> + +<p>"Very sound advice," said Mr. Birket. "I follow it myself. It may +surprise the company, but I'm for the country. Cows enrapture me, and as +for the buttercups, there's no flower like 'em."</p> + +<p>"Town has it," said Dick. "Seven to six—a very close match."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When Mr. and Mrs. Birket were alone together that night, Mr. Birket +said, "My dear, I think Edward Clinton gets more intolerable every time +I see him. I hope I have succeeded in disguising that opinion."</p> + +<p>"Perfectly, Herbert," said his wife. "And you must please continue to do +so for Nina's sake."</p> + +<p>Mr. Birket sighed. "Poor dear Nina!" he said. "She was so bright as a +girl. If she hadn't married that dunderhead she'd have been a happy +woman. I bet she isn't now. He has crushed every bit of initiative out +of her. And I'll tell you what, my dear, he'll crush it out of Cicely if +she doesn't get away from these deadly surroundings. Heavens, what a +life for a clever girl!"</p> + +<p>"Do you think Cicely clever?"</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know anything, because they have never let her learn +anything. But she thinks for herself, and she's beginning to kick at it +all. If she'd had the chances our girls have had, she'd have made use of +them. Can't we give her a chance, Emmeline? She's a particularly nice +girl. Have her up to London for a month or two. The girls are fond of +her—and you're fond of her too, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm very fond of her," said Mrs. Birket.</p> + +<p>"Well—then, why not?"</p> + +<p>"Do you think Edward would let her come?"</p> + +<p>"My private opinion of Edward would probably surprise him, if he could +hear it, but I don't think even he would go so far as to deny his +children a pleasure so long as it didn't put him out personally."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll ask, if you like. I should be very glad to have her. But +some one might fall in love with her, you know, Herbert. She's very +pretty, and there's always the chance."</p> + +<p>"And why on earth not? He doesn't want to keep her an old maid, does +he?"</p> + +<p>"He wants her to marry Jim Graham."</p> + +<p>"I thought that was all over years ago."</p> + +<p>"As far as she is concerned, perhaps. I'm sure Edward still looks upon +it as going to happen some day."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe she'll marry Graham, even if he wants her. He's just +such another as Edward, with a trifle more sense."</p> + +<p>"No, Herbert, he is quite different. I like him. I think it would be a +good thing for Cicely to marry him."</p> + +<p>"She ought to have the chance of seeing other fellows. Then, if she +likes to embark afresh on a vegetable existence, it will be her own +choice. Of course, you needn't vegetate, living in the country, but the +wife of Jim Graham probably would. Give her her chance, anyway."</p> + +<p>But this particular chance was denied to Cicely. The Squire wouldn't +hear of it. "My dear Emmeline," he said, "it is very kind of you—very +kind of you indeed. But she'd only get unsettled. She's got maggots in +her head already. I hope some day to see her married to a country +gentleman, like her mother before her. Though I say it, no women could +be better off. Until the time comes, it's best for Cicely to stay at +home."</p> + +<p>"Idiot!" said Mr. Birket, when the decision was conveyed to him. "I was +mistaken in him. I think now he would be capable of any infamy. Don't +tell Cicely, Emmeline."</p> + +<p>But the Squire told her, and rebuked her because the invitation had been +offered. "What you have to do," he said, "is to make yourself happy at +home. Heaven knows there's enough to make you so. You have everything +that a girl can want. For goodness' sake be contented with it, and don't +always want to be gadding about."</p> + +<p>Cicely felt too sore to answer him, and retired as soon as his homily +was over. In the afternoon—it was on Sunday—she went for a walk with +her uncle. He did not express himself to her as he had done to Mrs. +Birket, but gave her the impression that he thought her father's refusal +unfortunate, but not unreasonable, smiling inwardly to himself as he did +so.</p> + +<p>"I should have loved to come, you know, Uncle Herbert," she said.</p> + +<p>"And we should have loved to have you, my dear," he said. "But, after +all, Kencote is a very jolly place, and it's your own fault if you're +bored in it. Nobody ought to be bored anywhere. I never am."</p> + +<p>"Well then, please tell me what to do with myself."</p> + +<p>"What do you do, as it is?"</p> + +<p>"I read a little, and try to paint, and——"</p> + +<p>"Then read more, and try to paint better. Effort, my dear,—that's the +secret of life. Give yourself some trouble."</p> + +<p>He gave her more advice as they walked and talked together, and she +listened to him submissively, and became interested in what he said to +her.</p> + +<p>"I should like to make myself useful in some way," she said. "I don't +want to spend all my life amusing myself or even improving myself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, improving yourself! That's not quite the way to put it. Expressing +yourself—that's what you want to do—what everybody ought to do. And +look here, my dear, when you say you want to make yourself useful—I +suppose you mean hospital nursing or something of that sort, eh?"</p> + +<p>Cicely laughed. "I have thought of that," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well then, don't think of it any more. It's not the way—at least not +for you. You make yourself useful when you make yourself loved. That's a +woman's sphere, and I don't care if all the suffragettes in the country +hear me say it. A woman ought to be loved in one way or another by +everybody around her; and if she is, then she's doing more in the world +than ninety-nine men out of a hundred. Men want opportunities. Every +woman has them already. Somebody is dependent on her, and the more the +better for her—and the world. What would your old aunts do without you, +or your mother, or indeed anybody in the place? They would all miss you, +every one. Don't run away with the idea you're not wanted. Of course +you're wanted. <i>We</i> want you, only we can't have you because they want +you here."</p> + +<p>"You give me a better conceit of myself," she said gratefully.</p> + +<p>"Keep it, my dear, keep it," said Mr. Birket. "The better conceit we +have of ourselves the more we accomplish. Now I think we'd better be +turning back."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>A WEDDING</h3> + + +<p>The London newspapers devoted small space, if any, to the wedding of +Walter Clinton, Esq., M.D., third son of Edward Clinton, Esq., of +Kencote, Meadshire, and Muriel, only daughter of the late Alexander +Graham, Esq., and the Honourable Mrs. Graham of Mountfield, Meadshire, +but the <i>Bathgate Herald and South Meadshire Advertiser</i> devoted two of +its valuable columns to a description of the ceremony, a list of the +distinguished guests present, and a catalogue of the wedding presents. +No name that could possibly be included was left out. The confectioner +who supplied the cake, the head gardeners at Kencote and Mountfield +who—obligingly—supplied the floral decorations; the organist who +presided, as organists always do, at the organ, and gave a rendering, a +very inefficient one, of Mendelssohn's Wedding March; the schoolmaster +who looked after the children who strewed flowers on the churchyard +path; the coachman who drove the happy pair to the station; the +station-master who arranged for them a little salvo of his own, which +took the form of fog-signals, as the train came in—they were all there, +and there was not an error in their initials or in the spelling of their +names, although there were a good many in the list of distinguished +guests, and still more in the long catalogue of presents.</p> + +<p>There was a large number of presents, more than enough to open the eyes +of the readers of the <i>Melbury Park Chronicle and North London +Intelligencer</i>, which, by courtesy of its contemporary, printed the +account in full, except for the omission of local names, and in <i>minion</i> +instead of <i>bourgeois</i> type. Some of the presents were valuable and +others were expensively useless, and the opinion expressed in Melbury +Park was that the doctor couldn't possibly find room for them all in his +house and would have to take a bigger one. Melbury Park opened its eyes +still wider at the number of titles represented amongst the donors, for +the Clintons, as has been said, had frequently married blood, and many +of their relations were represented, Walter had been popular with his +school and college friends, and on Muriel's side the Conroys and their +numerous connections had come down handsomely in the way of Georgian +sugar-sifters, gold and enamelled umbrella tops, silver bowls and +baskets and bridge boxes, writing-sets, and candlesticks, and other +things more or less adapted to the use of a doctor's wife in a rather +poor suburb of London.</p> + +<p>The wedding, if not "a scene of indescribable beauty, fashion and +profusion," as the Bathgate reporter, scenting promotion, described it, +was a very pretty one. The two big houses produced for the occasion a +sufficient number of guests, and the surrounding country of neighbours, +to fill Mountfield church with a congregation that was certainly well +dressed, if not noticeably reverent. The bride looked beautiful, if a +trifle pale, under her veil and orange blossoms, and the bridegroom as +gallant as could be expected under the circumstances. There were six +bridesmaids, the Honourable Olivia and Martha Conroy and Miss Evelyn +Graham, cousins of the bride, and the Misses Cicely, Joan, and Nancy +Clinton, sisters of the bridegroom, who were attired—but why go further +into these details, which were so fully gone into in the journals +already mentioned? Suffice it to say that the old starling, in a new +gown and the first <i>toque</i> she had ever worn, wept tears of pride at the +appearance of her pupils, and told them afterwards, most unwisely, that +the Misses Olivia and Martha Conroy could not hold a candle to them in +respect of good looks.</p> + +<p>The twins—there is no gainsaying it—did look angelic, with their blue +eyes and fair hair, and the Misses Conroy, who were of the same sort of +age, were not so well favoured by nature; but that was no reason why +Joan should have told them that they were a plain-headed pair, and Nancy +that they had spoilt the whole show, when some trifling dispute arose +between them at the close of a long day's enthusiastic friendship. The +Misses Conroy, though deficient in beauty, were not slow in retort, and +but for the fine clothes in which all four were attired, it is to be +feared that the quarrel would have been pushed to extremes. It was a +regrettable incident, but fortunately took place in a retired corner of +the grounds, and stopped short of actual violence.</p> + +<p>Jim Graham gave his sister away, and Dick acted as best man to his +brother, piloting him through the various pitfalls that befall a +bridegroom with the same cool efficiency as he displayed in all +emergencies, great or small. It was this characteristic which chiefly +differentiated him from his father, who may have been efficient, but was +not cool.</p> + +<p>Jim Graham's eyes often rested on Cicely during the wedding ceremony. +She was by far the prettiest of the bridesmaids, and it was little +wonder if his thoughts went forward to the time when he and she would be +playing the leading part in a similar ceremony. But there was some +uneasiness mixed with these anticipations. Cicely was not quite the same +towards him as she had been before his journey, although since that +morning by the lake he had made no attempt to depart from the brotherly +intimacy which he had told himself was the best he had a right to until +he could claim her for his own. She had never seemed quite at her ease +with him, and he was beginning to follow up the idea, in his slow, +tenacious way, that his wooing, when he should be ready for it, would +have to be done all over again—that it might not be easy to claim her +for his own. And, of course, that made him desire her all the more, and +added in his eyes to her grace and girlish beauty.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, in the house and on the lawn, where a band played and a tent +for refreshments had been put up, he talked to her whenever he could and +did his best to keep a cheerful, careless air, succeeding so well that +no one observing him would have guessed that he had some difficulty in +doing so. Except Cicely; she felt the constraint. She felt that he was +in process of marking the difference in her attitude towards him, and +was impatient of the slow, ruminating observation of which she would be +the object. As long as he was natural with her she would do her best to +keep up the same friendly and even affectionate relations which had +existed between them up to a year ago, but she could not help a slight +spice of irritation creeping into her manner in face of that subtle +change behind his ordinary address. She was trying to clear up her +thoughts on many matters, and Jim was the last person in the world to +help her. She wanted to be left alone. If only he would do that! It was +the only possible way by which he could gain the end which, even now, +she was not quite sure that she would refuse him in the long-run.</p> + +<p>"Well, you needn't be snappy," Jim said to her, with a good-humoured +smile on his placid face when he had asked her for further details of +her visit to London.</p> + +<p>She made herself smile in return. "Was I?" she said. "I didn't mean to +be; but I have been home nearly a month now, and I'm rather tired of +talking about London."</p> + +<p>"All right," replied Jim. "I agree that this is a better place. Come and +have a look at the nags. There has been such a bustle that I haven't +been near them to-day."</p> + +<p>But Cicely refused to go and look at the nags. Nags were rather a sore +point with her, and the constant inspection and weighing of the +qualities of those at Kencote was enough for her without the addition of +the stables at Mountfield. So they went back from the rose-garden where +they were standing to join the crowd on the lawn.</p> + +<p>Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura sat in the shade of a big cedar and held a +small reception. During their long lives they had been of scarcely any +account in the ebb and flow of Clinton affairs, but the tide of years +had shelved them on a little rock of importance, and they were paid +court to because of their age. Old Lord Meadshire was the only other +member of their generation left alive. He was their first cousin. His +mother had been the youngest of Merchant Jack's five daughters. He had +never failed to pay them courteous attention whenever he had been at +Kencote, and he was talking to them now, as Cicely joined them, of the +days when they were all young together. The two old ladies had quite +come to believe that they and their cousin Humphrey had spent a large +part of their childhood together, although he was fifteen years younger +than Aunt Ellen, and his visits to Kencote during his youth had been +extremely rare. Colonel Thomas had been too busy with his chosen +pursuits to have much time for interchange of social duties, proclaimed +himself a fish out of water, and behaved like one, whenever he went to +the house of his youngest sister, and had little to offer a lady of high +social importance and tastes in a visit to his own.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," Lord Meadshire said to Cicely, as she approached, "I +was reminding your aunts of the time when we used to drive over from +Melford to Kencote in a carriage with postillions. Very few railways in +those days. We old people like to put our heads together and talk about +the past sometimes. I recollect my grandfather—<i>our</i> grandfather," and +he bowed to the two old ladies—"Merchant Jack they used to call him +here, because he had made his money in the city as younger sons used to +do in those days, and are beginning to do again now, but they don't go +into trade as they did then; and he was born in the year of the Battle +of Culloden. That takes you back—what?"</p> + +<p>"I recollect," said Aunt Ellen in a slow, careful voice, "when our Uncle +John used to come down to Kencote by the four-horse coach, and post from +Bathgate."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Lord Meadshire sympathetically, "I never saw my Uncle John, +to my knowledge, though he left me a hundred pounds in his will. I +recollect I spent it on a tie-pin. I was an extravagant young dog in +those days, my dear. You wouldn't have suspected me of spending a +hundred pounds on a tie-pin, would you?"</p> + +<p>"Uncle John was very kind to us," said Aunt Laura. "There were six of +us, but he never came to the house without bringing us each a little +present."</p> + +<p>"He was always dressed in black and wore a tie-wig," said Aunt Ellen. +"Our dear father and he were very dissimilar, but our father relied on +his judgment. It was he who advised him to send Edward to Bathgate +Grammar School."</p> + +<p>"He would take a kind interest in our pursuits," said Aunt Laura, "and +would always walk with us and spend part of the day with us, however +occupied he might be with our father."</p> + +<p>"Edward was very high-spirited as a child," said Aunt Ellen, "and our +dear father did not sufficiently realise that if he encouraged him to +break away from his lessons, which we all took it in turns to give him, +it made him difficult to teach."</p> + +<p>"And when Uncle John went away in the morning he gave us each one a +present of five new sovereigns wrapped in tissue paper," said Aunt +Laura, "and he would say, 'That is to buy fal-lals with.'"</p> + +<p>"So our Uncle John and our Uncle Giles, the Rector, persuaded our father +to send Edward to Bathgate Grammar School, where he remained until he +went to Eton, riding over there on Monday morning and returning home on +Saturday," concluded Aunt Ellen.</p> + +<p>Lord Meadshire took his leave of the old ladies, and Aunt Ellen said, "I +am afraid that our cousin Humphrey is ageing. We do not see him as much +as we used to do. He was very frequently at Kencote in the old days, and +we were always pleased to see him. With the exception of your dear +father, there is no man for whom I have a greater regard."</p> + +<p>"He is a darling," said Cicely. "He is as kind as possible to everybody. +Would you like me to get you anything, Aunt Ellen? I must go to Muriel +now."</p> + +<p>"No thank you, my dear," said Aunt Ellen. "Your Aunt Laura and I have +had sufficient. We will just rest quietly in the shade, and I have no +doubt that some others of our kind friends will come and talk to us."</p> + +<p>It was getting towards the time for the bride and bridegroom to depart +for their honeymoon, which they were to spend in Norway. Walter had had +no holiday of any sort that year and had thought the desire for solitude +incumbent on newly married couples might reasonably be conjoined with +the desire for catching salmon; and Muriel had agreed with him.</p> + +<p>The men were beginning to show a tendency to separate from the ladies. +The Rector of Kencote and the Vicar of Melbury Park, a new friend of +Walter's who happened, as the Squire put it, to be a gentleman, were +talking together by the buffet under the tent. The Vicar, who was thin +and elderly, and looked jaded, was saying that the refreshment to mind +and spirit, to say nothing of body, which came from living close to +Nature was incalculable, and the Rector was agreeing with him, mentally +reserving his opinion that the real refreshment to mind and spirit, to +say nothing of body, was to be found, if a man were strong enough to +find it, in hard and never-ending work in a town.</p> + +<p>At the other end of the buffet Dick and Humphrey and Jim Graham were +eating sandwiches and drinking champagne. They were talking of fishing, +with reference to Walter's approaching visit to a water which all four +of them had once fished together.</p> + +<p>"It is rather sad, you know," said Humphrey. "Remember what a good time +we had, Jim? It'll never happen again. I hate a wedding. It'll be you +next."</p> + +<p>Jim looked at him inscrutably. "Or Dick," he said.</p> + +<p>Dick put down his glass. "I'm not a starter," he said. "I must go and +see that Walter doesn't forget to change his tie."</p> + +<p>The Squire and Mrs. Clinton and Lord Conroy were in a group together on +the lawn. Lord Conroy, bluff and bucolic, was telling Mrs. Clinton about +his own marriage, fifteen years before. "Never thought I should do it," +he said, "never. There was I, forty and more, but sound, Mrs. Clinton, +mind you, sound as a bell, though no beauty—ha, ha! And there was my +lady, twenty odd, as pretty as paint, and with half the young fellows in +London after her. I said, 'Come now, will you have me? Will you or won't +you? I'm not going near London,' I said, 'not once in five years, and I +don't like soup. Otherwise you'll have your own way and you'll find me +easy to get on with.' She took me, and here we are now. I don't believe +there's a happier couple in England. I believe in marrying, myself. Wish +I'd done it when I was a young fellow, only then I shouldn't have got my +lady. I'm very glad to see my niece married to such a nice young fellow +as your son—very glad indeed; and my sister tells me there's likely to +be another wedding in both families before long—eh? Well, I mustn't be +too inquisitive; but Jim's a nice young fellow too, a very nice young +fellow, though as obstinate as the devil about this Radical kink he's +got in his brain."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'll get over that," said the Squire. "It isn't sense, you know, +going against the best brains in the country; I tell him we're not <i>all</i> +likely to be wrong. And he's got a stake, too. It don't do to play old +Harry with politics when you've got a stake."</p> + +<p>"Gad, no," assented Lord Conroy. "We've got to stand together. I'm +afraid your brother's against us, though, eh, Mrs. Clinton?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Herbert!" said the Squire. "He's a lawyer, and they can always make +white black if it suits 'em."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton flushed faintly, and Lord Conroy said, "He's a very rising +man, though, and not so advanced as some. He told me a story just now +about a judge and one of those Suffragettes, as they call 'em, and I +haven't heard such a good story for many a long day." And Lord Conroy +laughed very heartily, but did not repeat the story.</p> + +<p>The carriage drove round to the door, the coachman and the horses +adorned with white favours, and the guests drifted towards the house and +into the big hall. Walter and Dick came down the staircase, and Muriel +and her mother and Cicely followed immediately afterwards. Muriel's eyes +were wet, but she was merry and talkative, and Mrs. Graham was more +brusque in her speech than usual, but very talkative too. Every one +crowded round them, and Walter had some difficulty in leading his bride +through the throng. There was laughter and hand-shaking and a general +polite uproar. At last they got themselves into the carriage, which +rolled away with them to their new life. It was really Joan and Nancy +who had conceived the idea of tying a pair of goloshes on behind, but +the Misses Conroy had provided them, one apiece, and claimed an equal +share in the suggestion. It was arising out of this that their quarrel +presently ensued, and they might not have quarrelled at all had not Miss +Bird told the twins in the hearing of their friends that where they had +learned such a vulgar notion passed her comprehension. It was really a +dispute that did all four young ladies very great credit.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>FOOD AND RAIMENT</h3> + + +<p>The Rector gave out his text, "Is not the life more than meat and the +body more than raiment?" and proceeded to read his homily in a +monotonous, sweet-toned voice which had all the good effects of a +sleeping-draught and none of the bad ones.</p> + +<p>Kencote church was old, and untouched by modern restoration or Catholic +zeal. The great west door was open, and framed a bright picture of trees +and grass and cloudless sky. The hot sunshine of an August morning shone +through the traceried windows in the nave, and threw a square of bright +colour from the little memorial window in the chancel on to the wide, +uneven stone pavement. But the church was cool, with the coolness of +ancient, stone-built places, which have resisted for centuries the +attacks of sun and storm alike, and gained something of the tranquil +insensibility of age.</p> + +<p>The congregation was penned, for the most part, in high pews. When they +stood up to sing they presented a few score of heads and shoulders above +the squares and oblongs of dark woodwork; when they sat or knelt the +nave seemed to be suddenly emptied of worshippers, and the drone of the +responses mounting up to the raftered roof had a curious effect, and +seemed to be the voice of the old church itself, paying its tribute to +the unseen mysteries of the long ages of faith.</p> + +<p>On the north side of the chancel, which was two steps higher than the +nave, was the Squire's pew. Its occupants were shielded from the gaze of +those in the body of the church by a faded red curtain hung on an iron +rail, but the Squire always drew it boldly aside during the exhortation +and surveyed the congregation, the greater part of which was dependent +on him for a livelihood and attended church as an undergraduate "keeps +chapels," for fear of unpleasant consequences.</p> + +<p>The Squire's pew occupied the whole of the space usually devoted to the +organ and the vestry in modern built churches, and had a separate +entrance from the churchyard. It had a wooden floor, upon which was a +worn blue carpet sprinkled with yellow fleurs de lis. The big hassocks +and the seat that ran along the north wall were covered with the same +material. In front of the fixed bench was a row of heavy chairs; in the +wall opposite to the curtain was a fireplace. Mrs. Clinton occupied the +chair nearest to the fire, which was always lit early on Sunday morning +in the winter, but owing partly to the out-of-date fashion of the grate +and partly to the height and extent of the church, gave no more heat +than was comfortable to those immediately within its radius, and none at +all to those a little way from it. The Squire himself remained outside +its grateful influence. His large, healthy frame, well covered with +flesh, enabled him to dispense with artificial warmth during his hour +and a half's occupation of the family pew, and also to do his duty by +using the last of the row of chairs and hassocks, and so to command the +opportunities afforded by the red curtain.</p> + +<p>On the stone walls above the wainscoting were hung great hatchments, the +canvas of some fraying away from the black quadrangular frames after a +lapse of years, and none of them very recently hung there. The front of +the pew was open to the chancel, and commanded a full view of the +reading-desk and a side glimpse of the pulpit through the bars of the +carved, rather battered rood-screen. Flanked by the reading-desk on one +side and the harmonium on the other were the benches occupied by the +school-children who formed the choir, and behind them were other benches +devoted to the use of the Squire's household, whose devotions were +screened from the gaze of the common worshippers by no curtain, and who, +therefore—maids, middle-aged women, and spruce men-servants—provided a +source of interested rumination when heads were raised above the wooden +partitions, and bonnets, mantles, and broadcloth could be examined, and +perhaps envied, at leisure.</p> + +<p>Cicely had played the Rector up into the pulpit with the last verse of a +hymn, had found the place from which she would presently play him down +again with the tune of another, had propped the open book on the desk of +the harmonium, and had then slid noiselessly into a chair on a line with +the front choir bench, where she now sat with her hands in her lap, +facing the members of her assembled family, sometimes looking down at +the memorial brass of Sir Richard Clinton, knight, obiit 1445, which was +let into the pavement at her feet, sometimes, through the open doors of +the rood screen, to where that bright picture of sunlit green shone out +of the surrounding gloom at the end of the aisle.</p> + +<p>"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" The text had +been given out twice and carefully indexed each time. The Squire had +fitted his gold-rimmed glasses on to his nose and tracked down the +passage in his big Bible. Having satisfied himself that the words +announced were identical with the words printed, he had put the Bible on +the narrow shelf in front of him and closed his eyes. His first nod had +followed, as usual, about three minutes after the commencement of the +sermon. He had then opened his eyes wide, met the fascinated gaze of a +small singing-girl opposite to him, glared at her, and, having reduced +her to a state of cataleptic terror, pushed aside the red curtain and +transferred his glare to the body of the church. The bald head of a +respectable farmer and the bonnet of his wife, which were all he could +see of the congregation at the moment, assured him that all was well. He +drew the curtain again and went comfortably to sleep without further +ado.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton, at the other end of the row, sat quite still, with no more +evidence of mental effort on her comely, middle-aged face than was +necessary for the due reception of the Rector's ideas, and that was very +little. Joan and Nancy sat one on either side of Miss Bird, Joan next to +her mother. They looked about everywhere but at the preacher, and bided +with what patience they possessed the end of the discourse, aided +thereto by a watchful eye and an occasional admonitory peck from the old +starling. Dick had come in late and settled himself upon the seat behind +the row of chairs. Upon the commencement of the sermon he had put his +back against the partition supporting the curtain, and his long legs up +on the bench in front of him, and by the look on his lean, sunburnt face +was apparently resting his brain as well as his body.</p> + +<p>"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" The +technique of the Rector's sermons involved the repetition of his text at +stated intervals. Cicely thought, as the words fell on her ears for the +third or fourth time, that she could have supplied a meaning to them +which had escaped the preacher. Food and raiment! That represented all +the things amongst which she had been brought up, the large, comfortable +rooms in the big house, the abundant, punctual meals, the tribe of +servants, the clothes and the trinkets, the gardens and stables, +well-stocked and well-filled, the home farm, kept up to supply the needs +of the large household, everything that came to the children of a +well-to-do country gentleman as a matter of course, and made life +easy—but oh, how dull!</p> + +<p>No one seeing her sitting there quietly, her slender, ungloved hands +lying in her lap, prettily dressed in a cool summer frock and a shady, +flower-trimmed hat, with the jewelled chains and bracelets and brooches +of a rich man's daughter rousing the admiring envy of the +school-children, whose weekly excitement it was to count them up—nobody +would have thought that under the plaited tresses of this young girl's +shapely head was a brain seething in revolt, or that the silken laces of +her bodice muffled the beatings of a heart suffocated by the luxurious +dulness of a life which she now told herself had become insupportable. +Cicely had thought a great deal since her visit to London and Muriel's +wedding, and had arrived at this conclusion—that she was suffocating, +and that her life was insupportable.</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes and glanced at her father, wrapped in the pleasant +slumber that overtakes healthy, out-of-door men when they are forced for +a time into unwonted quiescence, and at her brother, calm and +self-satisfied, dressed with a correct elaboration that was only +unobtrusive because it was so expensively perfect. The men of the +family—everything was done to bring them honour and gratification. They +had everything they wanted and did what they would. It was to them that +tribute and obedience were paid by every one around them, including +their own womenfolk.</p> + +<p>She looked at her two young sisters. They were happy enough in their +free and healthy childhood; so had she been at their age, when the +spacious house and the big gardens, the stables and the farm and the +open country had provided everything she needed for her amusement. But +even then there had been the irksome restraint exercised by "the old +starling" and the fixed rules of the house to spoil her freedom, while +her brothers had been away at Eton, or at Oxford or Cambridge, trying +their wings and preparing for the unfettered delights of well-endowed +manhood.</p> + +<p>She looked at her mother, placid and motionless. Her mother was +something of an enigma, even to her, for to those who knew her well she +always seemed to be hiding something, something in her character, which +yet made its mark in spite of the subjection in which she lived. Cicely +loved her mother, but she thought of her now with the least little shade +of contempt, which she would have been shocked to recognise as such. Why +had she been content to bring all the hopes and ambitions that must have +stirred her girlhood thus into subjection? What was the range of her +life now? Ruling her large house with a single eye to the convenience of +her lord and master, liable to be scolded before her children or her +household if anything went wrong; blamed if the faults of any one of the +small army of servants reached the point at which it disturbed his ease; +driving out in her fine carriage to pay dull calls on dull neighbours; +looking after the comfort of ungrateful villagers; going to church; +going to dinner-parties; reading; sewing; gardening under pain of the +head gardener's displeasure, which was always backed up by the Squire if +complaint was brought to him that she had braved it; getting up in the +morning and going to bed at night, at stated hours without variation; +never leaving her cage of confined luxury, except when it suited his +convenience that she should leave it with him. She was nothing but a +slave to his whims and prejudices, and so were all the women of the +family, slaves to wait upon and defer humbly and obediently to their +mankind.</p> + +<p>"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" It was the +men who enjoyed the life, and the meat and raiment as well. While the +women vegetated at home, they went out into the world. It was true that +they were always pleased to come back again, and no wonder, when +everything was there that could minister to their amusement. It was +quite different for her, living at home all the year round. She was +quite sick of it. Why was not her father like other men of his wealth +and lineage, who had their country houses and their country sports, but +did not spend the whole year over them? Daughters of men of far less +established position than the Squire went to London, went abroad, +visited constantly at other country houses, and saw many guests in their +own houses. Her own brothers did all these things, except the last. They +seldom brought their friends to Kencote, she supposed because it was not +like other big country houses, at any rate not like the houses at which +they stayed. It was old-fashioned, not amusing enough; shooting parties +were nearly always made up from amongst neighbours, and if any one +stayed in the house to shoot, or for the few winter balls, it was nearly +always a relation, or at best a party of relations. And the very few +visits Cicely had ever paid had been to the houses of relations, some of +them amusing, others not at all so.</p> + +<p>She was now rather ashamed of her diatribe to Muriel Graham about her +London visit. She must have given Muriel the impression that what she +hungered for was smart society. She remembered that she had compared the +ball at the house of her aunt, Mrs. Birket, unfavourably with those at +other houses at which she had danced, and blushed and fidgeted with her +fingers when she thought of this. She liked staying with Mrs. Birket +better than with any other of her relations, and she was still sore at +her father's refusal to allow her to spend some months with her. She met +clever, interesting people there, she was always made much of, and she +admired and envied her cousins. They had travelled, they heard music, +saw plays and pictures, read books; and they could talk upon all these +subjects, as well as upon politics and upon what was going on in the big +world that really mattered—not superficially, but as if they were the +things that interested them most, as she knew they were. It was that +kind of life she really longed for; she had only got her thoughts a +little muddled in London because she had been rather humiliated in +feeling herself a stranger where her brothers were so much at home. When +she saw Muriel again she must put herself right there. Muriel would +understand her. Muriel had cut herself adrift from the well-fed +stagnation of country life and rejoiced to be the partner of a man who +was doing something in the world. Life was more than food to her and the +body than raiment. Cicely wished that such a chance had come to her.</p> + +<p>But the Rector had repeated his text for the last time, and was drawing +to the end of his discourse. She must slip back to her seat at the +harmonium, and defer the consideration of her own hardships until later.</p> + +<p>The congregation aroused itself and stood up upon the stroke of the word +"now"; and, whilst the last hymn was being given out and played over, +the Squire started on a collecting tour with the wooden, baize-lined +plate which he drew from beneath his chair. The coppers clinked one by +one upon the silver already deposited by himself and his family, and he +closely scrutinised the successive offerings. His heels rang out +manfully upon the worn pavement beneath which his ancestors were +sleeping, as he strode up the chancel and handed the alms to the Rector. +He was refreshed by his light slumber, his weekly duty was coming to an +end, and he would soon be out in the open air inspecting his stables and +looking forward to his luncheon. He sang the last verses of the hymn +lustily, his glasses on his nose, a fine figure of a man, quite +satisfied with himself and the state in life to which he had been +called.</p> + +<p>The congregation filed out of church into the bright sunshine. Dick, +with Joan on one side of him and Nancy on the other, set out at a smart +pace across the park, bound for the stables and the home farm. Cicely +walked with the old starling, who lifted her flounced skirt over her +square-toed kid boots, as one who expected to find dew where she found +grass, even in the hot August noonday. The Squire and Mrs. Clinton +brought up the rear, and the men and maids straggled along a footpath +which diverged to another quarter of the house.</p> + +<p>Cicely left the rest of the family to the time-honoured inspection of +horses and live stock, always undertaken, summer and winter, after +church on Sunday morning, as a permissible recreation on a day otherwise +devoted to sedentary pursuits. It was one of the tiresome routine habits +of her life, and she was sick of routine. She dawdled in her bedroom, a +room at least twenty feet square, with two big windows overlooking the +garden and the park and the church tower rising from amongst its trees, +until the gong sounded, when she hurried downstairs and took her seat at +the luncheon table on the right of her father.</p> + +<p>The sweets and a big cake were on the table, of which the appointments +were a mixture of massive silver plate and inexpensive glass and china. +The servants handed round the first hot dish, placed a cold uncut +sirloin of beef in front of the Squire and vegetable dishes on the +sideboard, and then left the room. After that it was every one help +yourself. This was the invariable arrangement of luncheon on Sundays, +and allowing for the difference of the seasons the viands were always +the same. If anybody staying in the house liked to turn up their noses +at such Sunday fare—one hot <i>entrée</i>, cold beef, fruit tarts and milk +puddings, a ripe cheese and a good bottle of wine, why they needn't come +again. But very few people did stay in the house, as has been said, and +none of those who did had ever been known to object. There were no +week-end parties, no traffic of mere acquaintances using the house like +an hotel and amusing themselves with no reference to their host or +hostess. The Squire was hospitable in an old-fashioned way, liked to see +his friends around him and gave them of his best. But they must be +friends, and they must conform to the usages of the house.</p> + +<p>The talk over the luncheon table began with the perennial topic of the +breeding of partridges and pheasants, and was carried on between the +Squire and Dick, while the women kept submissive silence in the face of +important matters with which they had no concern. Then it took a more +general turn, and drifted into a reminiscence of the conversation that +had taken place over the dinner table the night before. Mrs. Graham and +Jim had dined at Kencote and brought Ronald Mackenzie with them, who had +arrived the evening before on his promised week-end visit.</p> + +<p>Humphrey's prophecy had come true. Mackenzie had been the lion of the +London season, and now that London was empty might have taken his choice +of country houses for a week-end visit from whatever county he pleased. +His visit was something of an honour, and was even chronicled in the +newspapers, which had not yet lost interest in his movements. He was a +star of considerable magnitude, liable to wane, of course, but never to +sink quite into obscurity, and just now a planet within everybody's ken.</p> + +<p>It was characteristic of the Clinton point of view that the parentage of +this man, whose sole title to fame arose from the things that he had +done, should be discussed. Dick knew all about him. He did not belong to +any particular family of Mackenzies. He was the son of a Scots peasant, +and was said to have tramped to London at the age of sixteen, and to +have taken forcible shipment as a stowaway in the Black-Lyell Arctic +Expedition; and afterwards to have climbed to the leadership of +expeditions of his own with incredible rapidity. He had never made any +secret of his lowly origin, and was even said to be proud of it. The +Squire approved heartily of this.</p> + +<p>It was also characteristic of the Squire that a man who had done big +things and got himself talked about should be accepted frankly as an +equal, and, outside the sphere of clanship, even as a superior. A great +musician would have been treated in the same way, or a great painter, or +even a great scholar. For the Squire belonged to the class of all others +the most prejudiced and at the same time the most easily led, when its +slow-moving imagination is once touched—a class which believes itself +divinely appointed to rule, but will give political adherence and almost +passionate personal loyalty to men whom in the type it most dislikes, +its members following one another like sheep when their first +instinctive mistrust has been overcome. Mackenzie was one of the most +talked of men in England at this moment. It was a matter of +congratulation that Jim had caught him for a two-days' visit, though +Jim's catch had involved no more skill than was needed to answer an +unexpected note from Mackenzie announcing his arrival on Friday +afternoon. The Clintons had dined at Mountfield on Friday night, the +Grahams and Mackenzie had dined at Kencote on Saturday, and it had been +arranged that Jim and his guest should drive over this afternoon and +stay to dine again.</p> + +<p>When luncheon was over the Squire retired into the library with the +<i>Spectator</i>, which it was known he would not read, Dick went into the +smoking-room, Mrs. Clinton and Miss Bird upstairs, and the twins +straight into the garden, where Cicely presently followed them with a +book. She settled herself in a basket chair under a great lime tree on +the lawn, and leaving her book lying unopened on her lap, gave herself +over to further reverie.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the sudden descent of this man from a strange world into the +placid waters of her life had something to do with the surging up of her +discontent, for she had not been so discontented since the Birkets' +visit two months before, having followed out to some extent her uncle's +advice and found life quite supportable in consequence. She knew she had +waited for Mackenzie's name to be mentioned at luncheon and had blushed +when she heard it, only, fortunately, nobody had seen her, not even the +sharp-eyed twins. She would have resented it intensely if her interest +and her blush had been noticed, and put down to personal attraction. It +was not that at all. She rather disliked the man, with his keen, +hawklike face, his piercing eyes, and his direct, unvarnished speech. He +was the sort of man of whom a woman might have reason to be afraid if +she were, by unaccountable mischance, attracted by him, and he by her. +He would dominate her and she would be at least as much of a chattel as +in the hands of a male Clinton. It was what he stood for that interested +her, and she could not help comparing his life with that of her father +and her brothers, or of Jim Graham, much to the disadvantage of her own +kind.</p> + +<p>Her resentment, if it deserved that name, had fixed itself upon her +father and brothers, and Jim shared in it. He was just the same as they +were, making the little work incumbent on him as easy as possible and +spending the best part of his life in the pursuits he liked best. She +had come to the conclusion that there was no place for her in such a +life as that. When Jim proposed to her, as she felt sure he would do +when he was ready, she would refuse him. She felt now that she really +could not go through with it, and her determination to refuse to marry +Jim rose up in her mind and fixed itself as she sat in her chair under +the tree. If he had been a poor man, with a profession to work at, she +would have married him and found her happiness in helping him on. She +wanted the life. The food and the raiment were nothing to her, either at +Kencote or Mountfield.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>RONALD MACKENZIE</h3> + + +<p>Cicely rose from her seat and strolled across the lawn, through an iron +gate and a flower-garden, and on to another lawn verging on the +shrubberies. Joan and Nancy were employed here in putting tennis balls +into a hole with the handles of walking sticks. Cicely rebuked them, +for, according to his lights, the Squire was a strict Sabbatarian.</p> + +<p>"Darling!" expostulated Joan, in a voice of pleading, "we are not using +putters and golf balls. There <i>can't</i> be any harm in this."</p> + +<p>Cicely did not think there was, and passed on through the shrubbery walk +to where a raised path skirting a stone wall afforded a view of the road +along which Jim and Ronald Mackenzie would presently be driving.</p> + +<p>She hardly knew why she had come. It was certainly not to watch for Jim. +And if there was any idea in her mind of catching a glimpse of Ronald +Mackenzie, herself unobserved by him, so that she might by a flash gain +some insight into the character of a man who had interested her, she was +probably giving herself useless trouble, for it was not yet three +o'clock and the two men were not likely to arrive for another half-hour +or more.</p> + +<p>But she had no sooner taken her stand by the stone wall and looked down +at the road from under the shade of the great beech which overhung it, +than Jim's dog-cart swung round the corner, and Ronald Mackenzie, +sitting by his side, had looked up and sent a glance from his bold dark +eyes right through her. She had not had time to draw back; she had been +fairly caught. She drew back now, and coloured with annoyance as she +pictured to herself the figure she must have presented to him, a girl so +interested in his coming and going that she must lie in wait for him, +and take up her stand an hour or so before he might have been expected. +At any rate, he should not find her submissively waiting for him when he +drove up to the door. She would keep out of the way until tea-time, and +he might find somebody else to entertain him.</p> + +<p>The shrubbery walk, which skirted the road, wound for over a mile round +the park, and if she followed it she would come, by way of the kitchen +gardens and stableyard, to the house again, and could regain her bedroom +unseen, at the cost of a walk rather longer than she would willingly +have undertaken on this hot afternoon. But it was the only thing to do. +If she went back by the way she had come, she might meet Jim and his +friend in the garden, and of course they would think she had come on +purpose to see them. If she crossed the park she ran the risk of being +seen. So she kept to the shelter of the trees, and followed the windings +of the path briskly, and in rather a bad temper.</p> + +<p>At a point about half-way round the circle, the dense shrubbery widened +into a spinney, and cut through it transversely was a broad grass ride, +which opened up a view of the park and the house. When Cicely reached +this point she looked to her right, and caught her breath in her throat +sharply, for she saw Ronald Mackenzie striding down the broad green path +towards her. He was about fifty yards away, but it was impossible to +pretend she had not seen him, or to go on without waiting for him to +catch her up. Indeed, the moment he caught sight of her he waved his +hand and called out, "I thought I should catch you." He then came up +with a smile upon his face, and no apparent intention of apologising for +his obvious pursuit of her.</p> + +<p>What was the right attitude to take up towards a man who behaved like +that? Cicely blushed, and felt both surprised and annoyed. But she was +powerless to convey a hint of those feelings to him, and all he knew was +that she had blushed.</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have run away from me like that," he said, as he shook +hands with her and looked her straight in the face. "I shan't do you any +harm. We will go back this way"; and he walked on at a fairly smart rate +by the way she had been going, and left her to adapt her pace to his, +which she did, with the disgusted feeling that she was ambling along at +an undignified trot.</p> + +<p>She was aware that if she opened her mouth she would say just the one +thing that she did not want to say, so she kept it closed, but was not +saved by so doing, because he immediately said it for her. "How did I +know where to find you? Well, I guessed you didn't expect to be spied +under that tree, and that you'd keep away for a bit. I didn't want that, +because I had come over on purpose to see you. So I cast my eye round +the country—I've an eye for country—saw where you would be likely to +go and the place to intercept you. So now you know all about it."</p> + +<p>This was a little too much. Cicely found her tongue. "Thank you," she +said, with dignity, "I didn't want to know all about it," and then felt +like a fool.</p> + +<p>"Then you have something you didn't want," he replied coolly. "But we +won't quarrel; there's no time. Do you know what I think about you and +about this place?"</p> + +<p>He looked down at her and waited for an answer; and an answer had to be +given. She was not quite prepared, or it would be more accurate to say +that she hardly dared, to say, "No, and I don't want to," so she +compromised weakly on "No."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you. It seems to me just Paradise, this lovely, +peaceful, luxurious English country, after the places I've been to and +the life I've led. And as for you, you pretty little pink and white +rose, you're the goddess that lives in the heart of it. You're the +prettiest, most graceful creature on God's earth, and you're in the +right setting."</p> + +<p>Cicely felt like a helpless rabbit fascinated by a snake. Nothing that +she had ever learned, either by direct precept from the old starling, or +as the result of her own observation of life, had prepared her to cope +with this. Outrageous as were his words and tone, she could only show +that she resented them by implicitly accusing him of making love to her; +and her flurried impulse was to shun that danger spot.</p> + +<p>She laughed nervously. "You use very flowery language; I suppose you +learned it in Tibet," she said, and felt rather pleased with herself.</p> + +<p>"One thing I learned in Tibet," he answered, "if I hadn't learned it +before, was that England is the most beautiful country in the world. I'm +not sure that I wouldn't give up all the excitement and adventure of my +life to settle down in a place like Graham's—or like this."</p> + +<p>Cicely congratulated herself upon having turned the conversation. She +was ready to talk on this subject. "You wouldn't care for it very long," +she said. "It is stagnation. I feel sometimes as if I would give +anything to get out of it."</p> + +<p>He looked down at her with a smile. "And what would you like to do if +you could get out of it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I should like to travel for one thing," she said. "If I were a man I +would. I wouldn't be content to settle down in a comfortable country +house to hunt foxes and shoot pheasants and partridges all my life."</p> + +<p>"Like Graham, eh? Well, perhaps you are right. You're going to marry +Graham, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said shortly.</p> + +<p>"He thinks you are," he said, with a laugh. "He's a good fellow, Graham, +but perhaps he takes too much for granted, eh? But I know you are not +going to marry Graham. I only asked you to see what you would say. You +are going to marry me, my little country flower."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Mackenzie!" She put all the outraged surprise into her voice of +which she was capable, and stopped short in the path.</p> + +<p>He stopped too, and faced her. His face was firmly set. "I have no time +to go gently," he said. "I ask straight out for what I want, and I want +you. Come now, don't play the silly miss. You've got a man to deal with. +I've done things already and I'm going to do more. You will have a +husband you can be proud of."</p> + +<p>He was the type of the conquering male as he stood before her, dark, +lean, strong and bold-eyed. His speech, touched with a rough northern +burr, broke down defences. He would never woo gently, not if he had a +year to do it in. Men of his stamp do not ask their wives in marriage; +they take them.</p> + +<p>Cicely went red and then white, and looked round her helplessly. "You +can't run away," he said, and waited for her to speak.</p> + +<p>His silence was more insolently compelling than any words could have +been. Her eyes were drawn to his in spite of herself, fluttered a +moment, and rested there in fascinated terror. So the women in ages of +violence and passion, once caught, surrendered meekly.</p> + +<p>"You are mine," he said, in a voice neither raised nor lowered. "I said +you should be when I first saw you. I'll take care of you. And I'll take +care of myself for your sake."</p> + +<p>Suddenly she found herself trembling violently. It seemed to be her +limbs that were trembling, not she, and that she could not stop them. He +put his arm around her. "There, there!" he said soothingly. "Poor little +bird! I've frightened you. I had to, you know. But you're all right +now."</p> + +<p>For answer she burst into tears, her hands to her face. He drew them +away gently, mastering her with firm composure. "It was a shock, wasn't +it?" he said in a low, vibrating monotone. "But it had to be done in +that way. Jim Graham doesn't upset you in that way, I'll be bound. But +Jim Graham is a rich, comfortable vegetable; and I'm not exactly that. +You don't want to be either, do you?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said, drying her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You want a mate you can be proud of," he went on, still soothing her. +"Somebody who will do big things, and do them for your sake, eh? That's +what I'm going to do for you, little girl. I'm famous already, so I +find. But I'll be more famous yet, and make you famous too. You'll like +that, won't you?"</p> + +<p>He spoke to her as if she were a little child. His boasting did not +sound like boasting to her. His strength and self-confidence pushed +aside all the puny weapons with which she might have opposed him. She +could not tell him that she did not love him. He had not asked for her +love; he had asked for herself; or rather, he had announced his +intention of taking her. She was dominated, silenced, and he gave her no +chance to say anything, except what he meant her to say.</p> + +<p>He took his arms from her. "We must go back now," he said, "or they will +wonder what has become of us." He laughed suddenly. "They were a little +surprised when I ran away after you."</p> + +<p>It occurred to her that they must have been considerably surprised. The +thought added to her confusion. "Oh, I can't go back to them!" she +cried.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he said soothingly. "You shall slip into the house by a back +way. I shall say I couldn't find you."</p> + +<p>They were walking along the path, side by side. His muscular hands were +pendant; he had attempted no further possession of her, had not tried to +kiss her. Perhaps he knew that a kiss would have fired her to revolt, +and once revolting she would be lost to him. Perhaps he was not guided +by policy at all, but by the instinctive touch of his power over +men—and women.</p> + +<p>Cicely was beginning to recover her nerve, but her thoughts were in a +whirl. She was not angry; her chief desire was to go away by herself and +think. In the meantime she wanted no further food for thought. But that +was a matter not in her hands.</p> + +<p>"I'm going away in a fortnight, you know," he said. "Back to Tibet. I +left some things undone there."</p> + +<p>"You only came home a month ago," she said, clutching eagerly at a topic +not alarmingly personal.</p> + +<p>"I know. But I'm tired of it—the drawing-rooms and the women. I want to +be doing. <i>You</i> know."</p> + +<p>She thought she did know. The rough appeal thrown out in those two words +found a way through her armour, which his insolent mastery had only +dented and bruised. It gave her a better conceit of herself. This was a +big man, and he recognised something of his own quality in her. At any +rate, she would stand up to him. She would not be "a silly miss."</p> + +<p>"Of course, you have surprised me very much," she said, with an effort +at even speech, which probably came to him as hurried prattle. "I can't +say what I suppose you want me to say at once. But if you will give me +time—if you will speak to my father——"</p> + +<p>He broke in on her. "Good heavens!" he said, with a laugh. "You don't +think I've got time for all that sort of thing, do you?—orange flowers +and church bells and all the rest of it. Don't you say a word to your +father, or any one else. Do you hear?"</p> + +<p>His roughness nerved her. "Then what do you want me to do?" she asked +boldly.</p> + +<p>"Do? Why, come to London and marry me, of course. You've got the pluck. +Or if you haven't, you're not what I thought you, and I don't want you +at all. There's no time to settle anything now, and I'm off to-morrow. +If I stay longer, and come over here again with Graham, they will +suspect something. Meet me to-night out here—this very spot, do you +see? I'll get out of the house and be over here at two o'clock. Then +I'll tell you what to do."</p> + +<p>They had come to a little clearing, the entrance to a strip of planted +ground which led to a gate in the walled kitchen garden, and so to the +back regions of the house. She stood still and faced him. "Do you think +I am going to do that?" she asked, her blue eyes looking straight into +his.</p> + +<p>He had aroused her indignant opposition. What would he do now, this +amazing and masterful man?</p> + +<p>He looked down at her with an odd expression in his face. It was +protecting, tender, amused. "Little shy flower!" he said—he seemed to +cling to that not very original metaphor—"I mustn't forget how you have +been brought up, in all this shelter and luxury, must I? It is natural +to you, little girl, and I'll keep you in it as far as I can. But you've +got to remember what I am too. You must come out of your cotton wool +sometimes. Life isn't all softness and luxury."</p> + +<p>Food and raiment! What had she been thinking of all the morning? Her +eyes fell.</p> + +<p>"You can trust me, you know," he said, still speaking softly. "But you +believe in daring, don't you? You must show a little yourself."</p> + +<p>"It isn't at all that I'm afraid," she said weakly.</p> + +<p>"Of course not. I know that," he answered. "It is simply that you don't +do such things here." He waved his hand towards the corner of the big +house, which could be seen through the trees. "But you want to get out +of it, you said."</p> + +<p>Did she want to get out of it? She was tired of the dull ease. She was +of the Clintons, of the women who were kept under; but there were men +Clintons behind her too, men who took the ease when it came to them, but +did not put it in the first place, men of courage, men of daring. It was +the love of adventure in her blood that made her answer, "Perhaps I will +come," and then try to dart past him.</p> + +<p>He put out his arm to stop her. "I'm not going to walk six miles here +and back on the chance," he said roughly. But she was equal to him this +time. "If you don't think it worth while you need not come," she said. +"I won't promise." Then she was gone.</p> + +<p>He walked back slowly to the garden. Jim Graham was lying back in a +basket chair, dressed in smart blue flannel and Russian leather boots, +talking to Joan and Nancy. Through the open window of the library the +top of the Squire's head could be seen over the back of an easy-chair.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie joined the little group under the lime. "Couldn't find her," +he said shortly.</p> + +<p>"She'll turn up at tea-time," said Jim equably.</p> + +<p>The clear eyes of the twins were fixed on Mackenzie. They had run round +to the front of the house on hearing the wheels of Jim's cart on the +gravel. They wanted to see the great man he had brought with him, and +they were not troubled with considerations of shyness. But the great man +had taken no notice of them at all, standing on the gravel of the drive +staring at him.</p> + +<p>He had jumped down from the cart and made off, directly, round the +corner of the house.</p> + +<p>"Where is he going?" asked the twins.</p> + +<p>"He wants to show Cicely some drawings," said Jim. "He saw her in the +shrubbery. Want a drive round to the stables, twankies?"</p> + +<p>Now the twins devoured Mackenzie with all their eyes. "I am Joan +Clinton, and this is my sister Nancy," said Joan. "Nobody ever +introduces us to anybody that comes here, so we always introduce +ourselves. How do you do?"</p> + +<p>Mackenzie seemed to wake up. He shook hands with both twins. "How do you +do, young ladies," he said with a smile. "You seem very much alike."</p> + +<p>"Not in character," said Nancy. "Miss Bird says that Joan would be a +very well-behaved girl if it were not for me."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you are both well behaved," said Mackenzie. "You look as if +you never gave any trouble to anybody."</p> + +<p>"What we look and what we are are two very different things," said Joan. +"Aren't they, Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Good Lord, I should think they were," said Jim. He had been bustled off +immediately after luncheon, and was lying back in his chair in an +attitude inviting repose. He had rather hoped that Mackenzie, whose +quick energy of mind and body were rather beyond his power to cope with, +would have been off his hands for half an hour when he had announced his +intention of going in search of Cicely. He would have liked to go in +search of Cicely himself, but that was one of the things that he did no +longer. He had nothing to do now but wait with what patience he could +until his time came. He had a sort of undefined hope that Mackenzie +might say something that would advance him with Cicely, praise him to +her, cause her to look upon him with a little refreshment of her favour. +But he had not welcomed the questions with which the twins had plied him +concerning his guest.</p> + +<p>"Jim wants to go to sleep," said Nancy. "Would you like to come up into +the schoolroom, Mr. Mackenzie? We have a globe of the world."</p> + +<p>"We can find Cicely if you want to see her," added Joan.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie laughed his rough laugh. "We won't bother Miss Clinton," he +said. "But I should like to see the globe of the world."</p> + +<p>So the twins led him off proudly, chattering. Jim heard Joan say, "We +have had a bishop in our schoolroom, but we would much rather have an +explorer," but by the time they had crossed the lawn he was sleeping +peacefully.</p> + +<p>If he had known it, it was hardly the time for him to sleep.</p> + +<p>"If you're ill, go to bed; if not, behave as usual," was a Clinton maxim +which accounted for Cicely's appearance at the tea-table an hour later, +when she would much rather have remained in her own room. The effort, no +small one, of walking across the lawn in full view of the company +assembled round the tea-table, as if nothing had happened to her within +the last hour, braced her nerves. She was a shade paler than ordinary, +but otherwise there was nothing in her appearance to arouse comment. +Mackenzie sprang up from his chair as she approached and went forward to +meet her. "I tried to find you directly I came, Miss Clinton," he said +in his loud voice, which no course of civilisation would avail to +subdue. "I've brought those sketches I told you about last night."</p> + +<p>Cicely breathed relief. She had not been told the pretext upon which he +had started off in pursuit of her immediately upon his arrival, and had +had terrifying visions of a reception marked by anxious and inquiring +looks. But Jim greeted her with his painfully acquired air of accepted +habit, and immediately, she was sitting between him and Mackenzie, +looking at the bundle of rough pencil drawings put into her hands, +outlines of rugged peaks, desolate plains, primitive hillside villages, +done with abundant determination but little skill. She listened to +Mackenzie's explanations without speaking, and was relieved to hand over +the packet to the Squire, who put on his glasses to examine them, and +drew the conversation away from her.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie spoke but little to her after that. He dominated the +conversation, much more so than on the previous evening, when there had +been some little difficulty in extracting any account of his exploits +from him. Now he was willing to talk of them, and he talked well, not +exactly with modesty, but with no trace of boastful quality, such as +would certainly have aroused the prejudices of his listeners against +him.</p> + +<p>He talked like a man with whom the subject under discussion was the one +subject in the world that interested him. One would have said that he +had nothing else in his mind but the lust for strange places to conquer. +He appeared to be obsessed by his life of travel, to be able to think of +nothing else, even during this short interval in his years of adventure, +and in this stay-at-home English company whose thoughts were mostly +bound up in the few acres around them.</p> + +<p>Cicely stole glances at him. Was he acting a carefully thought out plan, +or had he really forgotten her very existence for the moment, while his +thoughts winged their way to cruel, dark places, whose secrets he would +wrest from them, the only places in which his bold, eager spirit could +find its home? He radiated power. She was drawn to him, more than half +against her will. He had called to her to share his life and his +enterprise. Should she answer the call? It was in her mind that she +might do so.</p> + +<p>He made no attempt to claim her after tea; but when the church bells +began to ring from across the park, and she had to go to play for the +evening service, he joined the little party of women—the Clinton men +went to church once on Sundays, but liked their women to go twice—and +sat opposite to her in the chancel pew, sometimes fixing her with a +penetrating look, sometimes with his head lowered on his broad chest, +thinking inscrutable thoughts, while the dusk crept from raftered roof +to stone floor, and the cheap oil lamps and the glass-protected candles +in the pulpit and reading-desk plucked up yellow courage to keep off the +darkness.</p> + +<p>The congregation sang a tuneful, rather sentimental evening hymn in the +twilight. They sang fervently, especially the maids and men in the +chancel pews. Their minds were stirred to soothing and vaguely aspiring +thoughts. Such hymns as this at the close of an evening service were the +pleasantest part of the day's occupations.</p> + +<p>The villagers went home to their cottages, talking a little more +effusively than usual. The next morning their work would begin again. +The party from the great house hurried home across the park. The sermon +had been a little longer than usual. They would barely have time to +dress for dinner.</p> + +<p>Jim Graham's dog-cart came round at half-past ten. The Squire, who had +been agreeably aroused from his contented but rather monotonous +existence by his unusual guest, pressed them to send it back to the +stable for an hour. "The women are going to bed," he said—they were +always expected to go upstairs punctually at half-past ten—"we'll go +into my room."</p> + +<p>But Mackenzie refused without giving Jim the opportunity. "I have a lot +of work to do to-night," he said. "Don't suppose I shall be in bed much +before four; and I must leave early to-morrow."</p> + +<p>So farewells were said in the big square hall. Mrs. Clinton and Cicely +were at a side-table upon which were rows of silver bedroom +candlesticks, Mrs. Clinton in a black evening dress, her white, plump +neck and arms bare, Cicely, slim and graceful, in white. The men stood +between them and the table in the middle of the hall, from which Dick +was dispensing whisky and soda water; the Squire, big and florid, with a +great expanse of white shirt front, Jim and Mackenzie in light overcoats +with caps in their hands. Servants carried bags across from behind the +staircase to the open door, outside of which Jim's horse was scraping +the gravel, the bright lamps of the cart shining on his smooth flanks.</p> + +<p>The Squire and Dick stood on the stone steps as the cart drove off, and +then came back into the hall. Mrs. Clinton and Cicely, their candles +lighted, were at the foot of the staircase.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's an interesting fellow," said the Squire as the butler shut +and bolted the hall door behind him. "We'll get him down to shoot if +he's in England next month."</p> + +<p>"And see what he can do," added Dick.</p> + +<p>Cicely went upstairs after her mother. The Squire and Dick went into the +library, where a servant relieved them of their evening coats and handed +them smoking-jackets, and the Squire a pair of worked velvet slippers.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE PLUNGE</h3> + + +<p>When Cicely had allowed the maid who was waiting for her to unfasten her +bodice, she sent her away and locked the door after her. During the +evening she had sketched in her mind a portrait of herself sitting by +the open window and thinking things over calmly. It seemed to be the +thing to do in the circumstances.</p> + +<p>But she could not think calmly. She could not even command herself +sufficiently to go on with her undressing. The evening had been one long +strain on her nerves, and now she could only throw herself on her bed +and burst into tears. She had an impulse to go in to her mother and tell +her everything, and perhaps only the fact that for the moment her +physical strength would not allow her to move held her back.</p> + +<p>After a time she became quieter, but did not regain the mastery of her +brain. She seemed to be swayed by feeling entirely. The picture of her +mother, calm and self-contained, kneeling at her long nightly devotions, +faded, and in its place arose the image of the man who had suddenly +shouldered his way into her life and with rude hands torn away the +trappings of convention that had swathed it.</p> + +<p>He attracted her strongly. He stood for a broad freedom, and her revolt +against the dependence in which she lived was pointed by his contempt +for the dull, easy, effortless life of the big country house. Her mind +swayed towards him as she thought of what he had to offer her in +exchange—adventure in unknown lands; glory, perhaps not wholly +reflected, for there had been women explorers before, and her strong, +healthy youth made her the physical equal of any of them; comradeship in +place of subjection. She weighed none of these things consciously; she +simply desired them.</p> + +<p>There came to her the echo of her brother's speech as she had come up +the stairs: "And let us see what he can do." He stood before her in his +rugged strength, not very well dressed, his greying head held upright, +his nostrils slightly dilated, his keen eyes looking out on the world +without a trace of self-consciousness; and beside him stood Dick in his +smart clothes and his smoothed down hair, coolly ignoring all the big +things the man had done, and proposing to hold over his opinion of him +till he saw whether he could snap off a gun quickly enough to bring down +a high pheasant or a driven partridge. If he could pass that test he +would be accepted without further question as "a good fellow." His other +achievements, or perhaps more accurately the kind of renown they had +brought him, would be set against his lack of the ordinary gentleman's +upbringing. If he could not, he would still be something of an outsider +though all the world should acclaim him. Dick's careless speech—she +called it stupid—affected her strangely. It lifted her suitor out of +the ruck, and made him bulk bigger.</p> + +<p>She got up from her bed and took her seat by the open window, according +to precedent. She had seen herself, during the evening, sitting there +looking out on to the moonlit garden, asking herself quietly, "What am I +going to do?" weighing the pros and cons, stiffening her mind, and her +courage. And she tried now to come to a decision, but could not come +anywhere near to laying the foundation of one. She had not the least +idea what she was going to do, nor could she even discover what she +wanted to do.</p> + +<p>She got up and walked about the room, but that did not help her. She +knelt down and said her prayers out of a little well-worn book of +devotions, and made them long ones. But it was nothing more than +repeating words and phrases whose meaning slipped away from her. She +prayed in her own words for guidance, but none came. There existed only +the tumult of feeling.</p> + +<p>She heard her father and brother come up to bed and held her breath in +momentary terror, then breathed relief at the thought that if they +should, unaccountably, break into her room, which they were not in the +least likely to do, they could not know what was happening to her, or +make her tell them. They went along the corridor talking loudly. She had +often been disturbed from her first sleep by the noise the men made +coming up to bed. She heard a sentence from her father as they passed +her door. "They would have to turn out anyhow if anything happened to +me."</p> + +<p>Dick's answer was inaudible, but she knew quite well what they were +discussing. It had been discussed before her mother and herself, and +even the twins and Miss Bird, though not before the servants, during the +last few days. Lord and Lady Alistair MacLeod, she a newly wed American, +had motored through Kencote, lunched at the inn and fallen in love with +the dower-house. Lady Alistair—<i>he</i> would have nothing to do with +it—had made an offer through the Squire's agent for a lease of the +house, at a rental about four times its market value. The Squire did not +want the money, but business was business. And the MacLeods would be +"nice people to have about the place." All that stood in the way was +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura. They could not be turned out unless they were +willing to go, but the Squire knew very well that they <i>would</i> go if he +told them to. There was a nice little house in the village which would +be the very thing for them if he decided to accept the tempting offer. +He would do it up for them. After all, the dower-house was much too +large and there were only two of them left. So it had been discussed +whether Aunt Ellen, at the age of ninety-three, and Aunt Laura, at the +age of seventy-five, should be notified that the house in which they had +spent the last forty years of their lives, and in which their four +sisters had died, was wanted for strangers.</p> + +<p>That was not the only thing that had been discussed. The question of +what would be done in various departments of family and estate business +when the Squire should have passed away—his prospective demise being +always referred to by the phrase, "if anything should happen to me"—was +never shirked in the least; and Dick, who would reign as Squire in his +stead, until the far off day when something should happen to <i>him</i>, took +his part in the discussion as a matter of course. These things were and +would be; there was no sense in shutting one's eyes to them. And one of +the things that would take place upon that happening was that Mrs. +Clinton, and Cicely, if she were not married, and the twins, would no +longer have their home at Kencote, unless Dick should be unmarried and +should invite them to go on living in his house. He would have no legal +right to turn Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura out of the dower-house, if they +still remained alive, but it had been settled ever since the last death +amongst the sisters that they would make way. It would only be +reasonable, and was taken for granted.</p> + +<p>And now, as it seemed, her father and brother had made up their minds to +exercise pressure—so little would be needed—to turn out the poor old +ladies, not for the sake of those who might have a claim on their +consideration, but for strangers who would pay handsomely and would be +nice people to have about the place. Cicely burned with anger as she +thought of it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Two o'clock struck from the clock in the stable turret. Cicely opened +her door softly, crept along the corridor and through a baize door +leading to a staircase away from the bedrooms of the house. At the foot +of it was a door opening into the garden, which she was prepared to +unlock and unbolt with infinite care to avoid noise. But the +carelessness of a servant had destroyed the need of such caution. The +door was unguarded, and with an unpleasant little shock she opened it +and went out.</p> + +<p>The night was warm, and the lawns and trees and shrubs of the garden lay +in bright moonlight. She hurried, wrapped in a dark cloak, to the place +from which she had fled from Mackenzie in the afternoon. She felt an +impulse of shrinking as she saw his tall figure striding up and down on +the grass, but she put it away from her and went forward to meet him.</p> + +<p>He gave a low cry as he turned and saw her. "My brave little girl!" he +said, and laid his hands on her shoulders for a moment, and looked into +her face. He attempted no further love-making; his tact seemed equal to +his daring. "We have come here to talk," he said. "When we have made our +arrangements you shall go straight back. I wouldn't have asked you to +come out here like this if there had been any other way."</p> + +<p>She felt grateful. Her self-respect was safe with him. He understood +her.</p> + +<p>"Will you come with me?" he asked, and she answered, "Yes."</p> + +<p>A light sprang into his eyes. "My brave little queen of girls!" he said, +but held himself back from her.</p> + +<p>"What time can you get out of the house without being missed for an hour +or two?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She stood up straight and made a slight gesture as if brushing something +away, and thenceforward answered him in as matter-of-fact a way as he +questioned her.</p> + +<p>"In the afternoon, after lunch," she said.</p> + +<p>"Very well. There is a train from Bathgate at four o'clock. Can you walk +as far as that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>"You can't go from here, and you can't drive. So you must walk. Is there +any chance of your being recognised at Bathgate?"</p> + +<p>"I am very likely to be recognised."</p> + +<p>He thought for a moment. "Well, it can't be helped," he said. "If there +is any one in the train you know you must say you are going up to see +Mrs. Walter Clinton. Graham has told me all about her and your brother."</p> + +<p>"I shan't be able to take any luggage with me," she said.</p> + +<p>"No. That is a little awkward. We must trust to chance. Luck sides with +boldness. You can buy what you want in London. I have plenty of money, +and nothing will please me better than to spend it on you, little girl." +His tone and his eyes became tender for a moment. "I shall be on the +platform in London to meet you," he said. "I shall be surprised to see +you there until you tell me there is nobody to fear. I hate all this +scheming, but it can't be helped. We must get a start, and in two days +we shall be married. Don't leave any word. You can write from London to +say you are going to marry me. I'll do the rest when we are man and +wife."</p> + +<p>Cicely's eyes dropped as she asked, "Where shall I be till—till——"</p> + +<p>"Till we're married? My little girl! It won't be very long. There is a +good woman I know. I'll take you there and she will look after you. I +shall be near. Leave it all to me and don't worry. Have you got money +for your journey?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have enough."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now go back, and think of me blessing the ground you walk +on. You're so sweet, and you're so brave. You're the wife for me. Will +you give me one kiss?"</p> + +<p>She turned her head quickly. "No," he said at once. "I won't ask for it; +not till you are mine altogether."</p> + +<p>But she put up her face to him in the moonlight. "I'm yours now," she +said. "I have given myself to you," and he kissed her, restraining his +roughness, turning away immediately without another word to stride down +the grass path into the darkness of the trees.</p> + +<p>Cicely looked after him for an instant and then went back to the house +and crept up to her room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>BLOOMSBURY</h3> + + +<p>Mackenzie met her at the London terminus. She had seen no one she knew +either at the station at Bathgate or in the train. She was well dressed, +in a tailor-made coat and skirt and a pretty hat. She got out of a +first-class carriage and looked like a young woman of some social +importance, travelling alone for once in a way, but not likely to be +allowed to go about London alone when she reached the end of her +journey. She was quite composed as she saw Mackenzie's tall figure +coming towards her, and shook hands with him as if he were a mere +acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"I have seen nobody I know," she said, and then immediately added, "I +must send a telegram to my mother. I can't leave her in anxiety for a +whole night."</p> + +<p>He frowned, but not at her. "You can't do that," he said, "you don't +want the post-office people to know."</p> + +<p>"I have thought of that. I will say 'Have come up to see Muriel. Writing +to-night.' It isn't true, but I will tell them afterwards why I did it."</p> + +<p>"Will that satisfy them?"</p> + +<p>"I am deceiving them anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean that. Will they think it all right—your coming up to +your sister-in-law?"</p> + +<p>"No, they will be very much surprised. But the post-office people will +not gather anything."</p> + +<p>"They will wire at once to your brother. You had much better leave it +till to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"No, I can't do that," she said. "I will wire just before eight o'clock. +Then a return wire will not go through before the morning."</p> + +<p>"Yours might not get through to-night."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, it will. They would take it up to the house whatever time it +came."</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said. "Now come along," and he hailed a hansom.</p> + +<p>"Please don't think me tiresome," she said, when they were in the cab, +"but there is another thing I must do. I must write to my mother so that +she gets my letter the very first thing to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>He gave an exclamation of impatience. "You can't do that," he said +again. "The country mails have already gone."</p> + +<p>"I can send a letter by train to Bathgate. I will send it to the hotel +there with a message that it is to be taken over to Kencote the first +thing in the morning."</p> + +<p>"You are very resourceful. It may give them time to get on to our track, +before we are married."</p> + +<p>"I have promised to marry you," she said simply. It was she who now +seemed bold, and not he.</p> + +<p>"I don't see how they could get here in time," he said grudgingly. +"Graham only knows the address of my club, and they don't know there +where I live." He brightened up again. "Very well, my queen," he said, +smiling down at her. "You shall do what you like. Write your letter—let +it be a short one—when you get in, and we will send that and the wire +when we go out to dinner."</p> + +<p>They drove to a dingy-looking house in one of the smaller squares of +Bloomsbury. During the short journey he became almost boisterous. All +the misgivings that had assailed her since they had last parted, the +alternate fits of courage and of frightened shrinking, had passed him +by. This was quite plain, and she was right in attributing his mood +partly to his joy in having won her, partly to his love of adventure. It +was an added pleasure to him to surmount obstacles in winning her. If +his wooing had run the ordinary course, the reason for half his +jubilation would have disappeared. She felt his strength, and, +woman-like, relinquished her own doubts and swayed to his mood.</p> + +<p>"You have begun your life of adventure, little girl," he said, +imprisoning her slender hand in his great muscular one, and looking down +at her with pride in his eyes. She had an impulse of exhilaration, and +smiled back at him.</p> + +<p>The rooms to which he took her, escorted by a middle-aged Scotswoman +with a grim face and a silent tongue, were on the first floor—a big +sitting-room, clean, but, to her eyes, inexpressibly dingy and +ill-furnished, and a bedroom behind folding doors.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Fletcher will give you your breakfast here," he said, "but we will +lunch and dine out. We will go out now and shop when you are ready."</p> + +<p>She went into the bedroom and stood by the window. Fright had seized her +again. What was she doing here? The woman who had come from her dark, +downstairs dwelling-place to lead the way to these dreadful rooms, had +given her one glance but spoken no word. What must she think of her? She +could hear her replying in low monosyllables to Mackenzie's loud +instructions, through the folding doors.</p> + +<p>Again the assurance and strength and determination which he exhaled came +to her aid. She had taken the great step, and must not shrink from the +consequences. He would look after her. She washed her hands and face—no +hot water had been brought to her—and went back to the sitting-room. "I +am hoping you will be comfortable here, miss," the woman said to her. +"You must ask for anything you want."</p> + +<p>She did not smile, but her tone was respectful, and she looked at Cicely +with eyes not unfriendly. And, after all, the rooms were clean—for +London.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie took her to a big shop in Holborn and stayed outside while she +made her purchases. She had not dared to bring with her even a small +hand-bag, and she had to buy paper on which to write her letter to her +mother.</p> + +<p>"I lived in Mrs. Fletcher's rooms before I went to Tibet," Mackenzie +said as they went back to the house. "I tried to get them when I came +back—but no such luck. Fortunately they fell vacant on Saturday. We'll +keep them on for a bit after we're married. Must make ourselves +comfortable, you know."</p> + +<p>She stole a glance at him. His face was beaming. She had thought he had +taken her to that dingy, unknown quarter as a temporary precaution. +Would he really expect her to make her home in such a place?</p> + +<p>She wrote her letter to her mother at the table in the sitting-room. +Mrs. Fletcher had brought up a penny bottle of ink and a pen with a J +nib suffering from age. Mackenzie walked about the room as she wrote, +and it was difficult for her to collect her thoughts. She gave him the +note to read, with a pretty gesture of confidence. It was very short.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My own darling Mother</span>,—I have not come to London to see Muriel, +but to marry Ronald Mackenzie. I said what I did in my telegram +because of the post-office. I am very happy, and will write you a +long letter directly we are married.—Always your very loving +daughter,</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Cicely</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>"Brave girl!" he said as he returned it to her.</p> + +<p>She gave a little sob. "I wish I had not had to go away from her like +that," she said.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry, little girl," he said kindly. "It was the only way."</p> + +<p>She dried her eyes and sealed up the note. She had wondered more than +once since he had carried her off her feet why it was the only way.</p> + +<p>They carried through the business of the letter and the telegram and +drove to a little French restaurant in Soho to dine. The upstairs room +was full of men and a few women, some French, more English. Everybody +stared at her as she entered, and she blushed hotly. And some of them +recognised Mackenzie and whispered his name. The men were mostly +journalists, of the more literary sort, one or two of them men of note, +if she had known it. But to her they looked no better than the class she +would have labelled vaguely as "people in shops." They were as different +as possible from her brothers and her brothers' friends, sleek, +well-dressed men with appropriate clothes for every occasion, and a +uniform for the serious observance of dinner which she had never +imagined a man without, except on an unavoidable emergency. She had +never once in her life dined in the same frock as she had worn during +the day and hardly ever in the company of men in morning clothes.</p> + +<p>This cheap restaurant, where the food and cooking were good but the +appointments meagre, struck her as strangely as if she had been made to +eat in a kitchen. That it did not strike Mackenzie in that way was plain +from his satisfaction at having introduced her to it. "Just as good food +here as at the Carlton or the Savoy," he said inaccurately, "at about a +quarter of the price; and no fuss in dressing-up!"</p> + +<p>She enjoyed it rather, after a time. There was a sense of adventure in +dining in such a place, even in dining where nobody had thought of +dressing, although dressing for dinner was not one of the conventions +she had wished to run away from; it was merely a habit of cleanliness +and comfort. Mackenzie talked to her incessantly in a low voice—they +were sitting at a little table in a corner, rather apart from the rest. +He talked of his travels, and fascinated her; and every now and then, +when he seemed furthest away, his face would suddenly soften and he +would put in a word of encouragement or gratitude to her. She felt proud +of having the power to make such a man happy. They were comrades, and +she wanted to share his life. At present it seemed to be enough for him +to talk to her. He had not as yet made any demand on her for a return of +confidence. In fact, she had scarcely spoken a word to him, except in +answer to speech of his. He had won her and seemed now to take her +presence for granted. He had not even told her what arrangements he had +made for their marriage, or where it was to be; nor had he alluded in +any way to the course of their future life or travels, except in the +matter of Mrs. Fletcher's room in Bloomsbury.</p> + +<p>"When are we going to Tibet again?" She asked him the question point +blank, as they were drinking their coffee, and Mackenzie was smoking a +big briar pipe filled with strong tobacco.</p> + +<p>He stared at her in a moment's silence. Then he laughed. "Tibet!" he +echoed. "Oh, I think now I shan't be going to Tibet for some months. But +I shall be taking you abroad somewhere before then. However, there will +be plenty of time to talk of all that." Then he changed the subject.</p> + +<p>He drove her back to her rooms and went upstairs with her. It was about +half-past nine o'clock. "I have to go and meet a man at the Athenæum at +ten," he said. "Hang it! But I will stay with you for a quarter of an +hour, and I dare say you won't be sorry to turn in early."</p> + +<p>He sat himself down in a shabby armchair on one side of the fireless +grate. He was still smoking his big pipe. Cicely stood by the table.</p> + +<p>He looked up at her. "Take off your hat," he said, "I want to see your +beautiful hair. It was the first thing I noticed about you."</p> + +<p>She obeyed, with a blush. He smiled his approval. "Those soft waves," he +said, "and the gold in it! You are a beautiful girl, my dear. I can tell +you I shall be very proud of you. I shall want to show you about +everywhere."</p> + +<p>He hitched his chair towards her and took hold of her hand. "Do you +think you are going to love me a little bit?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She blushed again, and looked down. Then she lifted her eyes to his. "I +don't think you know quite what you have made me do," she said.</p> + +<p>He dropped her hand. "Do you regret it?" he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>She did not answer his question, but her eyes still held his. "I have +never been away from home in my life," she said, "without my father or +mother. Now I have left them without a word, to come to you. You seem to +take that quite as a matter of course."</p> + +<p>The tears came into her eyes, although she looked at him steadily. He +sprang up from his chair and put his hand on her shoulder. "My poor +little girl!" he said, "you feel it. Of course you feel it. You've +behaved like a heroine, but you've had to screw up your courage. I don't +want you to think of all that. That is why I haven't said anything about +it. You mustn't break down."</p> + +<p>But she had broken down, and she wept freely, while he put his arm round +her and comforted her as he might have comforted a child. Presently her +sobbing ceased. "You are very kind to me," she said. "But you won't keep +me away from my own people, will you—after—after——"</p> + +<p>"After we are married? God bless me, no. And they won't be angry with +you—at least, not for long. Don't fear that. Leave it all to me. We +shall be married to-morrow. I've arranged everything."</p> + +<p>"You have not told me a word about that," she said forlornly.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to tell you a word until to-morrow came," he said. "You +are not to brood."</p> + +<p>"You mean to rush me into everything," she said. "If I am to be the +companion to you that I want to be, you ought to take me into your +confidence."</p> + +<p>"Why, there!" he said, "I believe I ought. You're brave. You're not like +other girls. You can imagine that I have had a busy day. I have a +special license, signed by no less a person than the Archbishop of +Canterbury. Think of that! And we are going to be married in a church. I +knew you would like that; and I like it better too. You see I have been +thinking of you all the time. Now you mustn't worry any more." He patted +her hand. "Go to bed and get a good sleep. I'll come round at ten +o'clock to-morrow morning, and we're to be married at eleven. Then a new +life begins, and by the Lord I'll make it a happy one for you. Come, +give me a smile before I go."</p> + +<p>She had no difficulty in doing that now. He took her chin in his +fingers, turned her face up to his and looked into her eyes earnestly. +Then he left her.</p> + +<p>She had finished her breakfast, which had been cleared away, when he +came in to her the next morning. She was sitting in a chair by the empty +grate with her hands in her lap, and she looked pale.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie had on a frock coat, and laid a new silk hat and a new pair of +gloves on the table as he greeted her with unsentimental cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>"Will you sit down?" she said, regarding him with serious eyes. "I want +to ask you some questions."</p> + +<p>He threw a shrewd glance at her. "Ask away," he said in the same loud, +cheerful tone, and took his seat opposite to her, carefully disposing of +the skirts of his coat, which looked too big even for his big frame.</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking a great deal," she said. "I want to know exactly +what my life is to be if I marry you."</p> + +<p>"<i>If</i> you marry me!" he took up her words. "You <i>are</i> going to marry +me."</p> + +<p>"You said something last night," she went on, "which I didn't quite +understand at the time; and I am not sure that you meant me to. Are you +going to take me with you to Tibet, and on your other journeys, or do +you want to leave me behind—here?" There was a hint of the distaste she +felt for her surroundings in the slight gesture that accompanied the +last word. But she looked at him out of clear, blue, uncompromising +eyes.</p> + +<p>He did not return her look. "Here?" he echoed, looking round him with +some wonder. "What is the matter with this?"</p> + +<p>"Then you do mean to leave me here."</p> + +<p>"Look here, my dear," he said, looking at her now. "I am not going to +take you to Tibet, or on any of my big journeys. I never had the +slightest intention of doing so, and never meant you to think I had. A +pretty thing if I were to risk the life of the one most precious to me, +as well as my own, in such journeys as I take!"</p> + +<p>"Then what about me?" asked Cicely. "What am I to do while you are away, +risking your own life, as you say, and away perhaps for two or three +years together?"</p> + +<p>"Would you be very anxious for me?" he asked her, with a tender look, +but she brushed the question aside impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I am to live alone, while you go away," she said, "live just as dull a +life as I did before, only away from my own people, and without anything +that made my life pleasant in spite of its dulness. Is that what you are +offering me?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," he said, trying to soothe her. "I want you to live in the +sweetest little country place. We'll find one together. You needn't stay +here a minute longer than you want to, though when we are in London +together it will be convenient. I want to think of you amongst your +roses, and to come back to you and forget all the loneliness and +hardships. I want a home, and you in it, the sweetest wife ever a man +had."</p> + +<p>"I don't want that," she said at once. "You are offering me nothing that +I didn't have before, and I left it all to come to you—to share the +hardships and—and—I would take away the loneliness."</p> + +<p>"You are making too much of my big journeys," he broke in on her +eagerly. "That is the trouble. Now listen to me. I shall be starting for +Tibet in March, and——"</p> + +<p>"Did you know that when you told me you were going in a fortnight?" she +interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Let me finish," he said, holding up his hand. "It is settled now that I +am going to Tibet in March, and I shan't be away for more than a year. +Until then we will travel together. I want to go to Switzerland almost +directly to test some instruments. You will come with me, and you can +learn to climb. I don't mind that sort of hardship for you. At the end +of October we will go to America. I hadn't meant to go, but I want money +now—for you—and I can get it there. That's business; and for pleasure +we will go anywhere you like—Spain, Algiers, Russia—Riviera, if you +like, though I don't care for that sort of thing. When I go to Tibet +I'll leave you as mistress of a little house that you may be proud of, +and you'll wait for me there. When I get back we'll go about together +again, and as far as I can see I shan't have another big job to tackle +for some time after that—a year, perhaps two years, perhaps more."</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment, thinking. "Come now," he said, "that's not +stagnation. Is it?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said unwillingly. "But it isn't what I came to you for." She +raised her eyes to his. "You know it isn't what I came to you for."</p> + +<p>His face grew a little red. "You came to me," he said in a slower, +deeper voice, looking her straight in the eyes, "because I wanted you. I +want you now and I mean to have you. I want you as a wife. I will keep +absolutely true to you. You will be the only woman in the world to me. +But my work is my work. You will have no more say in that than I think +good for you. You will come with me wherever I think well to take you, +and I shall be glad enough to have you. Otherwise you will stay behind +and look after my home—and, I hope, my children."</p> + +<p>Her face was a deep scarlet. She knew now what this marriage meant to +him. What it had meant to her, rushing into it so blindly, seemed a +foolish, far off thing. Her strongest feeling was a passionate desire +for her mother's presence. She was helpless, alone with this man, from +whom she felt a revulsion that almost overpowered her.</p> + +<p>He sat for a full minute staring at her downcast face, his mouth firmly +set, a slight frown on his brows.</p> + +<p>"Come now," he said more roughly. "You don't really know what you want. +But I know. Trust me, and before God, I will make you happy."</p> + +<p>She hid her face in her hands. "Oh, I want to go home," she cried.</p> + +<p>He shifted in his chair. The lines of his face did not relax. He must +set himself to master this mood. He knew he had the power, and he must +exercise it once for all. The mood must not recur again, or if it did it +must not be shown to him.</p> + +<p>And there is no doubt at all that he would have mastered it. But as he +opened his mouth to speak, Cicely sitting there in front of him, crying, +with a white face and strained eyes, there were voices on the stairs, +the door opened, and Dick and Jim Graham came into the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE PURSUIT</h3> + + +<p>Cicely had not been missed from home until the evening. At tea-time she +was supposed to be at the dower-house, or else at the Rectory. It was +only when she had not returned at a quarter to eight, that the maid who +waited upon her and her mother told Mrs. Clinton that she was not in her +room.</p> + +<p>"Where on earth can she be?" exclaimed Mrs. Clinton. Punctuality at +meals being so rigidly observed it was unprecedented that Cicely should +not have begun to dress at a quarter to eight. At ten minutes to eight +Mrs. Clinton was convinced that some accident had befallen her. At five +minutes to, she tapped at the door of the Squire's dressing-room. +"Edward," she called, "Cicely has not come home yet."</p> + +<p>"Come in! Come in!" called the Squire. He was in his shirt sleeves, +paring his nails.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid something has happened to her," said Mrs. Clinton +anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Now, Nina, don't fuss," said the Squire. "What can possibly have +happened to her? She must be at the dower-house, though, of course, she +ought to be home by this time. Nobody in this house is ever punctual but +myself. I am always speaking about it. You <i>must</i> see that the children +are in time for meals. If nobody is punctual the whole house goes to +pieces."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton went downstairs into the morning-room, where they were wont +to assemble for dinner. Dick was there already, reading a paper. "Cicely +has not come home yet," she said to him.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, she'll catch it," said Dick, and went on reading his paper.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton went to the window and drew the curtain aside. It was not +yet quite dark and she could see across the park the footpath by which +Cicely would come from the dower-house. But there was no one there. Mrs. +Clinton's heart sank. She knew that something <i>had</i> happened. Cicely +would never have stayed out as late as this if she could have helped it. +She came back into the room and rang the bell. "I must send down," she +said.</p> + +<p>Dick put his paper aside and looked up at her. "It <i>is</i> rather odd," he +said.</p> + +<p>The butler came into the room, and the Squire immediately behind him. +"Edward, I want some one to go down to the dower-house and see if Cicely +has been there," Mrs. Clinton said. "I am anxious about her."</p> + +<p>The Squire looked at her for a moment. "Send a man down to the +dower-house to ask if Miss Clinton has been there this afternoon," he +said, "and if she hasn't, tell him to go to the Rectory."</p> + +<p>The butler left the room, but returned immediately with Cicely's +telegram. It was one minute to eight o'clock. He hung on his heel after +handing the salver to Mrs. Clinton and then left the room to carry out +his previous instructions. It was not his place to draw conclusions, but +to do as he was told.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton read the telegram and handed it to the Squire, searching +his face as he read it. "What, the devil!" exclaimed the Squire, and +handed it to Dick.</p> + +<p>The big clock in the hall began to strike. Porter threw open the door +again. "Dinner is served, ma'am," he said.</p> + +<p>"You needn't send down to the dower-house," Dick said, raising his eyes +from the paper. "Miss Clinton has gone up to stay with Mrs. Walter." +Then he offered his arm to his mother to lead her out of the room.</p> + +<p>"Shut the door," shouted the Squire, and the door was shut. "What on +earth does it mean?" he asked, in angry amazement.</p> + +<p>"Better have gone in to dinner," said Dick. "I don't know."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton was white, and said nothing. The Squire turned to her. +"What does it mean, Nina?" he asked again. "Did you know anything about +this?"</p> + +<p>"Of course mother didn't know," said Dick. "There's something queer. +It's too late to send a wire. I'll go up by the eleven o'clock train and +find out all about it. Better go in now." He laid the telegram +carelessly on a table.</p> + +<p>"Don't leave it about," said the Squire.</p> + +<p>"Better leave it there," said Dick, and offered his arm to his mother +again.</p> + +<p>They went into the dining-room, only a minute late.</p> + +<p>"Tell Higgs to pack me a bag for two nights," said Dick when the Squire +had mumbled a grace, "and order my cart for ten o'clock. I'm going up to +London. I shan't want anybody."</p> + +<p>Then, as long as the servants were in the room they talked as usual. At +least Dick did, with frequent mention of Walter and Muriel and some of +Cicely. The Squire responded to him as well as he was able, and Mrs. +Clinton said nothing at all. But that was nothing unusual.</p> + +<p>When they were alone at last, the Squire burst out, but in a low voice, +"What on earth does it mean? Tell me what it means, Dick."</p> + +<p>"She hasn't had a row with any one, has she, mother?" asked Dick, +cracking a walnut.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton moistened her lips. "With whom?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I know it's very unlikely. I suppose she's got some maggot in her head. +Misunderstood, or something. You never know what girls are going to do +next. She <i>has</i> been rather mopy lately. I've noticed it."</p> + +<p>"She has not seen Muriel since she was married," said Mrs. Clinton. "She +has missed her."</p> + +<p>"Pah!" spluttered the Squire. "How dare she go off like that without a +word? What on earth can you have been thinking of to let her, Nina? And +what was Miles doing? Miles must have packed her boxes. And who drove +her to the station? When did she go? Here we are, sitting calmly here +and nobody thinks of asking any of these questions."</p> + +<p>"It was Miles who told me she had not come back," said Mrs. Clinton. +"She was as surprised as I was."</p> + +<p>"Ring the bell, Dick," said the Squire.</p> + +<p>"I think you had better go up, mother, and see what she took with her," +said Dick. "Don't say anything to anybody but Miles, and tell her to +keep quiet."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton went out of the room. Dick closed the door which he had +opened for her, came back to the table, and lit a cigarette. "There's +something queer, father," he said, "but we had better make it seem as +natural as possible. I shouldn't worry if I were you. I'll find out all +about it and bring her back."</p> + +<p>"Worry!" snorted the Squire. "It's Cicely who is going to worry. If she +thinks she is going to behave like that in this house she is very much +mistaken."</p> + +<p>Dick drove into Bathgate at twenty minutes to eleven. He always liked to +give himself plenty of time to catch a train, but hated waiting about on +the platform. So he stopped at the George Hotel and went into the hall +for a whisky-and-soda.</p> + +<p>"Oh, good evening, Captain," said the landlord, who was behind the bar. +"If you are going back to Kencote you can save me sending over. This +letter has just come down by train." He handed Dick a square envelope +which he had just opened. On it was his name and address in Cicely's +writing, and an underlined inscription, "Please send the enclosed letter +to Kencote by special messenger as early as possible to-morrow morning." +Dick took out the inner envelope which was addressed to his mother, and +looked at it. "All right," he said, "I'll take it over," and slipped it +into the pocket of his light overcoat. He ordered his whisky-and-soda +and drank it, talking to the landlord as he did so. Only a corner of the +bar faced the hall, which was otherwise empty, and as he went out he +took the letter from his pocket and opened it.</p> + +<p>"The devil you will!" he said, as he read the few words Cicely had +written. Then he went out and stood for a second beside his cart, +thinking.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to Mountfield," he said as he swung the horse round and the +groom jumped up behind. The groom would wonder at his change of plan and +when he got back he would talk. If he told him not to he would talk all +the more. Wisest to say nothing at present. So Dick drove along the five +miles of dark road at an easy pace, for he could catch no train now +until seven o'clock in the morning and there was no use in hurrying, and +thought and thought, as he drove. If he failed in stopping this +astonishing and iniquitous proceeding it would not be for want of +thinking.</p> + +<p>Mountfield was an early house. Jim himself unbarred and unlocked the +front door to the groom's ring. The chains and bolts to be undone seemed +endless. "Take out my bag," said Dick, as he waited, sitting in the +cart. "I'm going to stay here for the night. There'll be a note to take +back to Mrs. Clinton. See that it goes up to her to-night."</p> + +<p>He spoke so evenly that the groom wondered if, after all, there was +anything going on under the surface at all.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, old chap," Dick called out, directly Jim's astonished face +appeared in the doorway. "Cicely has bolted off to see Muriel, and the +governor has sent me to fetch her back. I was going up by the eleven +o'clock train, but I thought I'd come here for to-night, and take you up +with me in the morning. There's nothing to hurry for."</p> + +<p>Then he got down from the cart and gave the reins to the groom. "I just +want to send a note to the mater so that she won't worry," he said, as +he went into the house.</p> + +<p>He went across the hall into Jim's room, and Jim, who had not spoken, +followed him. "Read that," he said, putting the letter into his hand.</p> + +<p>Jim read it and looked up at him. There was no expression on his face +but one of bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"You think it over," said Dick, a little impatiently, and went to the +writing-table and scribbled a note.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mother</span>,—I thought I would come on here first on the chance +of hearing something, and glad I did so. There is a letter from +Cicely. It is all right. Jim and I are going up to-morrow morning. +Don't worry.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dick</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Then, without taking any notice of Jim, still standing gazing at the +letter in his hand with the same puzzled expression on his face, he went +out and despatched the groom, closing the hall door after him.</p> + +<p>He went back into the room and shut that door too. "Well!" he said +sharply. "What the devil does it mean?"</p> + +<p>Jim's expression had changed. It was now angry as well as puzzled. "It +was when he went after her on Sunday," he said. "<i>Damn</i> him! I +thought——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind what you thought," said Dick. "When did he see her alone?"</p> + +<p>"I was going to tell you. When we came over yesterday afternoon he saw +her over the wall, and directly we got to the house he bolted off after +her. He said he had promised to show her some sketches."</p> + +<p>"But he didn't find her. He said so at tea-time—when she came out."</p> + +<p>Jim was silent. "Perhaps that was a blind," said Dick. "How long was it +before he came back and said he couldn't find her?"</p> + +<p>"About half an hour, I should think. Not so much."</p> + +<p>"He <i>must</i> have found her. But, good heavens! he can't have persuaded +her to run away with him in half an hour! He had never been alone with +her before."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"And he didn't see her alone afterwards."</p> + +<p>Jim's face suddenly went dark. "He—he—went out after we went up to +bed," he said.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"He asked me to leave the door unlocked. He said he might not sleep, and +if he didn't he should go out."</p> + +<p>The two men looked at one another. "That's a nice thing to hear of your +sister," said Dick bitterly.</p> + +<p>"It's a nice thing to hear of a man you've treated as a friend," said +Jim.</p> + +<p>"How long have you known the fellow?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I told you. I met him when I was travelling, and asked him to look +me up. I haven't seen him since until he wrote and said he wanted to +come for a quiet Sunday."</p> + +<p>"Why did he want to come? I'll tell you what it is, Jim. She must have +met him in London, and you were the blind. Yes, that's it. She's been +different since she came back. I've noticed it. We've all noticed it."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe they met before," said Jim slowly.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe they did. Dick, do you think they can be married +already? Is there time to stop it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there's time. I've thought it out. We'll go up by the seven +o'clock train. Where does the fellow live?"</p> + +<p>Jim thought a moment. "I don't know. He wrote from the Royal Societies +Club."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll find him. I'm not going to talk about it any more now. I'm +too angry. Cicely! She ought to be whipped. If it <i>is</i> too late, she +shall never come to Kencote again, if I have any say in the matter, and +I don't think my say will be needed. Let's go to bed. We shall have +plenty of time to talk in the train."</p> + +<p>"I'll go and get hold of Grove," said Jim. "He must get a room ready, +and see that we get to the station in the morning," and he went out of +the room.</p> + +<p>Dick walked up and down, and then poured himself out whisky-and-soda +from a table standing ready. He lit a cigarette and threw the match +violently into the fireplace. When Jim returned he said, "I've managed +to keep it pretty dark so far. The governor would have blurted +everything out—everything that he knew. I'm glad I intercepted that +letter to the mater. I haven't any sort of feeling about opening it. +<i>I'm</i> going to see to this. If we can get hold of her before it's too +late, she must go to Muriel for a bit; I must keep it from the governor +as long as I can—until I get back and can tackle him. He'll be so +furious that he'll give it away all round. He wouldn't think about the +scandal."</p> + +<p>"Pray God we shan't be too late," said Jim. "What a fool I've been, +Dick! I took it all for granted. I never thought that she wasn't just as +fond of me as I was of her."</p> + +<p>Dick looked at him. "Well, I suppose that's all over now," he said, "a +girl who behaves like that!"</p> + +<p>Jim turned away, and said nothing, and by and by they went up to bed.</p> + +<p>They drove over to Bathgate the next morning and caught the seven +o'clock train to Ganton, where they picked up the London express. Alone +in a first-class smoking-carriage they laid their plans. "I have an idea +that is worth trying before we do anything else," said Jim. "When we +were travelling together that fellow told me of some rooms in Bloomsbury +he always went to when he could get them."</p> + +<p>"Do you know the address?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Jim, and gave it. "He said they were the best rooms in +London, and made me write down the address. I found it last night."</p> + +<p>"Why on earth didn't you say so before?"</p> + +<p>"I had forgotten. I didn't suppose I should ever want to take rooms in +Bloomsbury."</p> + +<p>"It's a chance. We'll go there first. If we draw blank, we will go to +his club, and then to the Geographical Society. We'll find him +somewhere."</p> + +<p>"We can't do anything to him," said Jim.</p> + +<p>"I'm not thinking much of him," Dick confessed. "It would be a comfort +to bruise him a bit—though I dare say he'd be just as likely to bruise +me. He's got an amazing cheek; but, after all, a man plays his own hand. +If she had behaved herself properly he couldn't have done anything."</p> + +<p>He flicked the ash of his cigar on to the carpet and looked carelessly +out of the window, but turned his head sharply at the tone in which Jim +said, "If I could get him alone, and it couldn't do her any harm +afterwards, I'd kill him." And he cursed Mackenzie with a deliberate, +blasphemous oath.</p> + +<p>Dick said nothing, but looked out of the window again with an expression +that was not careless.</p> + +<p>Jim spoke again in the same low voice of suppressed passion. "I told him +about her when I was travelling. I don't know why, but I did. And after +you dined on Friday we spoke about her. He praised her. I didn't say +much, but he knew what I felt. And he had got this in his mind then. He +must have had. He was my friend, staying in my house. He's a liar and a +scoundrel. For all he's done, and the name he's made, he's not fit +company for decent men. Dick, I'd give up everything I possess for the +chance of handling him."</p> + +<p>"I'd back you up," said Dick. "But the chief thing is to get her away +from him."</p> + +<p>"I know that. It's the only thing. We can't do anything. I was thinking +of it nearly all night long. And supposing we don't find him, or don't +find him till too late."</p> + +<p>"We won't think of that," said Dick coolly. "One thing at a time. And +we'll shut his mouth, at any rate. I feel equal to that."</p> + +<p>They were silent for a time, and then Jim said, "Dick, I'd like to say +one thing. She may not care about seeing me. I suppose she can't care +for me much—now—or she wouldn't have let him take her away. But I'm +going to fight for her—see that? I'm going to fight for her, if it's +not too late."</p> + +<p>Dick looked uncomfortable in face of his earnestness. "If you want her," +he began hesitatingly, "after——"</p> + +<p>"Want her!" echoed Jim. "Haven't I always wanted her? I suppose I +haven't shown it. It isn't my way to show much. But I thought it was all +settled and I rested on that. Good God, I've wanted her every day of my +life—ever since we fixed it up together—years ago. I wish I'd taken +her, now, and let the beastly finance right itself. It wouldn't have +made much difference, after all. But I wanted to give her everything she +ought to have. If I've seemed contented to wait, I can tell you I +haven't been. I didn't want to worry her. I—I—thought she understood."</p> + +<p>"She's behaved very badly," said Dick, too polite to show his surprise +at this revelation. Jim had always been rather a queer fellow. "If you +want her still, she ought to be precious thankful. The whole thing +puzzles me. I can't see her doing it."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't, last night," said Jim, more quietly. "I can now. She's got +pluck. I never gave her any chance to show it."</p> + +<p>They were mostly silent after this. Every now and then one of them said +a word or two that showed that their thoughts were busy in what lay +before them. The last thing Jim said before the train drew up at the +same platform at which Cicely had alighted the day before was, "I can't +do anything to him."</p> + +<p>They drove straight to the house in Bloomsbury. Mrs. Fletcher opened the +door to them. "Mr. Mackenzie is expecting us, I think," said Dick +suavely, and made as if to enter.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fletcher looked at them suspiciously, more because it was her way +than because, in face of Dick's assumption, she had any doubts of their +right of entrance. "He didn't say that he expected anybody," she said. +"I can take your names up to him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thanks, we won't trouble you," said Dick. "We will go straight up. +First floor, as usual, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>It was a slip, and Mrs. Fletcher planted herself in the middle of the +passage at once.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment," she said. "What do you mean by 'as usual'? Neither of +you have been in the house before. You won't go up to Mr. Mackenzie +without I know he wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"Now, look here," said Dick, at once. "We are going up to Mr. Mackenzie, +and I expect you know why. If you try to stop us, one of us will stay +here and the other will fetch the policeman. You can make up your mind +at once which it shall be, because we've no time to waste."</p> + +<p>"Nobody has ever talked to me about a policeman before; you'll do it at +your peril," she said angrily, still standing in the passage, but Dick +saw her cast an eye towards the door on her left.</p> + +<p>"I'm quite ready to take the consequences," said Dick, "but whatever +they are it won't do you any good with other people in your house to +have the police summoned at half-past ten in the morning. Now will you +let us pass?"</p> + +<p>She suddenly turned and made way for them. Dick went upstairs and Jim +followed him. The door of the drawing-room was opposite to them. "I'll +do the talking," said Dick, and opened the door and went in.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>THE CONTEST</h3> + + +<p>Mackenzie sprang up and stood facing them. His face had changed in a +flash. It was not at all the face of a man who had been caught and was +ashamed; it was rather glad. Even his ill-made London clothes could not +at that moment disguise his magnificent gift of virility. So he might +have looked—when there was no one to see him—face to face with sudden, +unexpected danger in far different surroundings, dauntless, and eager to +wrest his life out of the instant menace of death.</p> + +<p>Dick had a momentary perception of the quality of the man he had to deal +with, which was instantly obliterated by a wave of contemptuous +dislike—the dislike of a man to whom all expression of feeling, except, +perhaps, anger, was an offence. He had looked death in the face too, but +not with that air. Assumed at a moment like this it was a vulgar +absurdity. He met Mackenzie's look with a cool contempt.</p> + +<p>But the challenge, and the reply to it, had occupied but a moment. +Cicely had looked up and cried, "O Dick!" and had tried to rise from her +chair to come to him, but could not. The tone in which she uttered that +appeal for mercy and protection made Jim Graham wince, but it did not +seem to affect her brother. "Go and get ready to come with us," he said.</p> + +<p>Jim had never taken his eyes off Cicely since he had entered the room, +but she did not look at him. She sat in her chair, trembling a little, +her eyes upon her brother's face, which was now turned toward her with +no expression in it but a cold authority.</p> + +<p>She stood up with difficulty, and Jim took half a step forward. But +Mackenzie broke in, with a gesture towards her. "Come now, Captain +Clinton," he said. "You have found us out; but I am going to marry your +sister. You are not going to take her away, you know." He spoke in a +tone of easy good humour. The air, slightly theatrical, as it had +seemed, with which he had faced their intrusion, had disappeared.</p> + +<p>Dick took no notice of him whatever. "I am going to take you up to +Muriel," he said to Cicely. "There's a cab waiting. Have you anything to +get, or are you ready to come now?"</p> + +<p>She turned to go to her room, but Mackenzie interposed again. "Stay +here, please," he said. "We won't take our orders from Captain Clinton. +Look here, Clinton, I dare say this has been a bit of a shock to you, +and I'm sorry it had to be done in such a hurry. But everything is +straight and honest. I want to marry your sister, and she wants to marry +me. She is of age and you can't stop her. I'm going to make her a good +husband, and she's going to make me the best of wives."</p> + +<p>He still spoke good-humouredly, with the air of a man used to command +who condescends to reason. He knew his power and was accustomed to +exercise it, with a hand behind his back, so to speak, upon just such +young men as these; men who were socially his superiors, and on that +very account to be kept under, and taught that there was no such thing +as social superiority where his work was to be done, but only leader and +led.</p> + +<p>But still Dick took no notice of him. "Come along, Cicely," he said, +with a trifle of impatience.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie shrugged his shoulders angrily. "Very well," he said, "if +you've made up your mind to take that fool's line, take it and welcome. +Only you won't take <i>her</i>. She's promised to me. My dear, tell them so."</p> + +<p>He bent his look upon Cicely, the look which had made her soft in his +hands. Dick was looking at her too, standing on the other side of the +table, with cold displeasure. And Jim had never looked away from her. +His face was tender and compassionate, but she did not see it. She +looked at Dick, searching his face for a sign of such tenderness, but +none was there, or she would have gone to him. Her eyes were drawn to +Mackenzie's, and rested there as if fascinated. They were like those of +a frightened animal.</p> + +<p>"Come now," said Mackenzie abruptly. "It is for you to end all this. I +would have spared you if I could—you know that; but if they must have +it from you, let them have it. Tell them that I asked you to come away +and marry me, and that you came of your own accord. Tell them that I +have taken care of you. Tell them that we are to be married this +morning."</p> + +<p>She hesitated painfully, and her eyes went to her brother's face again +in troubled appeal. He made no response to her look, but when the clock +on the mantelpiece had ticked half a dozen audible beats and she had not +spoken, he turned to Mackenzie.</p> + +<p>"I see," he said. "You have——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, let her speak," Mackenzie interrupted roughly, with a flashing +glance at him. "You have had your say."</p> + +<p>"It is quite plain, sir," proceeded Dick in his level voice, "that you +have gained some sort of influence over my sister."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is plain, is it?" sneered Mackenzie.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me if I don't express myself very cleverly," said Dick. "What I +mean is that somehow you have managed to <i>bully</i> her into running away +with you."</p> + +<p>They looked into one another's eyes for an instant. The swords were +crossed. Mackenzie turned to Cicely. "Did I do that?" he asked quietly.</p> + +<p>"If I might suggest," Dick said, before she could reply, "that you don't +try and get behind my sister, but speak up for yourself——"</p> + +<p>"Did I do that?" asked Mackenzie again.</p> + +<p>"O Dick dear," said Cicely, "I said I would come. It was my own fault."</p> + +<p>"Your own fault—yes," said Dick. "But I am talking to this—this +gentleman, now."</p> + +<p>Mackenzie faced him again. "Oh, we're to have all that wash about +gentlemen, are we? I'm not a gentleman. That's the trouble, is it?"</p> + +<p>"It is part of the trouble," said Dick. "A good big part."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I do with the <i>gentlemen</i> who come worrying me for +jobs when I go on an expedition, Captain Clinton—the gentlemen who want +to get seconded from your regiment and all the other smart regiments, to +serve under me?"</p> + +<p>"Shall we stick to the point?" asked Dick. "My cab is waiting."</p> + +<p>Mackenzie's face looked murderous for a moment, but he had himself in +hand at once. "The point is," he said, "that I am going to marry your +sister, with her consent."</p> + +<p>"The point is how you got her consent. I am here in place of my +father—and hers. If she marries you she marries you, but she doesn't do +it before I tell her what she is letting herself in for."</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps you will tell her that."</p> + +<p>"I will." Dick looked at Cicely. "I should like to ask you to begin with +when you first met—Mr. Mackenzie," he said.</p> + +<p>"Dear Dick!" cried Cicely, "don't be so cruel. I—I—was discontented at +home, and I——"</p> + +<p>"We met first at Graham's house," said Mackenzie, "when you were there. +I first spoke to her alone on Sunday afternoon, and she promised to come +away and marry me on Sunday night. Now go on."</p> + +<p>"That was when you told Graham that you couldn't sleep, I suppose, in +the middle of the night."</p> + +<p>"I walked over from Mountfield, and she came to me in the garden, as I +had asked her to. We were together about three minutes."</p> + +<p>Dick addressed Cicely again, still with the same cold authority. "You +were discontented at home. You can tell me why afterwards. You meet this +man and hear him bragging of his great deeds, and when he takes you by +surprise and asks you to marry him, you are first of all rather +frightened, and then you think it would be an adventure to go off with +him. Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"It's near enough," said Mackenzie, "except that I don't brag."</p> + +<p>"I've got my own ears," said Dick, still facing Cicely. "Well, I dare +say the sort of people you're used to don't seem much beside a man who +gets himself photographed on picture postcards, but I'll tell you a few +of the things we don't do. We don't go and stay in our friends' houses +and then rob them. You belonged to Jim. You'd promised him, and this man +knew it. We don't go to other men's houses and eat their salt and make +love to their daughters behind their backs. We don't tell mean lies. We +don't ask young girls to sneak out of their homes to meet us in the +middle of the night. We respect the women we want to marry, we don't +compromise them. If this man had been a fit husband for you, he would +have asked for you openly. It's just because he knows he isn't that he +brings all his weight to bear upon you, and you alone. He doesn't dare +to face your father or your brothers."</p> + +<p>Cicely had sunk down into her chair again. Her head was bent, but her +eyes were dry now. Mackenzie had listened to him with his face set and +his lips pressed together. What he thought of the damaging indictment, +whether it showed him his actions in a fresh light, or only heightened +his resentment, nobody could have told. "Have you finished what you have +to say?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not quite," replied Dick. "Listen to me, Cicely."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and then listen to me," said Mackenzie.</p> + +<p>"What sort of treatment do you think you're going to get from a man who +has behaved like that? He's ready to give you a hole-and-corner +marriage. He wants you for the moment, and he'll do anything to get you. +He'll get tired of you in a few weeks, and then he'll go off to the +other side of the world and where will <i>you</i> be? How much thought has he +given to <i>your</i> side of the bargain? He's ready to cut you off from your +own people—<i>he</i> doesn't care. He takes you from a house like Kencote +and brings you here. He's lied to Jim, who treated him like a friend, +and he's behaved like a cad to us who let him into our house. He's done +all these things in a few days. How are you going to spend your life +with a fellow like that?"</p> + +<p>Cicely looked up. Her face was firmer, and she spoke to Mackenzie. "We +had begun to talk about all these things," she said. "I asked you a +question which you didn't answer. Did you know when you told me you were +going back to Tibet in a fortnight and there wasn't time to—to ask +father for me, that you weren't going until next year?"</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't," said Mackenzie.</p> + +<p>"When did he tell you that?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"On Sunday."</p> + +<p>"I can find that out for you easily enough. I shouldn't take an answer +from him."</p> + +<p>Again, for a fraction of a second, Mackenzie's face was deadly, but he +said quietly to Cicely, "I have answered your question. Go on."</p> + +<p>"You know why I did what you asked me," she said. "I thought you were +offering me a freer life and that I should share in all your travels and +dangers. You told me just before my brother came in that you didn't want +me for that."</p> + +<p>"I told you," said Mackenzie, speaking to her as if no one else had been +in the room, "that you <i>would</i> have a freer life, but that I shouldn't +risk your safety by taking you into dangerous places. I told you that I +would do all that a man could do to protect and honour his chosen wife, +and that's God's truth. I told you that I would make you happy. That I +know I can do, and I will do. Your brother judges me by the fiddling +little rules he and the like of him live by. He calls himself a +gentleman, and says I'm not one. I know I'm not his kind of a gentleman. +I've no wish to be; I'm something bigger. I've got my own honour. <i>You</i> +know how I've treated you. Your own mother couldn't have been more +careful of you. And so I'll treat you to the end of the chapter when you +give me the right to. You can't go back now; it's too late. You see how +this precious brother of yours looks at you, after what you have done. +You'll be sorry if you throw yourself into <i>his</i> hands again. Show some +pluck and send him about his business. You can trust yourself to me. You +won't regret it."</p> + +<p>The shadow of his spell was over her again. She hesitated once more and +Dick's face became hard and angry. "Before you decide," he said, "let me +tell you this, that if you do marry this fellow you will never come to +Kencote again or see any of us as long as you live."</p> + +<p>"You won't see your eldest brother," said Mackenzie. "I'll take care of +that. But you <i>will</i> see those you want to see. I'll see to that too. +It's time to end this. I keep you to your word. You said you were mine, +and you meant it. I don't release you from your promise."</p> + +<p>Cicely's calm broke down. "Oh, I don't know what to do," she cried. "I +did promise."</p> + +<p>"I keep you to your promise," said Mackenzie inexorably.</p> + +<p>Then Jim, who had kept silence all this time, spoke at last. "Cicely," +he said, "have you forgotten that you made <i>me</i> a promise?"</p> + +<p>"O Jim," she said, without looking at him, "don't speak to me. I have +behaved very badly to you."</p> + +<p>"You never wanted to marry him," said Mackenzie roughly. "He's not the +husband for a girl of any spirit."</p> + +<p>Jim made no sign of having heard him. His face was still turned towards +Cicely. "It has been my fault," he said. "I've taken it all for granted. +But I've never thought about anybody else, Cicely."</p> + +<p>Mackenzie wouldn't allow him to make his appeal as he had allowed Dick. +"He has had five years to take you in," he said. "He told me so. And he +hasn't taken you because he might have less money to spend on himself, +till he'd paid off his rates and taxes. He told me that too. He can +afford to keep half a dozen horses and a house full of servants. He +can't afford a wife!"</p> + +<p>He spoke with violent contempt. Dick gazed at him steadily with +contemptuous dislike. "This is the fellow that invited himself to your +house, Jim," he said.</p> + +<p>"Let me speak now, Dick," said Jim, with decision. "He can't touch me, +and I don't care if he does. He's nothing at all. I won't bother you. +Cicely, my dear. I've always loved you and I always shall. But——"</p> + +<p>"No, he won't bother you," interrupted Mackenzie with a sneer. "He's +quite comfortable."</p> + +<p>"But you will know I'm there when you are ready to be friends again. If +I haven't told you before I'll tell you now. I've kept back all I've +felt for you, but I've never changed and I shan't change. This won't +make any difference, except that——"</p> + +<p>"Except that he's lost you and I've won you," Mackenzie broke in. "He's +had his chance and he's missed it. You don't want to be worried with his +drivel."</p> + +<p>Cicely looked up at Mackenzie. "Let him speak," she said, with some +indignation. "I have listened to all you have said."</p> + +<p>Mackenzie's attitude relaxed suddenly. After a searching glance at her +he shrugged his shoulders and turned aside. He took up his grey kid +gloves lying on the table and played with them.</p> + +<p>"I don't blame you for this—not a bit," said Jim, "and I never shall. +Whatever you want I'll try and give you."</p> + +<p>"O Jim, I can't marry you now," said Cicely, her head turned from him. +"But you are very kind." She broke into tears again, more tempestuous +than before. Her strength was nearly at an end.</p> + +<p>"I've told you that I shan't worry you," Jim said. "But you mustn't +marry this man without thinking about it. You must talk to your +mother—she'll be heart-broken if you go away from her like this."</p> + +<p>"Oh, does she want me back?" cried Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she does. You must go up to Muriel now. She'll want you too. And +you needn't go home till you want to."</p> + +<p>"I shall never be able to go home again," she said.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie threw his gloves on to the table. "Do you want to go home?" he +asked her. His voice had lost that insistent quality. He spoke as if he +was asking her whether she would like to take a walk, in a tone almost +pleasant.</p> + +<p>"I want to go away," she said doggedly.</p> + +<p>"Then you may go," said Mackenzie, still in the same easy voice. "I +wanted you, and if we had been in a country where men behave like men, I +would have had you. But I see I'm up against the whole pudding weight of +British respectability, and I own it's too strong for me. We could have +shifted it together, but you're not the girl to go in with a man. I'll +do without you."</p> + +<p>"You had better come now, Cicely," said Dick.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie gave a great laugh, with a movement of his whole body as if he +were throwing off a weight.</p> + +<p>"Shake hands before you go," he said, as she rose obediently. "You're +making a mistake, you know; but I don't altogether wonder at it. If I'd +had a day longer they should never have taken you away. I nearly got +you, as it was."</p> + +<p>Cicely put her hand into his and looked him squarely in the face. +"Good-bye," she said. "You thought too little of me after all. If you +had really been willing for me to share your life, I think I would have +stayed with you."</p> + +<p>His face changed at that. He fixed her with a look, but she took her +hand out of his and turned away. "I am ready, Dick," she said, and again +he shrugged his broad shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I wish I had it to do over again," he said. "Well, gentlemen, you have +won and I have lost. I don't often lose, but when I do I don't whine +about it. You can make your minds easy. Not a word about this shall pass +my lips."</p> + +<p>Dick turned round suddenly. "Will you swear that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, if you like. I mean it."</p> + +<p>Dick and Cicely went out of the room. "Well, Graham, I hope you'll get +her now I've lost her," said Mackenzie.</p> + +<p>Jim took no notice of him, but went out after the other two.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>AFTER THE STORM</h3> + + +<p>Cicely had an air at once ashamed and defiant as she stepped up into the +cab. Dick gave the cabman the address. "See you to-night, then," he said +to Jim. It had been arranged between them that when Cicely had been +rescued Jim should fall out, as it were, for a time. "Good-bye, Cicely," +he said. "Give my love to Walter and Muriel," and walked off down the +pavement.</p> + +<p>"You can tell me now," said Dick, when the cab had started, "what went +wrong with you to make you do such a thing as that."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to tell you anything," said Cicely. "I know I have made a +mistake, and I know you will punish me for it—you and father and the +boys. You can do what you like, but I'm not going to help you."</p> + +<p>Tears of self-pity stood in her eyes, and her face was now very white +and tired, but very childish too. Dick was struck with some compunction. +"I dare say you have had enough for the present," he said, not unkindly. +"But how you could!—a low-bred swine like that!"</p> + +<p>Cicely set her lips obstinately. She knew very well that this weapon +would be used freely in what she had called her punishment. Men like +Dick sifted other men with a narrow mesh. A good many of those whom a +woman might accept and even admire, if left to herself, would not pass +through it. Certainly Mackenzie wouldn't. She would have had to suffer +for running away, but she would suffer far more for running away with "a +bounder." And what made it harder was that, although she didn't know it +yet, in the trying battle that had just been waged over her, the sieve +of her own perceptions had narrowed, and Mackenzie, now, would not have +passed through that. She would presently be effectually punished there, +if Dick and the rest should leave her alone entirely.</p> + +<p>Dick suddenly realised that he was ravenously desirous of a cigarette, +and having lit one and inhaled a few draughts of smoke, felt the +atmosphere lighter.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, that was a tussle," he said. "He's a dangerous fellow, that. +You'll thank me, some day, Cicely, for getting you away from him."</p> + +<p>"You didn't get me away," said Cicely. "You had nothing whatever to do +with it."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Dick.</p> + +<p>"If you had been just a little kind I would have come with you the +moment you came into the room. I was longing for some one from home. You +made it the hardest thing in the world for me to come. If I had stayed +with him it would have been your fault. I'll never forgive you for the +way you treated me, Dick. And you may do what you like to me now, and +father may do what he likes. Nothing can be worse than that."</p> + +<p>She poured out her words hurriedly, and only the restraint that comes +with a seat in a hansom cab within full view of the populace of Camden +Town prevented her bursting into hysterical tears.</p> + +<p>Dick would rather have ridden up to the mouth of a cannon than drive +through crowded streets with a woman making a scene, so he said, "Oh, +for God's sake keep quiet now," and kept quiet himself, with something +to think about.</p> + +<p>Presently he said, "No one knows at home yet that you aren't with +Muriel. You've got me to thank for that, at any rate."</p> + +<p>Cicely blushed with her sudden great relief, but went pale again +directly. "I wrote to mother," she said. "She would get the letter early +this morning."</p> + +<p>"I've got the letter in my pocket," said Dick. "She hasn't seen it."</p> + +<p>"You opened my letter to mother!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did, and lucky for you too. It was how we found you."</p> + +<p>She let that pass. It was of no interest to her then to learn by what +chance they had found her. "Then do you really mean that they don't know +at home?" she asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"They know you have gone to Muriel—you'll be there in half an hour—and +nothing else."</p> + +<p>"O Dick, then you won't tell them," she cried, her hand on his sleeve. +"You can't be so cruel as to tell them."</p> + +<p>She had the crowded streets to thank for Dick's quick answer, "I'm not +going to tell them. Do, for Heaven's sake, keep quiet."</p> + +<p>She leant back against the cushions. She had the giddy feeling of a man +who has slipped on the verge of a great height, and saved himself.</p> + +<p>"You'll have plenty to answer for as it is," said Dick, with a short +laugh. "You've run away, though you've only run away to Muriel. You +won't get let down easily."</p> + +<p>She was not dismayed at that. The other peril, surmounted, was so +crushingly greater. And there had been reasons for her running away, +even if she had not run away to Mackenzie. She stood by them later and +they helped her to forget Mackenzie's share in the flight. But now she +could only lean back and taste the blessed relief that Dick had given +her.</p> + +<p>"Do Walter and Muriel know I am coming?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I sent them a wire from Ganton this morning to say that I should +probably bring you, and they weren't to answer a wire from home, if one +came, till they had heard from me. You've made me stretch my brains +since last night, Cicely. You'd have been pretty well in the ark if it +hadn't been for me."</p> + +<p>"You didn't help me for my own sake though," said Cicely.</p> + +<p>Both of them spoke as if they were carrying on a conversation about +nothing in particular. Their capacity for disturbing discussion was +exhausted for the time. Cicely felt a faint anticipatory pleasure in +going to Muriel's new house, and Dick said, "This must be Melbury Park. +Funny sort of place to find your relations in!"</p> + +<p>But Adelaide Avenue, to which the cabman had been directed, did not +quite bear out the Squire's impressions, nor even the Rector's, of the +dreary suburb; and lying, as it did, behind the miles of shop-fronts, +mean or vulgarly inviting, which they had traversed, and away from the +business of the great railway which gave the name of Melbury Park, its +sole significance to many besides the Squire, it seemed quiet, and even +inviting. It curved between a double row of well-grown limes. Each +house, or pair of houses, had a little garden in front and a bigger one +behind, and most of the houses were of an earlier date than the modern +red brick suburban villa. They were ugly enough, with their stucco +fronts and the steps leading up to their front doors, but they were +respectable and established, and there were trees behind them, and big, +if dingy, shrubs inside their gates.</p> + +<p>Walter's house stood at a corner where a new road had been cut through. +This was lined on each side with a row of two-storied villas behind low +wooden palings, of which the owner, in describing them, had taken +liberties with the name of Queen Anne. But Walter's house and the one +adjoining it in the Avenue, though built in the same style, or with the +same lack of it, were much bigger, and had divided between them an old +garden of a quarter of an acre, which, although it would have been +nothing much at Kencote, almost attained to the dignity of "grounds" at +Melbury Park.</p> + +<p>There was a red lamp by the front gate, and as they drew up before it, +Muriel came out under a gabled porch draped with Virginia creeper and +hurried to welcome them to her married home.</p> + +<p>She looked blooming, as a bride should, even on this hot August day in +London. She wore a frock of light holland, and it looked somehow +different from the frocks of holland or of white drill which Cicely had +idly observed in some numbers as she had driven through the streets and +roads of the suburb. She had a choking sensation as she saw Muriel's +eager face, and her neat dress, just as she might have worn it at home.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Dick," said Muriel. "Walter will be in to lunch. O Cicely, it +<i>is</i> jolly to see you again. But where's your luggage? You've come to +stay. Why, you're looking miserable, my dear! What on earth's the +matter? And what did Mr. Clinton's telegram mean, and Dick's? We haven't +wired yet, but we must."</p> + +<p>They had walked up the short garden path, leaving Dick to settle with +the cabman, who had been nerving himself for a tussle, and was surprised +to find it unnecessary.</p> + +<p>"I'm in disgrace, Muriel," said Cicely. "I'll tell you all about it when +we are alone, if Dick doesn't first."</p> + +<p>Muriel threw a penetrating look at her and then turned to Dick, who +said, with a grin, "This is the drive, is it, Muriel?"</p> + +<p>"You are not going to laugh at my house, Dick," said Muriel. "You'll be +quite as comfortable here as anywhere. Come in. This is the hall."</p> + +<p>"No, not really?" said Dick. "By Jove!"</p> + +<p>It was not much of a hall, the style of Queen Anne as adapted to the +requirements of Melbury Park not being accustomed to effloresce in +halls; but a green Morris paper, a blue Morris carpet, and white +enamelled woodwork had brought it into some grudging semblance of +welcoming a visitor. The more cultured ladies of Melbury Park in +discussing it had called it "artistic, but slightly <i>bizarre</i>," a phrase +which was intended to combine a guarded appreciation of novelty with a +more solid preference for sanitary wallpaper, figured oilcloth and paint +of what they called "dull art colours."</p> + +<p>"Look at my callers," said Muriel, indicating a china bowl on a narrow +mahogany table that was full to the brim with visiting cards. "I can +assure you I'm the person to know here. No sniffing at a doctor's wife +in Melbury Park, Dick."</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" said Dick. "You're getting into society."</p> + +<p>"My dear Dick, don't I tell you, I <i>am</i> society. Oh, good gracious, I +was forgetting. Walter told me to send a telegram to Kencote the very +moment you came. Mr. Clinton wired at eight o'clock this morning and +it's half-past twelve now."</p> + +<p>Cicely turned away, and Dick became serious again. "Where's the wire?" +he asked. "I'll answer it."</p> + +<p>"Come into Walter's room," said Muriel, "there are forms there."</p> + +<p>"I wonder he hasn't wired again," said Dick, and as he spoke a telegraph +boy came up to the open door.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Cannot understand why no reply to telegram. Excessively annoyed. +Wire at once.—<span class="smcap">Edward Clinton</span>," ran the Squire's second message, +and his first, which Muriel handed to Dick: "Is Cicely with you. +Most annoyed. Wire immediately.—<span class="smcap">Edward Clinton</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>"I'll soothe him," said Dick, and he wrote, "Cicely here. Wanted change. +Is writing. Walter's reply must have miscarried.—<span class="smcap">Dick</span>." "Another lie," +he said composedly.</p> + +<p>"I want some clothes sent, please, Dick," said Cicely in a constrained +voice.</p> + +<p>"Better tell 'em to send Miles up," said Dick, considering.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't want Miles," said Cicely, and Dick added, "Please tell +Miles send Cicely clothes for week this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you can put her up for a week, Muriel," he said.</p> + +<p>"I'll put her up for a month, if she'll stay," said Muriel, putting her +arm into Cicely's, and the amended telegram was despatched.</p> + +<p>"Now come and see my drawing-room," said Muriel, "and then you can look +after yourself, Dick, till Walter comes home, and I will take Cicely to +her room."</p> + +<p>The drawing-room opened on to a garden, wonderfully green and shady +considering where it was. The white walls and the chintz-covered chairs +and sofa had again struck the cultured ladies of Melbury Park as +"artistic but slightly <i>bizarre</i>," but the air of richness imparted by +the numberless hymeneal offerings of Walter's and Muriel's friends and +relations had given them a pleasant subject for conversation. Their +opinion was that it was a mistake to have such valuable things lying +about, but if "the doctor" collected them and took them up to put under +his bed every night it would not so much matter.</p> + +<p>"They all tell me that Dr. Pringle used this room as a dining-room," +said Muriel. "It is the first thing they say, and it breaks the ice. We +get on wonderfully well after that; but it is a pretty room, isn't it, +Dick?"</p> + +<p>She had her arm in Cicely's, and pressed it sometimes as she talked, but +she did not talk to her.</p> + +<p>"It's an uncommonly pretty room," said Dick. "Might be in Grosvenor +Square. Where did you and Walter get your ideas of furnishing from, +Muriel? We don't run to this sort of thing at Kencote and Mountfield. +Content with what our forefathers have taught us, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we know what's what, all right," said Muriel. "We have seen a few +pretty rooms, between us. Now I'm going to take Cicely upstairs. You can +wander about if you like, Dick, and there are cigarettes and things in +Walter's room."</p> + +<p>"I'll explore the gay parterre," said Dick. Then he turned to Cicely and +took hold of her chin between his thumb and finger. "Look here, don't +you worry any more, old lady," he said kindly. "You've been a little +fool, and you've had a knock. Tell Muriel about it and I'll tell Walter. +Nobody else need know."</p> + +<p>She clung to him, crying. "O Dick," she said, "if you had only spoken to +me like that at first!"</p> + +<p>"Well, if I had," said Dick, "I should have been in a devil of a temper +now. As it is I've worked it off. There, run along. You've nothing to +cry for now." He kissed her, which was an unusual attention on his part, +and went through the door into the garden. Muriel and Cicely went +upstairs together.</p> + +<p>Dick soon exhausted the possibilities of the garden and went into the +house again and into Walter's room. It had red walls and a Turkey +carpet. There was a big American desk, a sofa and easy-chairs and three +Chippendale chairs, all confined in rather a small space. There was a +low bookcase along one wall, and above it framed school and college +photographs; on the other walls were prints from pictures at Kencote. +They were the only things in the room, except the ornaments on the +mantelpiece, and a table with a heavy silver cigarette box, and other +smoking apparatus, that lightened its workmanlike air. But Dick was not +apt to be affected by the air of a room. He sat down in the easy-chair +and stretched his long legs in front of him, and thought over the +occurrences of the morning.</p> + +<p>He was rather surprised to find himself in so equable a frame of mind. +His anger against Cicely had gradually worked up since the previous +evening until, when he had seen her in the room with Mackenzie, he could +have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her, with clenched teeth. She +had done a disgraceful thing; she, a girl, had taken the sacred name of +Clinton in her hands and thrown it to the mob to worry. That he had +skilfully caught and saved it before it had reached them did not make +her crime any the less.</p> + +<p>But he could not now regain—he tested his capacity to regain, out of +curiosity—his feeling of outraged anger against her. Curious that, in +the train, he had felt no very great annoyance against Mackenzie. He +asked himself if he hadn't gone rather near to admiring the decisive +stroke he had played, which few men would have attempted on such an +almost complete lack of opportunity. But face to face with him his +dislike and resentment had flared up. His anger now came readily enough +when he thought of Mackenzie, and he found himself wishing ardently for +another chance of showing it effectively. It was this, no doubt, that +had softened him towards his little sister, whom he loved in his +patronising way. The fellow had got hold of her. She was a little fool, +but it was the man who was to blame. And his own resource had averted +the danger of scandal, which he dreaded like any woman. He could not but +be rather pleased with himself for the way in which he had carried +through his job, and Cicely gained the advantage of his +self-commendation. There was one thing, though—his father must never +know. The fat would be in the fire then with a vengeance.</p> + +<p>Turning over these things in his mind, Dick dropped off into a light +doze, from which he was awakened by the entrance of Walter. Walter wore +a tall hat and a morning coat. It was August and it was very hot, and in +Bond Street he would have worn a flannel suit and a straw hat. But if he +did that here his patients would think that <i>he</i> thought anything good +enough for them. There were penalties attached to the publication of +that list of wedding presents in the <i>Melbury Park Chronicle and North +London Intelligencer</i>, and he had been warned of these and sundry other +matters. He was not free of the tiresome side-issues of his profession +even in Melbury Park. "Hullo, Dick, old chap!" he said as he came in +with cheerful alacrity. "Is Cicely here, and what has happened?"</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Walter!" said Dick. "Yes, Cicely is here and I have wired to the +governor. She has led us a nice dance, that young woman. But it's all +over now."</p> + +<p>"What has she done? Run away with some fellow?"</p> + +<p>"That's just what she did do. If I hadn't been pretty quick off the post +she'd have been married to him by this time."</p> + +<p>Walter sat down in the chair at his writing-table. His face had grown +rather serious. He looked as if he were prepared to receive the +confidences of a patient.</p> + +<p>"Who did she go off with?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Dick took a cigarette from the silver box, and lit it. "Mr. Ronald +Mackenzie," he said, as he threw the match into the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"Ronald Mackenzie! Where did she pick <i>him</i> up?"</p> + +<p>"He picked her up. He was staying at Mountfield."</p> + +<p>"I know, but he must have seen her before. He can't have persuaded her +in five minutes."</p> + +<p>"Just what I thought. But he did; damn him!" Then he told Walter +everything that had happened, in his easy, leisurely way. "And the great +thing now is to keep it from the governor," he ended up.</p> + +<p>"Really, it's pretty strong," said Walter, after a short pause. "Fancy +Cicely! I can't see her doing a thing like that."</p> + +<p>"I could have boxed her ears with pleasure when I first heard of it," +said Dick. "But somehow I don't feel so annoyed with her now. Poor +little beggar! I suppose it's getting her away from that brute. He'd +frightened her silly. He nearly got her, even when we were there +fighting him."</p> + +<p>"But what about poor old Jim?" asked Walter. "It's too bad of her, you +know, Dick. She was engaged to Jim."</p> + +<p>"Well, it was a sort of engagement. But I don't blame her much there. If +Jim had gone off and married some other girl I don't know that any of us +would have been very surprised."</p> + +<p>"I should."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know him better than I do, of course. I must say, when he +told me in the train coming up that he was as much struck on Cicely as +ever, it surprised me. He's a funny fellow."</p> + +<p>"He's one of the best," said Walter. "But he keeps his feelings to +himself. He has always talked to me about Cicely, but I know he hasn't +talked to anybody else, because Muriel was just as surprised as you were +when I told her how the land lay."</p> + +<p>"He told Mackenzie—that's the odd thing," said Dick.</p> + +<p>"Did he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It makes the beast's action all the worse."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't understand that. Perhaps he had a suspicion and gave him +a warning."</p> + +<p>"I don't think so. He let him go off after her on Sunday afternoon, and +didn't think anything of it. However, he's had a shaking up. He won't +let her go now."</p> + +<p>"Does he want to marry her still?"</p> + +<p>"O Lord, yes, more than ever. That's something to be thankful for. It +will keep the governor quiet if we can hurry it on a bit."</p> + +<p>"But he's not to know."</p> + +<p>"He knows she ran away here, without bringing any clothes. That's got to +be explained. It's enough for the governor, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I should think so. Enough to go on with. Didn't Jim want to throttle +that fellow?"</p> + +<p>"He did before we got there, but he knew he couldn't do anything. It +would only have come back on Cicely. He behaved jolly well, Jim did. He +didn't take the smallest notice of Mackenzie from first to last, but he +talked to Cicely like a father. <i>She</i> says—<i>I</i> don't say it, mind +you—that it was Jim who got her away from him; she wouldn't have come +for me." Dick laughed. "I dare say we both had something to do with it," +he said. "I got in a few home truths. I think Mr. Ronald Mackenzie will +be rather sorry he came poaching on our land when he turns it over in +his mind."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Walter, rising, as the luncheon bell rang, "it's a funny +business altogether. You must tell me more later. Like a wash, Dick? Is +Cicely going to stay here for a bit?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," replied Dick, as they went out of the room. "Muriel says +she'll keep her. We've wired for clothes." He lowered his voice as they +went upstairs. "You must go easy with her a bit, you and Muriel," he +said. "She's been touched on the raw. You'll find her in rather an +excited state."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shan't worry her," said Walter. "But I think she's behaved badly +to Jim all the same."</p> + +<p>But Walter's manner towards his erring sister, when they met in the +dining-room, showed no sign of his feelings, if they were resentful on +behalf of his friend. She was there with Muriel when he and Dick came +down. She was pale, and it was plain that she had been crying, but the +parlour-maid was standing by the sideboard, and the two girls were +talking by the window as if they had not just come from a long talk +which had disturbed them both profoundly.</p> + +<p>"Well, Cicely," said Walter. "Come to see us at last! You don't look +very fit, but you've come to the right man to cure you." Cicely kissed +him gratefully, and they sat down at the table.</p> + +<p>The dining-room was Sheraton—good Sheraton. On the walls were a plain +blue paper and some more prints. The silver and glass on the fresh cloth +and on the sideboard were as bright as possible, for Muriel's +parlour-maid was a treasure. She earned high wages, or she would not +have demeaned herself by going into service at Melbury Park, where, +however, she had a young man. The cook was also a treasure, and the +luncheon she served up would not have disgraced Kencote, where what is +called "a good table" was kept. It was all great fun—to Muriel, and +would have been to Cicely too at any other time. The little house was +beautifully appointed, and "run" more in the style of a little house in +Mayfair than in Melbury Park. Muriel, at any rate, was completely happy +in her surroundings.</p> + +<p>They drank their coffee in the veranda outside the drawing-room window. +They could hear the trains and the trams in the distance, and it seemed +to be a favourite pursuit of the youths of Melbury Park to rattle sticks +along the oak fencing of the garden, but otherwise they were shut in in +a little oasis of green and could not be seen or overheard by anybody. +There were certain things to be said, but no one seemed now to wish to +refer to Cicely's escapade, the sharp effect of which had been over-laid +by the ordinary intercourse of the luncheon table.</p> + +<p>It was Cicely herself who broke the ice. She asked Dick nervously when +he was going back to Kencote.</p> + +<p>"Oh, to-morrow, I think," said Dick. "Nothing to stay up here for."</p> + +<p>Muriel said, "Cicely would like Mrs. Clinton to come up. She doesn't +want to ask her in her letter. Will you ask her, Dick?"</p> + +<p>Dick hesitated. "Do you want to tell mother—about it?" he asked of +Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think you had much better not. It'll only worry her, and she +need never know."</p> + +<p>"I am going to tell her," said Cicely doggedly.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't mind your telling her, if you want to," said Dick, after a +pause, "but it's dangerous. If the governor suspected anything and got +it out of her——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she wouldn't tell Mr. Clinton," said Muriel. "I think Cicely is +quite right to tell her. Don't you, Walter?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," said Walter. "But I think it's a risk. I quite agree +with Dick. It <i>must</i> be kept from the governor. It's for your own sake, +you know, Cicely."</p> + +<p>"None of you boys know mother in the least," said Cicely, in some +excitement. "She's a woman, and so you think she doesn't count at all. +She counts a great deal to me, and I want her."</p> + +<p>"All right, my dear," said Walter kindly. "We only want to do what's +best for you. Don't upset yourself. And you're all right with Muriel and +me, you know."</p> + +<p>"You're both awfully kind," said Cicely, more calmly, "and so is Dick +now. But I do want mother to come, and I <i>know</i> she wouldn't tell +father."</p> + +<p>"I know it too," said Muriel. "I will write to her to-night and ask her; +only we thought Mr. Clinton might make some objection, and you could get +over that, Dick."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll get over that all right," said Dick. "Very well, she shall +come. Do you want me to tell her anything, Cicely, or leave it all to +you?"</p> + +<p>"You can tell her what I did," said Cicely in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"All right. I'll break it gently. Now are we all going to Lord's, or are +you two going to stay at home?"</p> + +<p>"Cicely is going to lie down," said Muriel, "and I think I will stay at +home and look after her." She threw rather a longing look at Walter. He +didn't often allow himself a half holiday, and she liked to spend them +with him.</p> + +<p>"Don't stay for me, Muriel," Cicely besought her. "I shall be perfectly +all right, and I'd really rather be alone."</p> + +<p>"No," said Muriel, after another look at Walter. "I'm going to stay at +home." And she wouldn't be moved.</p> + +<p>Walter telephoned for his new motor-car and changed his clothes. "Do you +know why Muriel wouldn't come with us?" he asked, when he and Dick were +on their way. "It was because she thought you and I would rather sit in +the pavilion."</p> + +<p>"So we would," said Dick, with a laugh. "But she's a trump, that girl."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>THE WHOLE HOUSE UPSET</h3> + + +<p>The twins arose betimes on the morning after Cicely's flight, +determined, as was their custom, to enjoy whatever excitement, legal, or +within limits illegal, was to be wrested from a long new summer day, but +quite unaware that the whole house around them was humming with +excitement already.</p> + +<p>For upon Dick's departure the night before the Squire had thrown caution +to the winds, and be-stirred himself, as he said, to get to the bottom +of things. Not content with Mrs. Clinton's report of Miles's statement, +which was simply that she knew nothing, he had "had Miles up" and +cross-examined her himself. He had then had Probin up, the head +coachman, who would have known if Cicely had been driven to the station, +which it was fairly obvious she had not been. He also had Porter the +butler up, more because Porter was always had up if anything went wrong +in the house than because he could be expected to throw any light on +what had happened. And when the groom came back from Mountfield with +Dick's note to Mrs. Clinton, late as it was, he had <i>him</i> up, and sent +him down again to spread his news and his suspicions busily, although he +had been threatened with instant dismissal if he said a word to anybody.</p> + +<p>Having thus satisfied himself of what he knew already, that Cicely had +walked to the station and had taken no luggage with her, and having +opened up the necessary channels of information, so that outdoor and +indoor servants alike now knew that Cicely had run away and that her +father was prepared, as the phrase went, to raise Cain about it, the +Squire went up to bed, and breaking his usual healthy custom of going to +sleep immediately he laid his head on his pillow, rated Mrs. Clinton +soundly for not noticing what was going on under her very nose. "I can't +look after everything in the house and out of it too," he ended up. "I +shall be expected to see that the twins change their stockings when they +get their feet wet, next. Good-night, Nina. God bless you."</p> + +<p>So, to return to the twins; when the schoolroom maid came to awaken them +in the morning and found them, as was usual, nearly dressed, they +learned, for the first time, what had been happening while they had +slept, all unconscious.</p> + +<p>"Why can't you call us in proper time, Hannah?" said Joan, as she came +in. "We told you we wanted our hot water at half-past three, and it has +just struck seven. You'll have to go if you can't get up in time."</p> + +<p>Hannah deposited a tray containing two large cups of tea and some +generous slices of bread and butter on a table and said importantly, +"It's no time to joke now, Miss Joan. There's Miss Clinton missing, and +most of us kep' awake half the night wondering what's come of her."</p> + +<p>Hannah had not before succeeded in making an impression upon her young +mistresses, but she succeeded now. Joan and Nancy stared at her with +open eyes, and gave her time to heighten her effects as they redounded +to her own importance.</p> + +<p>"But I can't stop talking now, miss," she said. "I'll just get your 'ot +water and then I must go and 'elp. Here I stop wasting me time, and +don't know that something hadn't 'appened and I may be wanted."</p> + +<p>"You're wanted here," said Joan. "What do you mean—Miss Clinton +missing? Has she gone away?"</p> + +<p>"I'll just tell you what I know, Miss Joan," said Hannah, "and then I +must go downstairs and 'elp. I was going along the passage by the room +last night, jest when they was ready to take in dinner, and Mr. Porter +came along and says to me, 'What are <i>you</i> doing here?' Well, of course, +I was struck all of a 'eap, because——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't let's waste time with her," interrupted Nancy, "let's go and +ask Miss Bird what it's all about."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute, Miss Nancy," cried Hannah. "I was telling you——"</p> + +<p>But the twins were at the door. "Lock her in," said Joan. "We shall want +her when we come back." And they locked her in, to the great damage of +her dignity, and went along the passage to the room which had sheltered +Miss Bird's virgin slumbers for nearly thirty years. They were at first +refused admission, but upon Joan's saying in a clear voice outside the +door, "We want to know about Cicely. If you won't tell us we must go and +ask the servants," Miss Bird unlocked the door, and was discovered in a +dressing-gown of pink flannel with her hair in curl papers. The twins +were too eager for news to remark upon these phenomena, and allowed Miss +Bird to get back into bed while they sat at the foot of it to hear her +story.</p> + +<p>"Well, you must know some time," said Miss Bird, "and to say that you +will ask the servants is <i>not</i> the way to behave as you know very well +and I am the proper person to come to."</p> + +<p>"Well, we have come to you," said Joan, "only you wouldn't let us in. +Now tell us. Has Cicely run away?"</p> + +<p>"Really, Joan, that is a most foolish question," said Miss Bird, "to +call it running away to visit Walter and Muriel her <i>own</i> brother and +sister too as you might say and that is all and I suppose it is that +Hannah who has been putting ideas into your head for I came in to see +you last night and you knew nothing but were both in a <i>sweet</i> sleep and +I often think that if you could see yourselves then you would be more +careful how you behave and especially Nancy for it is innocence and +goodness itself and a pity that it can't be so sleeping <i>and</i> waking."</p> + +<p>"I've seen Joan asleep and she looked like a stuck pig," said Nancy. +"But what <i>has</i> happened, starling darling? Do tell us. Has Cicely just +gone up to stay with Muriel? Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"It is very inconsiderate of Cicely," said Miss Bird, "nobody could +<i>possibly</i> have objected to her going to stay with Muriel and Miles +would have packed her clothes and gone up to London with her to look +after her and to go by herself without a <i>word</i> and not take a <i>stitch</i> +to put on her back and Mr. Clinton in the greatest anxiety and very +naturally annoyed for with all the horses in the stable to walk to +Bathgate in this heat for from Kencote she did <i>not</i> go one of the men +was sent there to inquire I wonder at her doing such a thing."</p> + +<p>"Keep the facts in your head as they come, Joan," said Nancy. "She +didn't tell anybody she was going. She didn't take any clothes. She +walked to Bathgate, I suppose, to put them off the scent."</p> + +<p>"But whatever did she do it for?" asked Joan. "Something must have upset +her. It is running away, you know. I wish she had told us about it."</p> + +<p>"We'd have gone with her," said Nancy. "She must have done it for a +lark."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be a fool," said Joan. This was one of the twins' formulæ. It +meant, "There <i>are</i> serious things in life," and was more often used by +Joan than by Nancy.</p> + +<p>"Joan how often am I to tell you not to use that expression?" said Miss +Bird, "I may speak to the winds of Heaven for all the effect it has +don't you know that it says he that calleth his brother thou fool shall +be in danger of hell fire?"</p> + +<p>"Nancy isn't my brother, and I'll take the risk," said Joan. "Didn't +Cicely tell mother that she was going?"</p> + +<p>"No she did not and for that I blame her," said Miss Bird. "Mrs. Clinton +came to me in the schoolroom as I was finishing my dinner and although +her calmness is a lesson to all of us she was upset as I could see and +did my <i>very</i> best to persuade her not to worry."</p> + +<p>"It's too bad of Cicely," said Joan. "What are they going to do now?"</p> + +<p>"Your brother Dick went up to London by the late train and a telegram +was to be sent the <i>first</i> thing this morning to relieve all anxiety +though with Muriel no harm can come to Cicely if she got there safely +which I hope and trust may be the case although to go about London by +herself is a thing that she knows she would not be allowed to do, but +there I'm saying a great deal too much to you Joan 'n Nancy you must not +run away with ideas in your head Cicely no doubt has a <i>very</i> good +reason for what she has done and she is <i>years</i> older than both of you +and you must not ask troublesome questions when you go downstairs the +only way you can help is by holding your tongues and being good girls."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, that's the moral of it," said Nancy. "If the roof were +to fall in all we should have to do would be to be good girls and it +would get stuck on again. Joan, I'm hungry; I must go and finish my +bread and butter."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, starling darling, for telling us," said Joan, rising from +her seat on the bed. "It seems very odd, but I dare say we shall get to +the bottom of it somehow. Of course we shan't be able to do any lessons +to-day."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed Joan the very <i>best</i> thing we can do to show we——" began +Miss Bird, but the twins were already out of the room.</p> + +<p>They had to wait some little time before they could satisfy their +curiosity any further, because, in spite of their threat to Miss Bird, +and the excellent relations upon which they stood with all the servants +in the house, they were not in the habit of discussing family affairs +with them, and this was a family affair of somewhat portentous bearings. +They kept Hannah busy about their persons and refused to let her open +her mouth until they were quite dressed, and when they had let +themselves loose on the house for the day paid a visit to Cicely's room.</p> + +<p>Its emptiness and the untouched bed sobered them a little. "What <i>did</i> +she do it for?" exclaimed Joan, as they stood before the dressing-table +upon which all the pretty silver toilette articles lying just as usual +seemed to give the last unaccountable touch of reality to the sudden +flight. "Nancy, do you think it could have been because she didn't want +to marry Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Or because Jim didn't want to marry her," suggested Nancy.</p> + +<p>But neither suggestion carried conviction. They looked about them and +had nothing to say. Their sister, who in some ways was so near to them, +had in this receded immeasurably from their standpoint. They were face +to face with one of those mysterious happenings amongst grown ups of +which the springs were outside the world as they knew it. And Cicely was +grown up, and she and they, although there was so much that they had in +common, were different, not only in the amount but in the quality of +their experience of life.</p> + +<p>They always went in to their mother at eight o'clock, but were not +allowed to go before. They did not want to go out of doors while so much +was happening within, nor to stay in their schoolroom, which was the +last place to which news would be brought; so they perambulated the hall +and the downstairs rooms and got in the way of the maids who were busy +with them. And at a quarter to eight were surprised by their father's +entrance into the library, where they happened to be sitting for the +moment.</p> + +<p>Their surprise was no greater than his, nor was it so effectively +expressed. He saw at once, and said so, that they were up to some +mischief, and he would not have it, did they understand that?</p> + +<p>"We were only sitting talking, father," said Joan. "There was nowhere +else to go."</p> + +<p>"I won't have this room used as a common sitting-room," said the Squire. +"Now go, and don't let me catch you in here again."</p> + +<p>The twins went out into the big hall. "Why couldn't you cry a little at +being spoke to like that?" said Nancy. "He would have told us +everything."</p> + +<p>"That's worn out," replied Joan. "The last time I did it he only said, +'For God's sake don't begin to snivel.' Besides I was rather +frightened."</p> + +<p>Just then the Squire opened his door suddenly. The twins both jumped. +But he only said, "Oh, you're there. Come in here, and shut the door."</p> + +<p>They went in. "Now look here," said the Squire, "you are old enough now +to look at things in a sensible light. I suppose you have heard that +your sister has taken it upon herself to take herself off without a with +your leave or by your leave and has turned the whole house +topsy-turvy—eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," said the twins dutifully.</p> + +<p>"Who told you—eh?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Bird, father."</p> + +<p>"I wish Miss Bird would mind her own business," said the Squire. "What +did she tell you for?"</p> + +<p>"Because she wanted us to be good girls, and not worry you with +questions," replied Nancy.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Well, that's all right," said the Squire, mollified.</p> + +<p>"Now what I want to know is—did Cicely say anything to either of you +about going away like this?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, father," replied the twins, with one voice.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. No daughter of mine +shall behave in that way in this house. Here's everything a girl can +want to make her happy—it's the ingratitude of it that I can't put up +with, and so Miss Cicely shall find when she condescends to come home, +as she shall do if I have to go to fetch her myself."</p> + +<p>Neither of the twins saw her way to interpose a remark. They stood in +front of their father as they stood in front of Miss Bird in the +schoolroom when they "did repetition."</p> + +<p>"Do either of you know if Cicely wasn't contented or anything of that +sort?" inquired the Squire.</p> + +<p>"She has been rather off her oats since Muriel was married," said Joan.</p> + +<p>"Eh! What's that!" exclaimed the Squire, bending his heavy brows on her +with a terrific frown. "Do you think this is a time to play the +fool—with me? Off her oats! How dare you speak like that? We shall have +you running away next."</p> + +<p>Joan's face began to pucker up. "I didn't mean anything, father," she +said in a tremulous voice. "I heard you say it the other day."</p> + +<p>"There, there, child, don't cry," said the Squire. "What I may say and +what you may say are two very different things. Off her oats, eh? Well, +she'd better get <i>on</i> her oats again as quick as possible. Now, I won't +have you children talking about this, do you understand?—or Miss Bird +either. It's a most disagreeable thing to have happened, and if it gets +out I shall be very much annoyed. I don't want the servants to know, and +I trust you two not to go about wagging your tongues, do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"O father, we shouldn't think of saying anything about it to anybody," +exclaimed Nancy.</p> + +<p>"Eh? What? There's nothing to make a mystery about, you know. Cicely has +gone up to London to visit Walter and Muriel. No reason why anybody +should know more than that. There <i>isn't</i> any more to know, except what +concerns me—and I won't have it. Now don't interrupt me any more. Go +off and behave yourselves and don't get in the way. You've got the whole +house to yourselves and I don't want you here. Ring the bell, Joan, I +want Porter to send a telegram."</p> + +<p>The twins departed. They could now go up to their mother. "Don't want +the servants to know!" said Nancy as they went upstairs. "Is it the +camel or the dromedary that sticks its head in the sand?"</p> + +<p>"The ostrich," said Joan. "It seems to me there's a great deal of fuss +about nothing. Cicely wanted to see her dear Muriel, so she went and +<i>saw</i> her. I call it a touching instance of friendship."</p> + +<p>"And fidelity," added Nancy.</p> + +<p>Their view of the matter was not contradicted by anything that Mrs. +Clinton did or said when they went in to her. She was already dressed +and moving about the room, putting things to rights. It was a very big +room, so big that even with the bed not yet made nor the washstand set +in order, it did not look like a room that had just been slept in. It +was over the dining-room and had three windows, before one of which was +a table with books and writing materials on it. There were big, +old-fashioned, cane-seated and backed easy-chairs, with hard cushions +covered with chintz, other tables, a chintz-covered couch, a bookcase +with diamond-paned glass doors. On the broad marble mantelpiece were an +Empire clock and some old china, and over it a long gilt mirror with a +moulded device of lions drawing chariots and cupids flying above them. +On the walls, hung with a faded paper of roses, were water-colour +drawings, crayon portraits, some fine line engravings of well-known +pictures, a few photographs in Oxford frames. The bedroom furniture +proper was of heavy mahogany, a four-post bed hung with white dimity, a +wardrobe as big as a closet. Nothing was modern except the articles on +the dressing-table, nothing was very old.</p> + +<p>Never later than eight o'clock the Squire would rise and go into his +dressing-room, and when Mrs. Clinton had dressed and in her orderly +fashion tidied her room she would sit at her table and read until it was +time to go down to breakfast. Whenever he got up earlier she got up +earlier too, and had longer to spend by the window open to the summer +morning, or in the winter with her books on the table lit by candles. +They were for the most part devotional books. But once the Squire had +come in to her very early one October morning when he was going +cub-hunting and found her reading <i>The Divine Comedy</i> with a translation +and an Italian dictionary and grammar. He had talked of it downstairs as +a good joke: "Mother reading Dante—what?" and she had put away those +books.</p> + +<p>She was a little paler than usual this morning, but the twins noticed no +difference in her manner. She kissed them and said, "You have heard that +Cicely went to London yesterday to stay with Muriel. Father is anxious +about her, and I am rather anxious too, but there is nothing really to +worry about. We must all behave as usual, and two of us at least mustn't +give any cause of complaint to-day."</p> + +<p>She said this with a smile. It was nothing but a repetition of Miss +Bird's exhortation to hold their tongues and be good girls, but they +embraced her, and made fervent promises of good behaviour, which they +fully intended to keep. Then they read something for a few minutes with +their mother and left her to her own reading and her own thoughts.</p> + +<p>The morning post brought no letter from Cicely, and again the Squire +remained standing while he read prayers. Immediately after breakfast he +went down to the Rectory, ostensibly to warn Tom and Grace not to talk, +actually to have an opportunity of talking himself to a fresh relay of +listeners. He expressed his surprise in the same terms as he had already +used, and said repeatedly that he wouldn't have it. Then, as it was +plain that, whether he would or no, he already had had it, he rather +weakly asked the Rector what he would do if he were in his place.</p> + +<p>"Well, Edward," said the Rector thoughtfully, "of course it is very +tiresome and all that, and Cicely ought not to have gone off in that way +without any warning. Still, we don't know what is going on in girls' +minds, do we? Cicely is a sensible girl enough, and I think when she +comes back if you were to leave it to Nina to find out what there was to +make her go off suddenly like that—well, how would that be, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I can't understand it," said the Squire for the twentieth time. "Nina +knows no more about it all than I do. I can't help blaming her for that, +because——"</p> + +<p>"O Edward," said Mrs. Beach, "whoever is to blame, it is not Nina. +Cicely is devoted to her, and so are the dear twins, for all their +general harum-scarumness."</p> + +<p>"Well, I was going to say," said the Squire, who had been going to say +something quite different, "that Nina is very much upset about this. She +takes everything calmly enough, as you know, but she's a good mother to +her children—I will say that for her—and it's enough to upset any +woman when her daughter behaves to her in this monstrous fashion."</p> + +<p>"How do you think it would be," asked the Rector, "if Nina were to go up +to London and have a talk with Cicely there?"</p> + +<p>The Squire hummed and ha'd. "I don't see the sense of making more fuss +about it than has been made already," he said. "I told Nina this +morning, 'If you go posting off to London,' I said, 'everybody will +think that something dreadful has happened. Much better stop where you +are.'"</p> + +<p>"If she wants to go," said Mrs. Beach, "I think it would be the very +best thing. She would bring Cicely to a right frame of mind—nobody +could do it better; and you would be at home, Edward, to see that +nothing was done here to complicate matters. I think that would be very +important, and nobody could do that but you."</p> + +<p>"So you think it would be a good idea if I let Nina go up to her?" said +the Squire.</p> + +<p>The Rector and Mrs. Beach both thought it would be a very good idea.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Squire, "I thought perhaps it would, but I hadn't quite +made up my mind about it. I thought we'd better wait, at any rate, till +we got an answer to my wire to Walter. And that reminds me—I'd better +be getting back. Well, good-bye, Tom, good-bye, my dear Grace. Of course +I needn't ask either of <i>you</i> not to let this go any further."</p> + +<p>The non-arrival of an answer to his message had a cumulative effect upon +the Squire's temper during the morning. At half-past eleven o'clock he +gained some temporary relief to his discomfort by despatching another +one, and did not entirely recover his balance until Dick's telegram +arrived about luncheon time. Then he calmed down suddenly, joked with +the twins over the table and told Miss Bird that she was getting younger +every day. He also gave Mrs. Clinton her marching orders. "I think you +had better go up, Nina," he said, "and see what the young monkey has +been after. I'm excessively annoyed with her, and you can tell her so; +but if she really <i>is</i> with Walter and Muriel I don't suppose any harm +has come to her. I must say it's a relief. Still, I'm very angry about +it, and so she'll find out when she comes home."</p> + +<p>So another telegram was despatched, and Mrs. Clinton went up to London +by the afternoon train accompanied by the discreet and faithful Miles.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>MRS. CLINTON</h3> + + +<p>That night Cicely and her mother sat late together in Mrs. Clinton's +bedroom. Mrs. Clinton was in a low easy-chair and Cicely on a stool at +her feet. Outside was the continuous and restless echo of London pushing +up to the very feet of its encircling hills, but they were as far +removed from it in spirit as if they had been at home in still and +spacious Kencote.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton had arrived at Muriel's house in time for dinner. Walter +had come home from Lord's soon enough to meet her at the station and +bring her out in his motor-car. He had made Miles sit in front with his +servant and he had told his mother what Dick would have told her if she +had waited to come to Cicely until after he had returned to Kencote. She +had listened to him in silence as he unfolded his story, making no +comment even when he told her of Dick's opening her daughter's letter to +her; but when he told her that Cicely had asked that she should be sent +for she had clasped her hands and said, "Oh, I am so glad."</p> + +<p>Muriel had met her at the door, but Cicely had stayed in the +drawing-room, pale and downcast. She had gone in to her alone and kissed +her and said, "I am glad you wanted your mother, my darling. You shall +tell me everything to-night when we go upstairs, and we won't think +about it any more until then."</p> + +<p>So the evening had passed almost pleasantly. At times even Cicely must +have forgotten what lay behind and before her, for she had laughed and +talked with a sort of feverish gaiety; only after such outbursts she had +grown suddenly silent and trembled on the verge of tears. Walter had +watched her and sent her upstairs before ten o'clock, and her mother had +gone up with her and helped her to undress as if she had been a child +again. Then she had put on her dressing-gown and gone to Mrs. Clinton's +room, and resting her head on her mother's knee had told her everything +with frequent tears and many exclamations at her own madness and folly.</p> + +<p>It was more difficult to tell even than she had thought. When all was +said about her discontent and the suddenness with which she had been +urged towards a way of escape from surroundings that now seemed +inexpressibly dear to her, there remained that inexcusable fault of +leaving her mother without a word, for a man whom she couldn't even +plead that she loved. With her mother's hand caressing her hair it +seemed to her incredible that she could have done such a thing. She +begged her forgiveness again and again, but each time that she received +loving words in answer she felt that it must be impossible that they +could ever be to one another again what they had been.</p> + +<p>At last Mrs. Clinton said, "You must not think too much of that, my +darling. You were carried away; you hardly knew what you were doing. It +is all wiped out in my mind by your wanting me directly you came to +yourself. We won't talk of it any more. But what we ought to talk of, +Cicely dear, and try to see our way through, is the state of mind you +had got into, which made what happened to you possible, and gave this +man his opportunity. I think that six months ago, although he might have +tried to behave in the same way, you would only have been frightened; +you would have come straight to me and told me."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I should, mother," she cried.</p> + +<p>"Then what was it that has come between us? You have told me that you +were discontented at home, but couldn't you have told me that before?"</p> + +<p>Cicely was silent. Why hadn't she told her mother, to whom she had been +used to tell everything, of her discontent? A sudden blush ran down from +her cheeks to her neck. It was because she had judged her mother, as +well as her father and brothers, her mother who had accepted the life +that she had kicked against and had bent a meek head to the whims of her +master. She couldn't tell her that.</p> + +<p>"The thing that decided me," she began hesitatingly, "when I was sitting +in my room that night not knowing what I was going to do, I heard father +and Dick talking as they came up, and they had decided to turn Aunt +Ellen and Aunt Laura out of the house they had lived in nearly all their +lives and let it to those MacLeod people. It seemed to me so—so selfish +and—and horrible."</p> + +<p>"You cannot have heard properly," said Mrs. Clinton. "It was what they +had decided not to do. Father woke me up to tell me so. But even if——I +don't understand, Cicely dear."</p> + +<p>"O mother, can't you see?" cried Cicely. "If I was wrong about that, and +I'm very glad I was, it is just what they <i>might</i> have done. They had +talked it all over again and again, and they couldn't make up their +minds—and before us!"</p> + +<p>"Before us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. We are nobodies. If father were to die Dick would turn us out of +the house as a matter of course. He would have everything; we should +have nothing."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton was clearly bewildered. "Dick would not turn us out of the +house unless he were married," she said, "and we should not have +nothing. We should be very well off. But surely, Cicely, it is +impossible that you can have been thinking of money matters in that way! +You cannot be giving me a right impression of what has been in your +mind."</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't that," said Cicely. "I don't know anything about money +matters, and I haven't thought about them—not in that way. But father +and the boys do talk about money; a lot seems to depend upon it, and I +can't help seeing that they spend a great deal of money on whatever they +want to-do, and we have to take what's left."</p> + +<p>"Still I don't understand, dear," said Mrs. Clinton. "Certainly it costs +a great deal to keep up a house like Kencote; but it is our home; we are +all happy there together."</p> + +<p>"Are you quite happy there, mother?" asked Cicely.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton put by the question. "You know, of course," she went on, +"that we are well off, a good deal better off than most families who +have big properties to keep up. For people in our position we live +simply, and if—if I were to outlive father, and you and the children +were still unmarried, we should live together—not in such a big house +as Kencote—but with everything we could desire, or that would be good +for us."</p> + +<p>"And if we lived like that," said Cicely, "wouldn't you think some +things good for us that we don't have, mother? If we had horses, +wouldn't you let me have one to ride? Wouldn't you take me to London +sometimes, not to go to smart parties, but to see something of +interesting people as Angela and Beatrice do at Aunt Emmeline's, and see +plays and pictures and hear music? Wouldn't you take us abroad +sometimes? Should we have to live the whole year round in the country, +doing nothing and knowing nothing?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton's hand stopped its gentle, caressing movement, and then +went on again. During the moment of pause she faced a crisis as vital as +that which Cicely had gone through. She had had just those desires in +her youth and she had stifled them. Could they be stifled—would it be +right to stifle them—in the daughter who had, perhaps, inherited them +from her?</p> + +<p>"You asked me just now," she said, "whether I was happy. Yes, I am +happy. I have my dear ones around me, I have my religion, I have my +place in the world to fill. I should be very ungrateful if I were not +happy. But if you ask me whether the life I lead is exactly what it +would be if it rested only with me to order it—I think you know that it +isn't?"</p> + +<p>"But why shouldn't it be, mother? Other women do the things they like, +and father and the boys do exactly what they like. If you have wanted +the same things that I want now, I say you ought to have had them."</p> + +<p>"If I had had them, Cicely, I should not have found out one very great +thing—that happiness does not come from these things; it does not come +from doing what you like, even if what you like is good in itself. I +might almost say that it comes from not doing what you like. That is the +lesson that I have learned of life, and I am thankful that it has been +taught me."</p> + +<p>Cicely was silent for a time. She seemed to see her mother, dear as she +had been to her, in a new light, with a halo of uncomplaining +self-sacrifice round her. Her face burned as she remembered how that +morning in church, and since, she had thought of her as one who had +bartered her independence for a life of dull luxury and stagnation. It +came upon her with a flash of insight that her mother was a woman of +strong intelligence, who had, consciously, laid her intellectual gifts +on the altar of duty, and found her reward in doing so. The thought +found ineffective utterance.</p> + +<p>"Of course it is from you that Walter gets his brains," she said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton did not reply to this. "You are very young to learn the +lesson," she said. "I am not sure—I don't think it is a lesson that +every one need learn—that every woman need learn. I should like you to +make use of your brains—if that is really what you have been unhappy +about, Cicely. But is it so, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," said Cicely. "I suppose not. If I had wanted to +learn things, there are plenty of books at Kencote and I had plenty of +time. It was in London—it was just one of the things. First I was +jealous—I suppose it was that—because Dick and Humphrey had always had +such a good time and seemed to belong to everything, and I was so out of +it all. I still think that very unfair. Then when I went to Aunt +Emmeline's and saw what a good time Angela and Beatrice had in a +different sort of way—I wanted that too. And I think <i>that</i> is unfair. +When I talked to them—I like them very much, but I suppose they wanted +to show how much better off they were than I am—the only thing they +seemed to think I was lucky in was my allowance, and even then they said +they didn't see how I could spend it, as I never went anywhere. I felt +so <i>ignorant</i> beside them. Once Angela said something to me in +French—the maid was in the room—and I didn't understand her. I was +ashamed. Mother, I think I ought to have had the chances that Angela and +Beatrice have had."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton listened with a grave face. How could she not have believed +most of it to be true? She knew that, in marrying her, her husband had +been considered to be marrying rather beneath him. And yet, her +brother's daughters were—there was no doubt of it—better fitted to +take a place, even a high place, in the world than her own daughter. Her +husband could never have seen it, but she knew that it was true. Her +younger niece was already engaged to be married to a man of some mark in +the world, and she would be an intellectual companion to him. If Cicely +had caught the fancy of such a man she would have had everything to +learn. Even in this deplorable danger through which she had just passed, +it was her ignorance that had laid her open to it. Perhaps her very +ignorance had attracted the man to her, but he certainly would not have +been able so to bend her to his will if she had lived more in the world.</p> + +<p>"There is one thing, darling," said Mrs. Clinton, "that we have not +spoken of. I don't want to complicate the troubles you are passing +through, but it has a bearing on what you have been saying."</p> + +<p>"You mean about Jim," said Cicely courageously.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Father and I have both been very glad of what we have always +looked upon as an engagement, although it could not be a recognised one +when—when it was first mooted. You must remember, dear, that we are +country people. It seems to us natural that our daughters should marry +country gentlemen—should marry into the circle of our friends and +neighbours. And the prospect of your living near us has always given us +great pleasure. You seemed to me quite happy at home, and I thought you +would have the best chance of happiness in your married life in another +home not unlike ours. I thought you were well fitted to fill that place. +I did not think of you—I don't think it ever crossed my mind to think +of you—as wanting a different life, the sort of life that your cousins +lead, for instance."</p> + +<p>"Jim was very good to me, this morning," Cicely said, in a low voice. "I +love him for it. Of course I do love him, in a way, just as I love Dick +or Walter. I was very much ashamed at having left <i>him</i> like that, for +somebody who—who isn't as good as he is. Jim <i>is</i> good, in a way a man +ought to be. But, mother—I can't marry Jim now, after this."</p> + +<p>"It is too soon to talk of it, or perhaps even to think of it. And you +have no right to marry anybody unless you love him as a woman should +love her husband, not as you love your brothers. We need not talk of +marriage now at all. But, my dearest, I want you to be happy when you +come home again. If you come back to think that you are badly used, +that——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but, mother," Cicely interrupted her, "that is all over. I have +only been trying to tell you what I did feel. I never thought of the +other side at all. Last night I lay awake and simply longed for home. I +have been very ungrateful. I love Kencote, and the country and +everything I do there, really. I never knew before how much I loved it. +It was a sort of madness that came over me."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you feel like that. You have a very beautiful home, and you +are surrounded by those who love you. You <i>ought</i> to be able to make +yourself happy at home, even if you have not got everything that you +might like to have. Can you do so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother, I can. I was happy enough before."</p> + +<p>"Before you went to London."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I suppose it was that. I must be very foolish to let a visit +to London upset me. I don't want to see London again now for a long +time. O mother, I have been very wicked. You won't be different to me, +will you?"</p> + +<p>She buried her face in her mother's lap. She was overwrought and +desperately tired. Mrs. Clinton felt that except for having done +something towards healing the wound made by her late experience she had +accomplished little. Cicely's eyes had been partially opened, and it was +not in her mother's power to close them again. It was only natural that +she should now turn for a time eagerly towards the quiet life she had +been so eager to run away from. But when her thoughts had settled down +again, when weeks and months had divided her from her painful awakening, +and its memory had worn thin, would she then be content, or would these +desires, which no one could say were unreasonable, gain strength again +to unsettle and dispirit her? It was only too likely. And if they did, +what chance was there of satisfying them?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton thought over these things when she had tucked Cicely up in +her bed and sat by her side until she was asleep. Cicely had begged her +to do this, Cicely, her mother's child again, who, the night before had +lain awake hour after hour, alone, trembling at the unknown and longing +for the dear familiar. There was deep thankfulness in the mother's heart +as she watched over her child restored to her love and protection, but +there was sadness too, and some fear of the future, which was not +entirely in her hands.</p> + +<p>Cicely was soon asleep. Mrs. Clinton gently disengaged the hand she had +been holding, stood for a time looking down upon her, fondly but rather +sadly, and crept out of the room. It was nearly one o'clock, so long had +their confidences lasted, but as she came downstairs, for Cicely's room +was on the second floor, Walter came out of his bedroom dressed to go +out.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, mother!" he said. "Not in bed yet! I've been called up. Child +with croup. I don't suppose I shall be long, and Muriel is going down to +make me some soup. If you'd like a yarn with her——"</p> + +<p>Muriel came out in her dressing-gown. "I said I would always make him +soup when he was called out at night," she said, "and this is the first +time. I'm a good doctor's wife, don't you think so, Mrs. Clinton? Is +Cicely asleep?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have just left her. I will come down with you, dear, and help +you make Walter's soup."</p> + +<p>So they went down together and when they had done their work, bending +together over a gas stove in the kitchen, which was the home of more +black beetles than was altogether desirable, although it was otherwise +clean and bright and well-furnished, they sat by the dining-room table +awaiting Walter's return.</p> + +<p>There was sympathy between Mrs. Clinton and her daughter-in-law, who +recognised her fine qualities and loved her for them, privately thinking +that she was a woman ill-used by fate and her husband. Mrs. Graham +thought so too, but she and Mrs. Clinton had little in common, and in +spite of mutual esteem, could hardly be called friends. But the tie +which had bound Muriel to Kencote all her life had depended almost as +much upon Mrs. Clinton as upon Cicely, and until the last few months +more than it had upon Walter. They could talk together knowing that each +would understand the other, and Muriel's downrightness did not offend +Mrs. Clinton.</p> + +<p>She plunged now into the middle of things. "You know it is Jim I am +thinking of, Mrs. Clinton," she said, "now that this extraordinary +business is over. I want to know where Jim comes in."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid, my dear," said Mrs. Clinton, with a smile, "that poor Jim +has come in very little."</p> + +<p>"Did you know," asked Muriel, "that Jim was head over ears in love with +Cicely, or did you think, like everybody else, that he was slack about +it?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton thought for a moment. "I have never thought of him as head +over ears in love with Cicely," she said.</p> + +<p>"And I didn't either, till Walter told me. But he is. He behaved like a +brick to-day. Dick told Walter. And Cicely told me too. It was Jim who +got her away from that man—the horrible creature! How can a man be such +a brute, Mrs. Clinton?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to talk about him, Muriel," said Mrs. Clinton quietly. "He +has come into our life and he has gone out again. I hope we shall never +see him again."</p> + +<p>"If I ever see him," said Muriel, "nothing shall prevent my telling him +what I think of him. How Cicely could! Poor darling, she doesn't know +how she could herself, now. She told me that she saw him as he was +beside Jim and Dick. He isn't a gentleman, for all the great things he +has done, and somehow that little fact seemed to have escaped her until +then. Don't you think it is rather odd that it matters so tremendously +to women like us whether the men we live with are gentlemen or not, and +yet we are so liable at first to make mistakes about them?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton was not quite equal to the discussion of a general +question. "It would matter to any one brought up as Cicely has been," +she said, "or you. Can you tell me exactly what you mean when you say +that Jim is head over ears in love with Cicely? I don't think he has +shown it to her."</p> + +<p>"Nobody quite knows Jim, except Walter," replied Muriel. "I don't, and +mother doesn't; and dear father never did. I suppose there is not much +doubt about his being rather slow. Slow and sure is just the phrase to +fit him. He is sure of himself when he makes up his mind about a thing, +and I suppose he was sure of Cicely. He was just content to wait. You +know, I'm afraid Walter thinks that Cicely has behaved very badly to +him."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" asked Mrs. Clinton.</p> + +<p>Muriel hesitated. "I think what Walter does," she said, rather doggedly. +"But I don't feel it so much. I love Cicely, and I am very sorry for +her."</p> + +<p>"Why are you sorry for her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, one could hardly help being after what she has gone through."</p> + +<p>"Only that, Muriel?"</p> + +<p>Muriel hesitated again. "I don't think she has had quite a fair chance," +she said.</p> + +<p>"She has had the same chances that you have had."</p> + +<p>"Not quite, I think," said Muriel. She spoke with her head down and a +face rather flushed, as if she was determined to go through with +something unpleasant. "I'm not as clever as she is, but if I had +been—if I had wanted the sort of things that she wants—I should have +had them."</p> + +<p>"I think she could have had them, if she had really wanted them," said +Mrs. Clinton quietly. "I think I should have seen that she did have +them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear Mrs. Clinton, don't think I'm taking it on myself to blame +you. You know I wouldn't do that. But I must say what I think. Life is +desperately dull for a girl at houses like Kencote or Mountfield."</p> + +<p>"Kencote and Mountfield?"</p> + +<p>"Well, don't be angry with me if I say it is much more dull at Kencote +than at Mountfield. Cicely isn't even allowed to hunt. I was, and yet I +was glad enough to get away from it, although I love country life, and +so does Walter. We never see anybody, we never go anywhere. I am heaps +and heaps happier in this little house of my own than I was at +Mountfield."</p> + +<p>"Muriel," said Mrs. Clinton "what is it that Cicely wants? You and she +talk of the same things. First it is one thing and then it is another. +First it is that she has had no chances of learning. What has she ever +shown that she wants to learn? Then it is that she does not go away, and +does not see new faces. Is that a thing of such importance that the want +of it should lead to what has happened? Then it is that she is not +allowed to hunt! I will not add to Cicely's trouble now by rebuking +these desires. Only the first of them could have any weight with me, and +I do not think that has ever been a strong desire, or is now, for any +reason that is worth taking into consideration. But the plain truth of +the whole trouble is that Cicely had her mind upset by her visit to +London two months ago. <i>You</i> should not encourage her in her discontent. +Her only chance of happiness is to see where her duty lies and to gauge +the amusements that she cannot have at their true value."</p> + +<p>"I haven't encouraged her," said Muriel, "I said much the same as you +have when she first talked to me. I told her she had had her head +turned. But, all the same, I think there is something in what she says, +and at any rate, she has felt it so strongly as nearly to spoil her life +in trying to get away from it all. She'll be pleased enough to get home +now, if—if—well, excuse my saying it, but—if Mr. Clinton will let her +alone—and yet, it will all come back on her when she has got used to +being at home. Do you know what I think, Mrs. Clinton? I think the only +thing that will give her back to herself now is for her to marry Jim as +quickly as possible."</p> + +<p>"But Kencote and Mountfield both are desperately dull for a girl!"</p> + +<p>Muriel laughed, "She wouldn't find Mountfield so if she really loved +Jim. I don't know whether she does or not. She won't hear of him now."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton was silent for a time. Then she said slowly, "It was Jim +who rescued her to-day from a great danger. I think it is only Jim who +can rescue her from herself."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>CICELY'S RETURN</h3> + + +<p>"When Cicely comes, send her in to me at once," said the Squire, with +the air of a man who was going to take a matter in hand.</p> + +<p>Cicely, convoyed by the reliable Miles, was returning to Kencote after +having stayed with Muriel for a fortnight. Mrs. Clinton had left her at +Melbury Park after a three days' visit.</p> + +<p>"And I won't have the children meeting her, or anything of that sort," +added the Squire. "She is not coming home in triumph. You can go to the +door, Nina, and send her straight in to me. We'll get this business put +right once for all."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton said nothing, but went out of the room. She could have +small hopes that her husband would succeed when she had failed in +putting the business right. She told herself now that she had failed. +During her many talks with Cicely, although she had been able, with her +love and wisdom, to soothe the raw shame that had come upon her daughter +when she had looked back in cold blood to her flight with Mackenzie, she +had not been able to do away with the feeling of resentment with which +Cicely had come to view her home life. Her weapons had turned back upon +herself. Neither of them had been able to say to each other exactly what +was in their mind, and because Cicely had to stay herself with some +reason for her action, which with her father, at any rate, must be +defended somehow, she had fallen back upon the causes of her discontent +and held to them even against her mother. And there was enough truth in +them to make it difficult for Mrs. Clinton to combat her attitude, +without saying, what she could not say, that it was the duty of every +wife and every daughter to do as she had done, and rigidly sink her own +personality where it might clash with the smallest wish or action of her +husband. She claimed to have gained her own happiness in doing so, but +the doctrine of happiness through such self-sacrifice was too hard a one +for a young girl to receive. She had gained Cicely's admiration and a +more understanding love from the self-revelation which in some sort she +had made, but she had not availed to make her follow her example, and +could not have done so without holding it up as the one right course. +Cicely must fight her own battle with her father, and whichever of them +proved the victor no good could be expected to come of it. She was firm +in her conviction now that in Jim Graham's hands lay the only immediate +chance of happiness for her daughter. But Jim had held quite aloof. No +word had been heard from him, and no one had seen him since he had +parted with Dick on the evening after their journey to London, when they +had dined together and Jim had said he would bide his chance. If he were +to sink back now into what had seemed his old apathy, he would lose +Cicely again and she would lose her present chance of happiness.</p> + +<p>The twins, informed by their mother that they must not go to the station +to meet Cicely, or even come down into the hall, but that she would come +up to them when she had seen her father, of course gathered, if they had +not gathered it before, that their elder sister was coming home in +disgrace, and spent their leisure time in devising methods to show that +they did not share in the disapprobation; in which they were alternately +encouraged and thwarted by Miss Bird, whose tender affection for Cicely +warred with her fear of the Squire's displeasure.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clinton was in the hall when the carriage drove up. Cicely came in, +on her face an expression of mixed determination and timidity, and her +mother drew her into the morning-room. "Father wants to see you at once, +darling," she said. "You must be good. If you can make him understand +ever so little you know he will be kind."</p> + +<p>It was doubtful if this hurried speech would help matters at all, and +there was no time for more, for the Squire was at his door asking the +servants where Miss Clinton was, for he wanted to see her at once.</p> + +<p>"I am here, father," said Cicely, going out into the hall again.</p> + +<p>"I want you in here," said the Squire. They went into his room and the +door was shut, leaving Mrs. Clinton alone outside.</p> + +<p>The Squire marched up to the empty fireplace and took his stand with his +back to it. Cicely sat down in one of the big chairs, which seemed to +disconcert him for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether you have come home expecting to be welcomed as if +nothing had happened," he began.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't expect that, father," said Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Well now, what is the meaning of it? That's what I want to know. I +have been pretty patient, I think. You have had your fling for over a +fortnight, the whole house has been upset and I've said nothing. Now I +want to get to the bottom of it. Because if you think that you can +behave in that way"—here followed a vivid summary of the way in which +Cicely had behaved—"you are very much mistaken." The Squire was now +fairly launched. It only rested with Cicely to keep him going with a +word every now and then, for she knew that until he had wrought himself +into a due state of indignation and then given satisfactory vent to it, +nothing she could say would have any effect at all.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, father," she said. "I know it was wrong of me, and I +won't do it again."</p> + +<p>This was all that was wanted. "Won't do it again?" echoed the Squire. +"No, you won't do it again. I'll take good care of that." He then went +on to bring home to her the enormity of her offence, which seemed to +have consisted chiefly in upsetting the whole house, which he wouldn't +have, and so on. But when he had repeated all he had to say twice, and +most of it three or four times, he suddenly took his seat in the chair +opposite to her and said in quite a different tone, "What on earth made +you do it, Cicely?" and her time had come.</p> + +<p>"I was not happy at home, father," she said quietly.</p> + +<p>This set the Squire off on another oration, tending to show that it was +positively wicked to talk like that. There wasn't a girl in England who +had more done for her. He himself spent his days and nights chiefly in +thinking what he could do for the happiness of his children, and the +same might be said of their mother. He enumerated the blessings Cicely +enjoyed, amongst which the amount of money spent upon keeping up a place +like Kencote bulked largely. When he had gone over the field a second +time, and picked up the gleanings left over from his sheaves of oratory, +he asked her, apparently as a matter of kindly curiosity, what she had +to grumble about.</p> + +<p>She told him dispiritedly, leaving him time after each item of her +discontent to put her in the wrong.</p> + +<p>Item: She had nothing to do at home.</p> + +<p>He said amongst other things that he had in that very room a manuscript +volume compiled by her great-great-grandmother full of receipts and so +forth, which he intended to get published some day to show what women +could do in a house if they really did what they ought.</p> + +<p>Item: She hadn't been properly educated.</p> + +<p>That was wicked nonsense, and he wondered at a daughter of his talking +such trash. In the course of further remarks he said that when all the +girls in the board schools could play the piano and none of them could +cook, he supposed the Radicals would be satisfied.</p> + +<p>Item: There were a great many horses in the stable and she was not +allowed to ride one of them.</p> + +<p>Did she think she had gone the right way to work to have horses given +her, bolting out of the house without a with your leave or a by your +leave, etc.? Had her six great-aunts ever wanted horses to ride? Hunting +he would not have. He might be old-fashioned, he dared say he was, but +to see a woman tearing about the country, etc.——! But if she had come +to him properly, and it had been otherwise convenient, he gave her to +understand that a horse might have been found for her at any time. He +did not say that one would be found for her <i>now</i>.</p> + +<p>Item: She never went anywhere.</p> + +<p>A treatise on gadding about, with sub-sections devoted to the state of +drains in foreign cities, the game of Bridge, as played in country +houses, and the overcrowded state of the Probate and Divorce Court.</p> + +<p>Item: She never saw anybody interesting.</p> + +<p>A flat denial, and in the course of its expansion a sentence that +brought the blood to Cicely's face and left her pale and terrified. +"Why, only the other day," said the Squire, "one of the most talked of +men in England dined here. I suppose you would call Ronald Mackenzie an +interesting man, eh? Why, what's the matter? Aren't you well?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, father dear. Please go on."</p> + +<p>The Squire went on. Fortunately he had not noticed the sudden blush, but +only the paleness that had followed it. Supposing he had seen, and her +secret had been dragged out of her! She gave him no more material on +which to exercise his gift of oratory, but sat silent and frightened +while he dealt further with the subject in hand and showed her that she +was fortunate in living amongst the most interesting set of people in +England. Her uncle Tom knew as much as anybody about butterflies, her +Aunt Grace played the piano remarkably well for an amateur, Sir Ralph +Perry, who lived at Warnton Court, four miles away, had written a book +on fly-fishing, the Rector of Bathgate had published a volume of +sermons, the Vicar of Blagden rubbed brasses, Mrs. Kingston of Axtol was +the daughter of a Cambridge professor, and the Squire supposed he was +not entirely destitute of intelligence himself. At any rate, he had +corresponded with a good many learned gentlemen in his time, and they +seemed anxious enough to come to Kencote, and didn't treat him exactly +as if he were a fool when they did come.</p> + +<p>"The upshot of it all is, Cicely," concluded the Squire, "that you want +a great many things that you can't have and are not going to have, and +the sooner you see that and settle down sensibly to do your duty the +better."</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," said Cicely, longing to get away.</p> + +<p>The Squire bethought himself. He had nothing more to say, although as he +was considering what to do next he said over again a few of the more +salient things that he had said before. He hoped he had made an +impression, but he would have liked to end up on a note rather less tame +than this. With Cicely so meek and quiet, however, and his indignation +against her, already weakened by having been spread over a fortnight, +having now entirely evaporated by being expressed, as his indignation +generally did evaporate, he had arrived somehow at a loose end. He +looked at his daughter for the first time with some affection, and +noticed that she was pale, and, he thought, thinner.</p> + +<p>"Come here and give me a kiss," he said, and she went to him and put her +head on his big shoulder. "Now you're going to be a good girl and not +give us any more trouble, aren't you?" he said, patting her on the +sleeve; and she promised that she would be a good girl and not give any +more trouble, with mental reservations mercifully hidden from him.</p> + +<p>"There, don't cry," said the Squire. "We won't say any more about it; +and if you want a horse to ride, we'll see if we can't find you a horse +to ride. I dare say you think your old father a terrible martinet, but +it's all for your good, you know. You must say to yourself when you feel +dissatisfied about some little twopenny-halfpenny disappointment that he +knows best."</p> + +<p>Cicely gave him a hug. He was a dear old thing really, and if one could +only always bear in mind the relative qualities of his bark and his bite +there would be no need at all to go in awe of him. "Dear old daddy," she +said. "I am sorry I ran away, and I'm very glad to get home again."</p> + +<p>Then she went upstairs quite lightheartedly, and along the corridor to +the schoolroom. The twins, arrayed in long blue overalls, were tidying +up, after lessons, and Miss Bird was urging them to more conscientious +endeavour, avowing that it was no more trouble to put a book on a shelf +the right way than the wrong way, and that if there were fifty servants +in the house it would be wrong to throw waste paper in the fireplace, +since waste paper baskets existed to have waste paper thrown into them +and fireplaces did not.</p> + +<p>After a minute pause of observation, the twins threw themselves upon +Cicely with one accord and welcomed her vociferously, and Miss Bird +followed suit.</p> + +<p>"My own darling," she said warmly, "we have missed you dreadfully and +how are Muriel and Walter I suppose as happy as anything now Joan 'n +Nancy there is no occasion to pull Cicely to pieces you can be glad to +see her without roughness and go <i>at once</i> and take off your overalls +and wash your hands for tea I dare say Cicely will go with you."</p> + +<p>"Have you been to your room yet, darling?" asked Joan.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," said Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Now <i>straight</i> to your own room first," said Miss Bird, clapping her +hands together to add weight to her command. "You can go with Cicely +afterwards."</p> + +<p>"All right, starling darling, we'll be ready in time for tea," said +Nancy. "You finish clearing up" and one on each side of Cicely, they led +her to her own bedroom, and threw open the door. The room was garlanded +with pink and white paper roses. They formed festoons above the bed and +were carried in loops round the walls, upon which had also been hung +placards printed in large letters and coloured by hand. "Welcome to our +Sister," ran one inscription, and others were, "There is No Place like +Home," "Cicely for Ever," and "No Popery."</p> + +<p>The twins watched eagerly for signs of surprised rapture and were +abundantly rewarded. "But that's not all," said Joan, and led her up to +the dressing-table, upon which was an illuminated address running as +follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"We, the undersigned, present this token of our continued esteem to +Cecilia Mary Clinton, on the occasion of her home-coming to Kencote +House, Meadshire. Do unto others as you would be done by.</p> + +<p>"<i>Signed</i>, <span class="smcap">Joan Ellen Clinton Nancy Caroline Clinton</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>"I think it's rather well done," said Nancy, "though our vermilions had +both run out and we didn't like to borrow yours without asking. Starling +bought us the gold paint on condition that we put in the Golden Rule. It +doesn't look bad, does it, Cicely?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's lovely," said Cicely. "I shall always keep it. Thanks so +much, darlings."</p> + +<p>After the subsequent embraces, Nancy eyed her with some curiosity. "I +say, there <i>was</i> a dust-up," she said. "Have you made it up with father, +Cis?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be a fool," said Joan. "She doesn't want you bothering her. It is +quite enough that we're jolly glad to have her back."</p> + +<p>"I was rather dull," said Cicely, with a nervous little laugh, "so I +went away for a bit."</p> + +<p>"Quite right too," said Joan. "I should have done the same, and so would +Nancy. We thought of putting up 'Don't be Downtrodden,' but we were +afraid mother wouldn't like it, so we put up 'No Popery' instead. It +comes to the same thing."</p> + +<p>"We're doing the Gordon Riots in history," Nancy explained further. +"Father was awful at first, Cis, but he has calmed down a lot since. I +think Dick poured oil on the troubled waters. Dick is a brick. He gave +us half a sovereign each before he went up to Scotland."</p> + +<p>"We didn't ask him for it," said Nancy.</p> + +<p>"No," said Joan, "we only told him we were saving up for a camera, and +it took a long time out of a bob a week each pocket-money."</p> + +<p>"Flushed with our success," said Nancy, "we tried father; but the moment +was not propitious."</p> + +<p>"It was your fault," said Joan. "You would hurry it. Directly I said, +'When we get our camera we shall be able to take photographs of the +shorthorns,' you heaved a silly great sigh and said, 'It takes <i>such</i> a +long time to save up with only a shilling a week pocket-money,' and of +course what <i>could</i> he say but that when he was our age he only had +sixpence?"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it for a moment," said Nancy.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter. He had to say it. I was going to lead up much more +slowly. How often has starling told you that if a thing's worth doing at +all it's worth doing well?"</p> + +<p>Here Miss Bird herself appeared at the door and said it was just as she +had expected, and had they heard her tell them to do a thing or had they +not, because if they had and had then gone and done something else she +should go straight to Mrs. Clinton, for she was tired of having her +words set at nought, and it was time to take serious measures, although +nobody would be more sorry to have to do so than herself, Joan and Nancy +being perfectly capable of behaving themselves as they should if they +would only set their minds to it and do exactly as she told them.</p> + +<p>Cicely heard the latter part of the address fading away down the +corridor, shut the door with a smile and began to take off her hat with +a sigh. The chief ordeal was over, but there was a good deal to go +through still before she could live in this room again as she had lived +in it before. If, indeed, she ever could. She looked round her, and its +familiarity touched her strangely. It spoke not of the years she had +occupied it, the five years since she had left the nursery wing, but of +the one night when she had prepared to leave it for ever. It would be +part of her ordeal to have that painful and confusing memory brought +before her whenever she entered it. She hated now to think of that night +and of the day and night that had followed it. She flushed hotly as she +turned again to her glass, and called herself a fool. Then she +resolutely turned pictures to the wall of her mind and made herself +think of something else, casting her thoughts loose to hit upon any +subject they pleased. They struck against her aunts at the dower-house, +and she grappled the idea and made up her mind to go and see them after +tea, and get that over.</p> + +<p>She found them in their morning-room, engaged as before, except that +their tea-table had been cleared away. "Well, dear Aunt Ellen and Aunt +Laura, I have come back," she said, kissing them in turn. "Muriel's +house <i>is</i> so pretty. You would love to see it."</p> + +<p>But Aunt Ellen was not to be put off in this way. The Squire had come +down to them on the afternoon of the day after Cicely had disappeared, +and had gained more solid satisfaction from the attitude taken up by +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura when he had unfolded his news than from any +reception it had before or after. Cicely was still in their black books.</p> + +<p>"Oh, so you have returned at last," said Aunt Ellen, receiving her kiss, +but not returning it. Aunt Laura was not so unforgiving. She kissed her +and said, "O Cicely, if you had known what unhappiness your action would +cause, I am sure you would have thought twice about it."</p> + +<p>Cicely sat down. "I have made it all right with father now," she said. +"I would rather not talk about it if you don't mind, Aunt Laura. Muriel +sent her love to you. I said I should come and see you directly I came +back."</p> + +<p>"When I was a girl," said Aunt Ellen—"I am speaking now of nearly +eighty years ago—I upset a glass of table ale at the commencement of +luncheon, and your great-grandfather was very angry. But that was +nothing to this."</p> + +<p>"I have seldom seen your dear father so moved," said Aunt Laura. "I +cannot see very well without my glasses, and I had mislaid them; they +were on the sideboard in the dining-room where I had gone to get out a +decanter of sherry; but I believe there were tears in his eyes. If it +was so it should make you all the more sorry, Cicely."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," said Cicely, "but father has forgiven me. Mayn't we +talk about something else?"</p> + +<p>"Your father was very high-spirited as a child," said Aunt Ellen, "and I +and your aunts had some difficulty in managing him; not that he was a +naughty child, far from it, but he was full of life. And you must always +remember that he was a boy. But I feel quite sure that he would never in +his wildest moments have thought of going away from home and leaving no +word of his address."</p> + +<p>"I sent a telegram," pleaded Cicely.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but telegrams were not invented in the days I am speaking of," said +Aunt Ellen.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, sister," said Aunt Laura. "The electric telegraph was +invented when Edward was a boy, but not when we were girls."</p> + +<p>"That may be so, sister," said Aunt Ellen. "It is many years since we +were girls, but I say that Edward would not have run away."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Aunt Laura. "You should never forget, Cicely, what +a good father you have. I am sure when I heard the other day from Mr. +Hayles that your dear father had instructed him to refuse Lady Alistair +MacLeod's most advantageous offer to rent this house, solely on account +of your Aunt Ellen and myself, I felt that we were, indeed, in good +hands, and fortunate to be so."</p> + +<p>"It is quite true," said Aunt Ellen, "that this house is larger than +your Aunt Laura and I require, I told your father that with my own lips. +But at the same time it is unlikely that at my age I have many more +years to live, and I said that if it could be so arranged, I should wish +to die in this house as I have lived in it for the greater part of my +life."</p> + +<p>"He saw that at once," said Aunt Laura. "There is nobody that is quicker +at seeing a thing than your dear father, Cicely. He spoke very kindly +about it. He said we must all die some time or other, which is perfectly +true, but that if your Aunt Ellen did not live to be a hundred he should +never forgive her. He is like your dear Aunt Caroline in that; he is +always one to look at the bright side of things."</p> + +<p>"But didn't he tell you at once that he didn't want to let the house?" +asked Cicely. "Did he leave it to Mr. Hayles to tell you afterwards?"</p> + +<p>"There was a delicacy in that," replied Aunt Laura. "If there is one +thing that your dear father dislikes, it is being thanked. And we could +not have helped thanking him. We had gone through a week of considerable +anxiety."</p> + +<p>"Which he might have saved you," Cicely thought, but did not say.</p> + +<p>"When we lived at Kencote House with our father," said Aunt Ellen, "it +was never thought that the dower-house possessed any advantages to speak +of. I do not say that we have made it what it is, for that would be +boasting, but I do say that it would not be what it is if we had not +made it so; and now that the danger is past, it causes both your Aunt +Laura and myself much gratification, and would cause gratification to +your other dear aunts if they could know what had happened, as no doubt +they do, that it should now be sought after."</p> + +<p>The topic proved interesting enough to occupy the conversation for the +rest of Cicely's visit. She kept them to it diligently and got through +nearly an hour's talk without further recurrence to her misdoings. Then +she took her leave rather hurriedly, congratulating herself that she had +got safely over another fence.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>THE LIFE</h3> + + +<p>Mrs. Graham, in spite of her good points, was not overburdened with the +maternal spirit. She had little love for children as children, and when +her own were small she had lavished no great amount of affection on +them. In the case of other people's children she frankly averred that +she didn't understand them and preferred dogs. But she was equable by +nature and had companionable gifts, and as Jim and Muriel had grown up +they had found their mother pleasant to live with, never anxious to +assert authority, and always interested in such of their pursuits as +chimed in with her own inclinations; also quite ready with sensible +advice and some sympathy when either was required of her, and showing no +annoyance at all if the advice was not followed.</p> + +<p>It was not altogether surprising then that Jim, when he had been back at +Mountfield for three or four days, should have taken her into his +confidence. She had heard what, thanks to the Squire, every one in that +part of the county had heard, that Cicely had run off to London without +taking any clothes with her—this point always emerged—and that Dick, +and, for some as yet unexplained reason, Jim, had gone up after her. But +when Jim returned, and told her simply that Cicely was staying with +Muriel and that everything was all right, she had asked no further +questions, although she saw that there was something that she had not +been told. She had her reward when Jim, sitting in her drawing-room +after dinner, told her that he would like to talk over something with +her.</p> + +<p>The drawing-room at Mountfield was a long, rather low room, hung with an +old French paper of nondescript grey, upon which were some water-colours +which were supposed to be valuable. The carpet was of faded green, with +ferns and roses. The curtains were of thick crimson brocade under a gilt +canopy. There was a large Chippendale mirror, undoubtedly valuable, over +the white marble mantelpiece, upon which were three great vases of blue +Worcester and some Dresden china figures. The furniture was upholstered +in crimson to match the curtains. There was an old grand piano, there +were one or two china cabinets against the walls, a white skin rug +before the fire, palms in pots, a rosewood table or two, and a low glass +bookcase with more china on the top of it. There was nothing modern, and +the chairs and sofas were not particularly comfortable. The room had +always been like that ever since Jim could remember, and his mother, +sitting upright in her low chair knitting stocking tops, also belonged +to the room and gave it a comforting air of home. She had on a black +gown and her face and neck were much redder than the skin beneath them, +but, like many women to whom rough tweeds and thick boots seem to be the +normal wear, she looked well in the more feminine attire of the evening.</p> + +<p>"Talk away, my dear boy," she said, without raising her head. "Two heads +are better than one. I suppose it is something about Cicely."</p> + +<p>"When Cicely went away the other day she didn't go to see Muriel; she +went to marry Mackenzie."</p> + +<p>She did raise her head then to throw an astonished look at her son, who +did not meet it, but she lowered it again and made one or two stitches +before she replied, "She didn't marry him, of course?"</p> + +<p>"No. Dick and I found them, and got her away just in time. That is all +over now, and I can't think about that fellow."</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't ask you to. But I suppose you won't mind telling me why +she did such an extraordinary thing."</p> + +<p>"Because she is bored to death at Kencote, and I don't wonder at it."</p> + +<p>"And do you still intend to bring her to be bored to death at +Mountfield?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, if she will come. And I'll see that she's not bored. At +least that is what I want to talk to you about. Muriel could tell me +what she wants to make her happy, but I can't go to Muriel as long as +Cicely is there, and I can't write; I've tried. You've been happy enough +here, mother. You ought to be able to tell me."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Graham kept silence for a considerable time. Then she said, "Well, +Jim, I'm glad you have come to me. I think I can help you. In the first +place, you mustn't play the martinet as Mr. Clinton does."</p> + +<p>"It isn't likely I should treat her as he does Mrs. Clinton, if that is +what you mean."</p> + +<p>"I mean a good deal more than that. If Mr. Clinton knew how disagreeable +it was to other people to hear him talk to her as he does, he probably +wouldn't do it. But even if he didn't he might still make her life a +burden to her, by taking away every ounce of independence she had. I +don't know whether her life is a burden to her or not; I don't pretend +to understand her; but I do know that you couldn't treat Cicely like +that, and I suppose this escapade of hers proves it."</p> + +<p>"The poor old governor was a bit of a martinet," said Jim, after a +pause.</p> + +<p>"He thought he was," said Mrs. Graham drily.</p> + +<p>Jim looked at her, but did not speak.</p> + +<p>"I know what it all means," his mother went on. "I think things over +more than you would give me credit for, Jim, and I've seen it before. +This quiet country life happens to suit me down to the ground, but I +don't believe it satisfies the majority of women. And that is what men +don't understand. It suits <i>them</i>, of course, and if it doesn't they can +always get away from it for a bit. But to shut women up in a country +house all the year round, and give them no interests in life outside +it—you won't give one woman in ten what she wants in that way."</p> + +<p>"What <i>do</i> they want then?"</p> + +<p>"It is more what Cicely wants, isn't it? I don't know exactly, but I can +give a pretty shrewd guess. If you want to find out something about a +person, it isn't a bad thing to look at their parentage on both sides. +On one side she comes of a race of yokels."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, mother. The Birkets are——"</p> + +<p>"I'm not talking about the Birkets, I'm talking about the Clintons. Poor +dear Mr. Clinton <i>is</i> a yokel, for all his ancestry. If he had been +changed at birth and brought up a farm labourer, he wouldn't have had an +idea in his head above the average of them; he would only have had a +little more pluck. Any Birket's brains are worth six of any Clinton's in +the open market. Mrs. Clinton is a clever woman, although she doesn't +show it, and her dear, stupid old husband would smother the brains of +Minerva if he lived with her. You've only got to look at their children +to see where the Birket comes in. Dick is exactly like his father, +except that he is not a fool; Humphrey <i>is</i> a fool to my thinking, but +not the same sort of fool; Walter—there's no need to speak of him; +Frank I don't know much about, but he isn't a yokel; Cicely simply +hasn't had a chance, but she'll take it fast enough when she gets it; +and as for the twins, they're as sharp as monkeys, for all their blue +eyes and sweet innocence."</p> + +<p>"Well, what does it all lead to, mother?"</p> + +<p>"It leads to this, Jim: I believe Cicely will be as happy living in the +country as most girls, but at Kencote she doesn't even get the pleasures +that a woman <i>can</i> get out of the country; those are all kept for the +men. You <i>must</i> take her about a bit. Take her to other houses and get +people to come here. Don't shut her up. Take her to London every now and +then, and try and let her see some of the sort of people that go to her +Uncle Herbert Birket's house. I believe she could hold her own with any +of them, and you'll be proud of her. Let her stir her mind up; she +doesn't know what's in it yet. Take her abroad. That always helps; even +I should have liked it, only your father didn't, and I wasn't keen +enough to let it make a disturbance. Give her her head; that's what it +comes to. She won't lose it again."</p> + +<p>Jim thought for a long time while Mrs. Graham went on knitting.</p> + +<p>"A woman wants some brightness in her life, especially before the babies +begin to come," she said, before he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, mother," he said simply. "I'll think it all over."</p> + +<p>"I have thought it over," she answered, "and it's all sound sense."</p> + +<p>Jim's next speech was some time coming, but when it did come it was +rather a startling one.</p> + +<p>"I've given Weatherley notice to leave the Grange at Christmas."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Graham's needles stopped, and then went on again rather more +quickly. Her voice shook a little as she said in a matter-of-fact tone, +"I suppose you won't mind altering the stables for me. There is only one +loose-box."</p> + +<p>"I thought it would be best to add on a couple under another roof," said +Jim, and they went on to discuss other alterations that would be +necessary when Mrs. Graham should leave Mountfield to go to live at the +Grange, but without any approach to sentiment, and no expressions of +regret on either side.</p> + +<p>When they had done, and there had followed another of those pauses with +which their conversations were punctuated, Mrs. Graham said, "You are +making very certain of Cicely, Jim."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to claim her," said Jim quietly. "I was a fool not to do it +before. I've wanted her badly enough."</p> + +<p>Perhaps this news was as fresh to Mrs. Graham as it had been to all +those others who had heard it lately. Perhaps it was no news at all. She +was an observant woman and was accustomed to keep silence on many +subjects, except when she was asked to speak, and then she spoke +volubly.</p> + +<p>"I have often wondered," she said, "why you left it so long."</p> + +<p>Jim did not reply to this, but made another surprising statement. "I'm +going to stand for Parliament," he said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Graham's observation had not covered this possibility. "Good +gracious!" she exclaimed. "Not as a Liberal, I hope!"</p> + +<p>"No, as a Free Trade Unionist."</p> + +<p>"I should think you might as well save your time and your money."</p> + +<p>"I don't expect to get in. But if I can find a seat to fight for, I'll +fight."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll help you, Jim. I believe the others are right, but if you +will give me something to read I dare say I can persuade myself that +they're wrong. I like a good fight, and that is one thing you don't get +the chance of when you live with your pigs and your poultry. Excuse me +asking, but what about the money?"</p> + +<p>"I've settled all that, and I'm going to let this place for two years at +least."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Graham dropped her knitting once more. "Well, really, Jim!" she +said. "Have you got anything else startling to break to me, because I +wish you would bring it out all at once now. I can bear it."</p> + +<p>"That's all," said Jim, with a grin. "I shall save a lot of money. I +shall take a flat or a little house in London and do some work. There +are lots of things besides Free Trade; things I'm keener about, really. +I don't think Cicely will mind. I think she will go in with me."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Graham took up her knitting again and put on another row of +stitches. Then she said, "I don't know why you asked my advice as to +what Cicely wanted. It seems to me you have thought it out pretty well +for yourself."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Jim rode over to Kencote two days after Cicely's return. It was a lovely +morning, and harvesting was in full swing as he trotted along between +the familiar fields. He felt rather sad at being about to leave it all; +he was a countryman at heart, although he had interests that were not +bucolic. But there was not much room for sadness in his mind. He was +sure of himself, and had set out to grasp a great happiness.</p> + +<p>He met the Squire on his stout cob about a mile from Kencote, and pulled +up to speak to him.</p> + +<p>"How are you, Jim?" he said heartily. "Birds doing all right? Ours are +first-class this year."</p> + +<p>"I was coming to see you," he said. "I've got something to say."</p> + +<p>"Well, say it here, my boy," said the Squire, "I'm not going to turn +back."</p> + +<p>So they sat on their horses in the middle of the road and Jim said, "I +want to marry Cicely as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>The Squire's jaw dropped as he stared at the suitor. Then he threw back +his head and produced his loud, hearty laugh. "Well, that's a funny +thing," he said. "I was only saying to my wife this morning that Cicely +would die an old maid if she looked to you to come and take her."</p> + +<p>Jim's red face became a little redder, but the Squire did not give him +time to reply. "I was only joking, you know, Jim, my boy," he said +kindly. "I knew <i>you</i> were all right, and I tell you frankly there's +nobody I'd sooner give my girl to. But why do you want to rush it now? +What about those rascally death duties?"</p> + +<p>"It's only a question of income," said Jim shortly. "And I'm going to +let Mountfield for a year or two."</p> + +<p>The Squire's jaw fell again. "Let Mountfield!" he cried. "O my dear +fellow, don't do that, for God's sake. Wait a bit longer. Cicely won't +run away. Ha! ha! Why she did run away—what? Look here, Jim, you're +surely not worrying yourself about that. She won't do it again, I'll +promise you that. I've talked to her."</p> + +<p>"I think it is time I took her," said Jim, "if she'll have me."</p> + +<p>"Have you? Of course she'll have you. But you mustn't let Mountfield. +Don't think of that, my boy. We'll square it somehow, between us. My +girl won't come to you empty-handed, you know, and as long as the +settlements are all right you can keep her a bit short for a year or +two; tell her to go easy in the house. She's a good girl, and she'll do +her best. No occasion to let down the stables, and you must keep a good +head of game. We'll make that all right, and it won't do you any harm to +economise a bit in other ways. In fact it's a good thing for young +people. You might put down your carriage for a year, and perhaps a few +maids—I should keep the men except perhaps a gardener or two. Oh, there +are lots of ways; but don't let the place, Jim."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll think about it," said Jim, who had no intention of +prematurely disclosing his intentions to the Squire, "but you'll let me +have her, Mr. Clinton? I thought of going over to see her now."</p> + +<p>"Go by all means, my boy," said the Squire heartily. "You'll find her +about somewhere, only don't make her late for lunch. You'll stay, of +course. You haven't seen Hayles about anywhere, have you? He's not in +the office."</p> + +<p>Jim had not, and the Squire trotted off to find his agent, with a last +word of dissuasion on letting Mountfield.</p> + +<p>The ubiquitous twins were in the stableyard when he rode in, raiding the +corn bin for sustenance for their fantails. "Hullo, Jim, my boy," said +Joan. "You're quite a stranger."</p> + +<p>"You'll stay to lunch, of course," said Nancy. "How are the birds at +Mountfield? I think we ought to do very well here this year."</p> + +<p>"Where is Cicely?" asked Jim, ignoring these pleasantries.</p> + +<p>"She's out of doors somewhere," said Joan. "We'll help you find her. We +ought to be going in to lessons again, but starling won't mind."</p> + +<p>"I can find her myself, thanks," said Jim. "Is she in the garden?"</p> + +<p>"We'll show you," said Nancy. "You can't shake us off. We're like the +limpets of the rock."</p> + +<p>But here Miss Bird appeared at the schoolroom window, adjuring the twins +to come in <i>at once</i>. "Oh, how do you do, Jim?" she cried, nodding her +head in friendly welcome. "Do you want to find Cicely she has gone down +to the lake to sketch."</p> + +<p>"Bother!" exclaimed Joan. "Starling is so officious."</p> + +<p>"You will find our sister in the Temple of Melancholy," said Nancy. "It +will be your part to smooth the lines of trouble from her brow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, coming, coming, Miss Bird!" called out Joan. "We've only got an +hour more, Jim—spelling and dictation; then we will come and look you +up."</p> + +<p>Jim strode off across the park and entered the rhododendron dell by an +iron gate. He followed a broad green path between great banks of shrubs +and under the shade of trees for nearly a quarter of a mile. Every now +and then an open grassy space led to the water, which lay very still, +ringed with dark green. He turned down one of these and peeped round the +edge of a bush from whence he could see the white pillared temple at the +head of the lake. Cicely was sitting in front of it, drawing, and his +heart gave a little leap as he saw her. Then he walked more quickly, and +as he neared the temple began to whistle, for he knew that, thinking +herself quite alone. Cicely would be disagreeably startled if he came +upon her suddenly.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she thought it was a gardener who was coming, for she did not +move until he spoke her name, coming out from behind the building on to +the stained marble platform in front of it. Then she looked up with a +hot blush. "O Jim!" she said nervously. "I was just trying to paint a +picture."</p> + +<p>"It's jolly good," said Jim, looking at it with his head on one side, +although she had not as yet gone further than light pencil lines.</p> + +<p>"It won't be when I've finished," she said hurriedly. "How is Mrs. +Graham? I am coming over to see her as soon as I can, to tell her about +Muriel."</p> + +<p>"She's all right, thanks," said Jim. "She sent her love. Do you mind my +watching you?"</p> + +<p>"I'd much rather you didn't," she said, with a deprecating laugh. "I +shall make an awful hash of it. Do you want to see father? I'll go and +find him with you if you like."</p> + +<p>"No, I've seen him," said Jim, going into the temple to get himself a +chair. "I've come to see you, to tell you something I thought you'd be +interested in. I want to stand for Parliament, and I'm going to let +Mountfield."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with a shade of relief in her face. "O Jim," she +said, "I do hope you will get in."</p> + +<p>"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't expect to get in," said Jim. "They +won't have fellows who think as I do in the party now if they can help +it. But there's a good deal to do outside that. I kept my eyes open when +I was travelling, and I do know a bit about the Colonies, and about land +too. There are societies I can make myself useful in, even if I don't +get into Parliament. Anyway I'm going to try."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad, Jim," said Cicely. "But won't you miss Mountfield +awfully? And where are you going to live?"</p> + +<p>"In London for a year or two. Must be in the thick of things."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you won't go before the spring."</p> + +<p>"I want to. It depends on you, Cicely."</p> + +<p>She had nothing to say. The flush that coloured her delicate skin so +frequently, flooded it new.</p> + +<p>"I want you to come and help me," said Jim. "I can't do it without you, +my dear. You're much cleverer than I am. I want to get to know people, +and I'm not much good at that. And I don't know that I could put up with +London, living there by myself. If you were with me I shouldn't care +where I lived. I would rather live all my life at Melbury Park with you, +than at Mountfield without you."</p> + +<p>"O Jim," she said in a low voice, bending over her drawing board, "you +are good and generous. But you can't want me now."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Cicely dear," he said, "let's get over that business now, +and leave it alone for ever. I blame myself for it, I blame—that man, +but I haven't got the smallest little piece of blame for you, and I +shouldn't have even if I didn't love you. Why, even Dick is the same. He +was angry at first, but not after he had seen you. And Walter thinks as +I do. I saw him one day and we had it all out; you didn't know. There's +not a soul who knows who blames you, and nobody ever will."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, "that every one has been most extraordinarily kind. +I love Dick and Walter more than ever for it, because I know how it must +have struck them when they first knew. And you too, Jim. It makes me +feel such a beast to think how sweet you were to me, and how I've +treated you."</p> + +<p>Jim took her hand. "Cicely, darling," he said. "I'm a slow fellow, and, +I'm afraid, rather stupid. If I hadn't been this would never have +happened. But I believe I'm the only person in the world that can make +you forget it. You'll let me try, won't you?"</p> + +<p>She tried to draw away her hand, but he held it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know what to say," she cried. "It is all such a frightful +muddle. I don't even know whether I love you or not. I do; you know +that, Jim. But I don't know whether I love you in the right way. I +thought before that I didn't. And how can I when I did a thing like +that? I'm a girl who goes to any man who calls her."</p> + +<p>She was weeping bitterly. All the shame in her heart surged up. She +pulled her hand away and covered her face.</p> + +<p>"You never loved that man—not for a moment," said Jim firmly.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't," she cried. "I <i>hate</i> him now, and I believe I hated him +all the time. If I were to meet him I should die of shame. Oh, why did I +do it? And I feel ashamed before you, Jim. I can't marry you. I can't +see you any more. I am glad you are going away."</p> + +<p>"I am not going unless you come with me, Cicely," he said. "I want you. +I want you more than ever; I understand you better. If this hadn't +happened I shouldn't have known what you wanted; I don't think I should +have been able to make you happy. Good heavens! do you think I believe +that you wanted that man? I <i>know</i> you didn't, or I shouldn't be here +now. You wanted life, and I had never offered you that. I do offer it +you now. Come and help me to do what I'm going to do. I can't do any of +it without you."</p> + +<p>She smiled at him forlornly. "You <i>are</i> good," she said. "And you have +comforted me a little. But you can't forget what has happened. It isn't +possible."</p> + +<p>"Look here, my dear," said Jim simply. "Will you believe me when I say +that I have forgotten it already? That is to say it doesn't come into my +mind. I don't have to keep it out; it doesn't come. I've got other +things to think of. There's all the future, and what I'm going to do, +and you are going to help me to do. Really, if I thought of it, I ought +to be glad you did what you did, in a way, for all I've thought of since +comes from that. I saw what you were worth and what you could make of a +man if he loved you as I do, and you loved him. We won't play at it, +Cicely. I'm in earnest. I shall be a better fellow all round if I'm +trying to do something and not only sitting at home and amusing myself. +We shall have to make some sacrifices. We shall only be able to afford a +flat or a little house in London. I must keep things going here and put +by a bit for an election, perhaps. But I know you won't mind not having +much money for a time. We shall be together, and there won't be a thing +in my life that you won't share."</p> + +<p>She had kept her eyes fixed upon him as he spoke. "Do you really mean +it, Jim?" she asked quietly. "Do you really want <i>me</i>, out of all the +people in the world?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want anybody but you," he said, "and I don't want anything +without you."</p> + +<p>"Then I will come with you, dearest Jim," she said. "And I will never +want anything except what you want all my life."</p> + +<p>He took her in his arms, and she nestled there, laughing and crying by +turns, but happier than she had ever thought she could be. They talked +of a great many things, but not again of Cicely's flight. Jim had +banished that spectre, which, if it returned to haunt her thoughts +again, would not affright them. They came no nearer to it than a speech +of Cicely's, "I do love you, dear Jim. I love you so much that I must +have loved you all the time without knowing it. I feel as if there was +something in you that I could rest on and know that it will never give +way."</p> + +<p>"And that's exactly how I feel about you," said Jim.</p> + +<p>Two swans sailed out into the middle of the lake, creasing the still +water into tiny ripples. The air was hot and calm, and the heavy leaves +of trees and shrubs hung motionless. The singing-birds were silent. Only +in the green shade were the hearts of the two lovers in tumult—a tumult +of gratitude and confident happiness.</p> + +<p>The peace, but not the happiness, was brought to an end when the twins, +relaxed from bondage, heralded their approach by a vociferous rendering +of "The Campbells are coming." They came round the temple arm-in-arm. +Cicely was drawing, and Jim looking on.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's all very well," said Joan, "but it doesn't take two hours +to make three pencil scratches."</p> + +<p>"Girls without the nice feeling that we possess," said Nancy, "would +have burst upon you without warning."</p> + +<p>"Without giving you time to set to partners," said Joan.</p> + +<p>Cicely looked up at them; her face was full of light. "Shall I tell +them, Jim?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Got to, I suppose," said Jim.</p> + +<p>"My child," said Joan, "you need tell us nothing."</p> + +<p>"Your happy faces tell us all," said Nancy.</p> + +<p>Then, with a simultaneous relapse into humanity, they threw themselves +upon her affectionately, and afterwards attacked Jim in the same way. He +bore it with equanimity.</p> + +<p>"You don't deserve her, Jim," said Joan, "but we trust you to be kind to +her."</p> + +<p>"From this day onwards," said Nancy, "you will begin a new life."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHRONICLES_OF_THE_CLINTONS" id="CHRONICLES_OF_THE_CLINTONS"></a><i>CHRONICLES OF THE CLINTONS</i></h2> + +<h3>BY ARCHIBALD MARSHALL</h3> + +<h4><i>To be read in the following order</i></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER<br /></span> +<span class="i0">THE ELDEST SON<br /></span> +<span class="i0">THE HONOUR OF THE CLINTONS<br /></span> +<span class="i0">THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH<br /></span> +<span class="i0">THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Squire's Daughter, by Archibald Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER *** + +***** This file should be named 31381-h.htm or 31381-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/8/31381/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/31381-h/images/frontis.jpg b/31381-h/images/frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f85396 --- /dev/null +++ b/31381-h/images/frontis.jpg diff --git a/31381.txt b/31381.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89b4ed8 --- /dev/null +++ b/31381.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9417 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Squire's Daughter, by Archibald Marshall + +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 Squire's Daughter + Being the First Book in the Chronicles of the Clintons + +Author: Archibald Marshall + +Release Date: February 25, 2010 [EBook #31381] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER + + _Being the First Book in the Chronicles of the Clintons_ + + BY ARCHIBALD MARSHALL + +NEW YORK +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY +1920 + +Published October, 1912 +by +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY + +TO +ANSTEY GUTHRIE + + + + +[Illustration: Archibald Marshall.] + + + + +CONTENTS + + +I A Court Ball + +II In the Bay of Biscay + +III The Clintons of Kencote + +IV Clintons Young and Old + +V Melbury Park + +VI A Good Long Talk + +VII The Rector + +VIII By the Lake + +IX The Question of Marriage + +X Town Versus Country + +XI A Wedding + +XII Food and Raiment + +XIII Ronald Mackenzie + +XIV The Plunge + +XV Bloomsbury + +XVI The Pursuit + +XVII The Contest + +XVIII After the Storm + +XIX The Whole House Upset + +XX Mrs. Clinton + +XXI Cicely's Return + +XXII The Life + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A COURT BALL + + +"I recollect the time," said the Squire, "when two women going to a ball +were a big enough load for any carriage. You may say what you like about +crinolines, but I've seen some very pretty women in them in my time." + +There were three people in the carriage passing slowly up the Mall in +the string, with little jerks and progressions. They were the Squire +himself, Mrs. Clinton, and Cicely, and they were on their way to a Court +Ball. + +The Squire, big, florid, his reddish beard touched with grey falling +over the red and gold of his Deputy-Lieutenant's uniform, sat back +comfortably beside his wife, who was dressed in pale lavender silk, with +diamonds in her smooth, grey-yellow hair. She was short and rather +plump. Her grey eyes, looking out on the violet of the night sky, the +trees, and the crowd of hilarious onlookers who had not been invited to +Buckingham Palace, had a patient and slightly wistful expression. She +had not spoken since the carriage had left the quiet hotel in which they +were staying for their fortnight in London. + +Cicely sat on the back seat of the carriage. On such an occasion as this +she might have been expected to be accorded the feminine privilege of +sitting at the side of her mother, but it had not occurred to the Squire +to offer it to her. She was a pretty girl, twenty-two years of age, with +a fair skin and abundant brown hair. She was dressed in costly white +satin, her gown simply cut. As she had stood before her glass, while her +mother's maid had held for her her light evening cloak, her beautiful +neck and shoulders had seemed warmly flushed by contrast with the dead +pallor of the satin. She also had hardly spoken since they had driven +off from their hotel, which was so quiet and private that it was hardly +like an hotel, and where some of the servants had stood in the hall to +see them get into their carriage, just as they might have done at home +at Kencote. + +It was a great occasion for Cicely. Her brothers--Dick, who was in the +Grenadier Guards, and Humphrey, who was in the Foreign Office--were well +enough used to the scenes of splendour offered by a London season, but +Cicely had hardly ever been in London at all. She had been brought up +four years before to be presented, and had been taken home again +immediately. She had seen nothing of London gaieties, either then or +since. Now she was to enjoy such opportunities of social intercourse as +might be open to the daughter of a rich squire who had had all he wanted +of town life thirty years before, and had lived in his country house +ever since. A fortnight was as long as the Squire cared to be away from +Kencote, even in the month of June; and a fortnight was to be the extent +of Cicely's London season. This was to be the crowning night of it. + +The Squire chattered on affably. He had had a good dinner and had not +been hurried over it, or afterwards. That was the worst of those +theatres, he would say; they didn't give you time even to drink your +glass of wine; and he had not been affable with his wife and daughter +the evening before, when driving to the play. But now he was rather +pleased with himself. He did not care for all this sort of thing, of +course; he had had quite enough of it as a subaltern, dancing about +London all night, and going everywhere--all very well for a young +fellow, but you got tired of it. Still, there was a certain flavour +about a Court Ball, even for a one-time subaltern in the Blues, who had +taken part in everything that was going on. Other people scrambled for +such things--they had to if they wanted them, and why they should want +them if they didn't come to them naturally, the Squire couldn't tell. To +a man of the importance of Edward Clinton of Kencote, they came as a +matter of course, and he accepted them as his due, but was pleased, too, +at having his social importance recognised in such a way, without his +stirring a finger. As a matter of cold fact, a finger had been stirred +to procure this particular honour, although it had not been his. But of +that he was not aware. + +The carriage drove slowly with the rest into the big court-yard, where a +military band was playing bright music. Cicely suddenly felt exhilarated +and expectant. They drove up before the great entrance, red-carpeted, +brightly lit, and went through the hall up the stairs into the +cloak-room. Cicely had a flush on her cheeks now as she waited for her +mother, who seemed to be taking an interminable time to settle her lace +and her jewels. Mrs. Clinton looked her over and her eyes brightened a +little. "Are you nervous, darling?" she asked; and Cicely said, "No, +mother, not a bit." The scent of flowers was in her nostrils, the +strains of the music expectantly in her ears. She was going to dance in +a royal palace, and she was such a country mouse that she was excited at +the prospect of seeing royalty at close quarters. She had been far too +nervous to take in anything when she had been presented, and that had +been four years ago. + +They went out and found the Squire waiting for them. He did not ask +them, as he generally did, why they had been so long. + +They seemed to go through interminable wide corridors, decorated in red +and gold, with settees against the walls and beautiful pictures hanging +above them, but came at last to the great ball-room. + +Cicely drew her breath as she entered. This was better than the +Meadshire County Ball, or the South Meadshire Hunt Ball. The women were +mostly in white, or pale colours, but their jewels were beyond anything +she had ever imagined. The lights from the great lustre chandeliers +seemed to be reflected in those wonderful clusters and strings and +devices of sparkling gems. Cold white and cold fire for the women, +colour for the men. Scarlet and gold pre-dominated, but there were +foreign attaches in uniforms of pale blue and silver, and other +unfamiliar colours, eastern robes and dresses encrusted with jewels or +richly embroidered in silks. It was gorgeous, a scene from fairyland. + +There was a sudden ebbing of the tide of chatter. The band in the +gallery began to play "God save the King." Doors were thrown open at the +end of the great room, and the royal party came in slowly, passed down +the open space on the red carpet between the lines of bowing and +curtseying guests, and took their places on the dais. Cicely gazed her +fill at them. They were just as she had seen them a hundred times in +pictures in the illustrated papers, but more royal, and yet, more human. + +They danced their opening quadrille, and after that every one could +dance. But of all the people there Cicely knew no one who would be +likely to dance with her. She sat by her mother on one of the raised +settees that ran in four rows the length of the room. The Squire had +found friends and was talking to them elsewhere. Her brother Dick, who +she knew was to have been there, she had not yet seen. Everything +depended upon him. Surely, people did not come casually late to a Court +Ball! If something had prevented his coming at all, it seemed to her +that she would have to sit there all the evening. + +Her eyes brightened. There was Dick making his way towards them. He +looked very smart in his guardsman's uniform, and very much at home with +himself, as if the King's ball-room was no more to him than any other +ball-room. He was always provokingly leisurely in his movements, and +even now he stopped twice to talk to people whom he knew, and stood with +them each time as if he would stay there for ever. Really, Dick could be +almost as provoking as the Squire, where their womenfolk were concerned. + +But at last he came, smiling very pleasantly. "Hullo, mother!" he said. +"Hullo, Siskin! Now you've seen the Queen in her parlour, eh? Well, how +do you like yourself?" + +He was a good-looking fellow, Dick, with his well-shaped, closely +cropped head, his well-trained moustache, his broad, straight shoulders +and lean waist and hips. He was over thirty, but showed few signs as yet +of the passing of youth. It was quite plain by the way he looked at her +that he was fond of his sister. She was nearly ten years younger than he +and still a child to him, to be patronised and petted, if she was taken +notice of at all. He didn't take much notice of his mother, contenting +himself with telling her that she "looked as smart as any of 'em." But +he stood and talked to Cicely, and his eyes rested on her as if he were +proud of her. + +In the meantime the delicious strains of a valse were swinging through +the great room, and the smooth floor was full of dancers, except in the +space reserved for the royalties, where only a few couples were +circling. Cicely's feet were moving. "Can't we dance, Dick?" she said. + +"Come on," said Dick, "let's have a scurry," and he led her down on to +the floor and floated her out into a paradise of music and movement. +Dick was the best partner she had ever danced with. He had often snubbed +her about her own dancing, but he had danced with her all the same, more +than most brothers dance with their sisters, at country balls, which +were the only balls she had ever been to. He was a kind brother, +according to his lights, and Cicely would have liked to dance with him +all the evening. + +That, of course, was out of the question. Dick knew plenty of people to +dance with to-night, if she didn't. In fact, he seemed to know half the +people in the room, although he gave her the impression that he thought +Court Balls rather mixed affairs. "Can't be certain of meeting your +friends here," he said, and added, "of course," as admitting handsomely +that people might be quite entitled to be asked who did not happen to be +his friends. "You're not the only country cousins, Siskin," he said, +which gave Cicely somehow a higher opinion of herself, his dissociation +of himself in this matter of country cousinhood from his family striking +her as nothing unreasonable. Indeed, it was not unreasonable with regard +to the Clintons, the men taking their part, as a matter of course, in +everything to which their birth and wealth entitled them, so long as +they cared to do so, the women living, for the most part, at home, in a +wide and airy seclusion. + +"Want to dance, eh?" said Dick, in answer to her little plea. "All +right, I'll bring up some young fellows." + +And he did. He brought up a succession of them and delivered them +off-hand to his mother and sister with a slight air of authority, doing +his duty very thoroughly, as a kind brother should. + +Most of them were quite young--as young, or younger than Cicely herself. +Some of them wore the uniform of Dick's own regiment, and were +presumably under his orders, professionally if not in private life. Some +of them were amazingly patronising and self-possessed, and these did not +ask Cicely to dance again. She felt, when they returned her to her +mother, that she had not been a success with them. Others were boyish +and diffident, and with them she got on pretty well. With one, a modest +child of nineteen or so with a high-sounding title, she was almost +maternally friendly, and he seemed to cling to her as a refuge from a +new and bewildering world. They ate ices together--he told her that he +had been brought up at home in Ireland under a priest, and had never +eaten enough ices at a sitting until he had joined his regiment a +fortnight before. He could not dance well, indeed hardly at all, +although he confessed to having taken lessons, and his gratitude when +Cicely suggested that they should go and look at some of the rooms +instead, warmed her heart to him and put their temporary friendship on +the best possible footing. + +They stayed together during three dances, went out on to the terrace, +explored wherever they were permitted to explore, paid two visits to the +buffet, and enjoyed themselves much in the same way as if they had been +school-children surreptitiously breaking loose from an assembly of +grown-ups. The boy became volubly friendly and bubbling over with +unexpected humour and high spirits. He tried to persuade Cicely to stay +away from the ball-room for a fourth dance. Nobody would miss them, he +explained. But she said she must go back, and when they joined the crowd +again her partner was haled off with a frightened look to the royal +circle, and she found her mother standing up before the seat on which +she had sat all the evening searching anxiously for her with her eyes, +and her father by her side. + +An old man, looking small and shrunken in his heavy uniform, but +otherwise full of life and kindliness, with twinkling eyes and a short +white beard, was with them, and she breathed a sigh of relief, for if +she was not frightened of what her mother might say about her long +absence, she rather dreaded the comments her father might be pleased to +pass on it. But her kinsman, Lord Meadshire, Lord-Lieutenant of the +county, a great magnate in the eyes of the world, was to her just a very +kind and playful old man, whose jokes only, because of their inherent +feebleness, caused her any discomfort. Cousin Humphrey would preserve +her from the results of her fault if she had committed one. + +"Well, my dear," he said in an affectionate, rather asthmatical voice, +"you've brought us some of the Meadshire roses, eh, what? Hope you're +enjoying yourself. If you had come a little earlier, I would have asked +you to dance with me." + +"Where have you been so long, Cicely?" asked her mother, but the twinkle +in Lord Meadshire's eyes showed that a joke was in progress, and he +broke in hurriedly, "Forty or fifty years earlier, I mean, my dear," and +he chuckled himself into a fit of coughing. + +The Squire was not looking quite pleased, but whatever the cause of his +displeasure it was not, apparently, Cicely's prolonged absence, for he +also asked if she was enjoying herself, and looked at her with some +pride and fondness. Going home in the carriage, she learned later that +Lord Meadshire, who would have done a great deal more to provide her +with social gaiety if he had not been living, now, mostly in retirement +with an invalid wife, had procured those commands which had brought them +up to London, and are not generally bestowed unasked on the belongings +of a country squire, however important he may be in the midst of his own +possessions. + +Lord Meadshire stayed with them for some little time and pointed out to +her some of the notabilities and the less familiar royalties. Then Dick +came up and took her away to dance again. After that she sat by her +mother's side until the end. She saw the boy with whom she had made +friends eying her rather wistfully. He had danced a quadrille with a +princess, and the experience seemed so to have shattered his nerve that +he was not equal to making his way to her to ask her to bear him company +again, and she could not very well beckon him, as she felt inclined to +do. The ball became rather dull, although she looked a good deal at the +King and Queen and thought how extraordinary it was that she should be +in the same room with them. + +Before she had quite realised that it had begun, the ball was over. The +band played "God save the King" again. Everybody stood up and the royal +procession was formed and went away to supper. With the light of royalty +eclipsed, her own supper seemed an ordinary affair. At country dances +she had shirked it whenever she could, taking advantage of a clearer +floor to dance with some willing partner right through a valse or a +two-step from beginning to end. After supper she danced once or twice, +but as she drove back to the very private hotel at about half-past one, +she only felt as if she had not danced nearly enough, and as she +undressed she hardly knew whether she had enjoyed herself or not. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +IN THE BAY OF BISCAY + + +On the night on which Cicely Clinton was enjoying herself at the Court +Ball, the _Punjaub_ homeward bound from Australia _via_ Colombo and the +Suez Canal was steaming through the Bay of Biscay, which, on this night +of June had prepared a pleasant surprise for the _Punjaub's_ numerous +passengers by lying calm and still under a bright moon. + +Two men were leaning over the side of the upper deck, watching the +phosphorescent gleam of the water as it slid past beneath them, and +talking as intimate friends. They were Ronald Mackenzie, the explorer, +returning home after his adventurous two years' expedition into the +wilds of Tibet, and Jim Graham, whose home was at Mountfield, three +miles away from Kencote, where the Clintons lived. They were not +intimate friends, in spite of appearances. They had joined the ship +together at Colombo, and found themselves occupying the same cabin. But +acquaintanceship ripens so fast on board ship that the most dissimilar +characters may adhere to one another for as long as a voyage lasts, +although they may never meet again afterwards, nor particularly wish to. + +Mackenzie was a tall, ruggedly fashioned man, with greying hair and a +keen, bold face. Jim Graham was more slightly built. He had an open, +honest look; he was rather deliberate in speech, and apparently in +thought, for in conversation he would often pause before speaking, and +he sometimes ignored a question altogether, as if he had not heard it, +or had not understood it. There were those who called him stupid; but it +was usually said of him that he was slow and sure. He had a rather ugly +face, but it was that pleasant ugliness which, with a well-knit athletic +body, clear eyes and a tanned skin, is hardly distinguishable, in a man, +from good looks. + +They were talking about London. "I can smell it and see it," said +Mackenzie. "I hope it will be raining when I get home. I like the wet +pavements, and the lights, and the jostling crowds. Lord! it will be +good to see it again. How I've pined for it, back there! But I'll be out +of it again in a month. It's no place for a man like me, except to get +back to every now and then." + +"That's how most of us take it," said Jim, "unless we have to work +there. I'm glad I haven't to, though I enjoy it well enough for a week +or two, occasionally." + +"Do you live in the country all the year round?" + +"Yes." + +Mackenzie threw him a glance which seemed to take him in from top to +toe. "What do you do?" he asked. + +Jim Graham paused for a moment before replying. "I have a good deal to +do," he said. "I've got my place to look after." + +"That doesn't take you all your time, does it?" + +"It takes a good deal of it. And I'm on the bench." + +"That means sending poor devils to prison for poaching your game, I +suppose." + +"Not quite that," said Jim, without a smile. + +"I suppose what it all does mean is that you live in a big country house +and shoot and hunt and fish to your heart's content, with just enough +work to keep you contented with yourself. By Jove, some men are lucky! +Do you know what my life has been?" + +"I know you have been through many adventures and done big things," said +Jim courteously. + +"Well, I'm obliged to you for putting it like that. Seems to me I didn't +put my idea of your life quite so nicely, eh?" He stood up and stretched +his tall figure, and laughed. "I'm a rough diamond," he said. "I don't +mind saying so, because it's plain enough for any one to see. I +sometimes envy people like you their easy manners; but I've got to be +content with my own; and after all, they have served my turn well +enough. Look at us two. I suppose I'm about ten years older than you, +but I had made my name when I was your age. You were born in a fine +country house." + +"Not so very fine," said Jim. + +"Well, pretty fine compared to the house I was born in, which was the +workhouse. You were educated at Eton and Christchurch, and all that sort +of thing----" + +"I don't want to spoil any comparison you are going to make," said Jim, +"but I was at Winchester and New College." + +"That will do," said Mackenzie. "I was dragged up at the workhouse +school till I was twelve. Then I ran away and sold papers in the +streets, and anything else that I could pick up a few coppers by--except +steal. I never did that. I always made up my mind I'd be a big man some +day, and--I'm glad I didn't steal." + +"I didn't either, you know," said Jim, "although I'm not a big man, and +never shall be." + +"Ah, that's where the likes of me scores. You've no call to ambition. +You have everything you can want provided for you." + +"There have been one or two big men born as I was," said Jim. "But +please go on with your story. When did you go on your first journey?" + +"When I was sixteen. I looked much older. I shipped before the mast and +went out to Australia, and home round Cape Horn. By Jove, I shan't +forget that. The devil was in the wind. We were five months coming home, +and nearly starved to death, and worked till we were as thin as hungry +cats. Then I shipped with the Boyle-Geering expedition--you know--North +Pole, and three years trying to get there. Then I tried a change of +climate and went to Central Africa with Freke. I was his servant, got +his bath, shaved him, brushed his clothes--he was always a bit of a +dandy, Freke, and lived like a gentleman, though I don't believe he was +any better than I was when he started; but he could fight too, and there +wasn't his equal with niggers. We had trouble that trip, and the men who +went out with him were a rotten lot. They'd found the money, or he +wouldn't have taken them. He knew a man when he saw one. When we came +home I was second in command. + +"It was easy after that. I led that expedition through Uganda when I was +only twenty-five; and the rest--well, the rest I dare say you know." + +"Yes, I know," said Jim. "You've done a lot." + +"Not so bad, eh, for a workhouse brat?" + +"Not so bad for anybody." + +"I'm up top now. I used to envy lots of people. Now most people envy +me." + +Jim was silent. + +Mackenzie turned to him. "I suppose you've had a pretty easy time +travelling," he said. There was a suspicion of a sneer on his long thin +lips. + +"Pretty easy," said Jim. + +"Ah! Your sort of travelling is rather different from mine. If you had +been roughing it in Tibet for the last two years you would be pretty +glad to be getting back." + +"I'm glad to be getting back as it is." + +Mackenzie turned and leaned over the rail again. "Well, I don't know +that I don't envy you a bit after all," he said. "I've got no friends in +England. I'm not a man to make friends. The big-wigs will take me up +this time. I know that from what I've seen. I shall be a lion. I suppose +I shall be able to go anywhere I like. But there's nowhere I want to go +to particularly, when I've had enough of London. You've got your country +home. Lord, how I've thought of the English country, in summer time! +Thirsted for it. But it has to belong to you, in a way. I've a good mind +to buy a little place--I shall be able to afford it when my book comes +out. But I should want a wife to keep it warm for me. You're not +married, I suppose?" + +"No." + +"Going to be?" + +Jim made no reply. + +Mackenzie laughed. "Mustn't ask questions, I suppose," he said. "I'm a +rough diamond, Graham. Got no manners, you see. Never had any one to +teach 'em to me. I apologise." + +"No need to," said Jim. + +There was silence for a space. The great round moon shone down and +silvered the long ripples on the water. + +"I don't mind answering your question," said Jim, looking out over the +sea. "There are some country neighbours of mine. One of the sons is my +chief pal. We were brought up together, more or less. He's going to +marry my sister. And--well, I hope I'm going to marry his." + +His face changed a little, but Mackenzie, looking straight before him +did not notice it. "Sounds a capital arrangement," he said drily. + +Jim flushed, and drew himself up. "Well, I think I'll be turning in," he +said. + +Mackenzie faced him quickly. "Tell me all about it," he said. "How old +is she? You have known her all your life. When did you first find out +you wanted to marry her? When are you going to be married?" + +Jim looked at him squarely. "You are taking liberties," he said. + +Mackenzie laughed again--his harsh, unamused laugh. "All right," he +said. "One has to be as delicate as a fine lady talking to fellows like +you. It's not worth it. When you live like a savage half your life, you +sort of hunger after hearing about things like that--people living in +the country, falling in love and getting married, and going to church +every Sunday--all the simple, homely things. A man without all the +nonsense about good form and all that sort of thing--a man who'd done +things--he would know why you asked him, and he would know he couldn't +find anybody better to tell his little happy secrets to." + +"Oh, well," said Jim, slightly mollified. + +"I dare say you're right, though," said Mackenzie. "One doesn't blab to +every stranger. Even I don't, and I'm a rough diamond, as I've told +you." + +"Yes, you've told me that." + +"Is the fellow who is going to marry your sister a country gentleman, +too?" + +"No. His father is. He's a younger son. He's a doctor." + +"A doctor! Isn't that a funny thing for a country gentleman's son to +be?" + +"I don't know that it is. He's a clever fellow. He went in for science +at Oxford, and got keen." + +"That's good hearing. I like to hear of men getting keen about a real +job. You might tell me about him, if I'm not taking another liberty in +asking." + +"Oh, look here, Mackenzie, I'm sorry I said that. I didn't understand +why you asked what you did." + +"I've told you. I like to hear about everything that goes on in the +world. It isn't curiosity, and yet in a way it is. I'm curious about +everything that goes on--everywhere. It isn't impertinent curiosity, +anyway." + +"I see that. I'll tell you about Walter Clinton. He's a good chap. His +father has a fine place next to mine. He's a rich man. His family has +been there since the beginning of all things. Walter is just my age. +We've always been a lot together." + +"Is there a large family? What do his brothers do?" + +"There's Dick, the eldest son. He's in the Guards. There's Humphrey in +the Foreign Office, and a younger son, a sailor. And--and there are +three girls--two of them are children--twins." + +"Well, now, aren't I right in saying it's odd for a son in a family like +that to become a doctor?" + +"Oh, well, I suppose in a way you are, though I can't see why he +shouldn't be. The fact is that they wanted to make a parson of +him--there's a rather good family living. But he wasn't taking any." + +"Ah! I thought I knew something about your country gentry. Well, I +admire the doctor. Was there a row?" + +"His father was rather annoyed. Perhaps it's not to be wondered at. His +half-brother is Rector at Kencote now, and when he dies they'll have to +give the living to a stranger. Of course they would rather have one of +the family." + +"It's like a chapter in a book--one of the long, easy ones, all about +country life and the squire and the parson. I love 'em. And the doctor +is going to marry your sister. Can I give 'em a skin for a wedding +present?" + +"I'm sure they would be gratified. You'd better come down and make their +acquaintance." + +"I'll do that. I'd like to come and see you, Graham; and you mustn't +mind my roughness peeping out occasionally. I haven't had many chances +in life." + +There was a pause, and then Jim said, "Walter Clinton's sister comes +next to him in the family. She's six or seven years younger. Of course, +I've known her ever since she was a baby. When I came back from Oxford +one summer vac., I found her almost grown up. She seemed quite different +somehow. I was always over there all the summer, or she was with my +sister. We fixed it up we would get married some day. They laughed at +us, and said we had better wait a few years; but of course they were +pleased, really, both my people and hers, though they thought it a bit +premature; she was only seventeen. When I went back to Oxford and +thought it over I said to myself it wasn't quite fair to tie her down at +that age. I would wait and see. So we fell back to what we had been +before." + +He stopped suddenly. "Is that all?" asked Mackenzie in some surprise. + +"It's all at present." + +There was a long pause. "It's disappointing, somehow," said Mackenzie. +"I suppose I mustn't ask questions, but there are a lot I'd like to +ask." + +"Oh, ask away. When the ice is once broken one can talk. It does one +good to talk sometimes." + +"Women talk to each other about their love affairs. Men don't--not the +real ones--except on occasions." + +"Well, we'll let this be an occasion, as you have started the subject." +He laughed lightly. "You've got a sort of power, Mackenzie. If any one +had told me yesterday that I should be talking to you to-night about a +thing I haven't mentioned to a soul for five years--except once or twice +to Walter Clinton--I should have stared at them. I'm not generally +supposed to be communicative." + +"It's impersonal," said Mackenzie, "like telling things to a priest. I'm +not in the same world as you. Five years, is it? Well, now, what on +earth have you been doing ever since? She's not too young to marry now." + +"No. I was at Oxford a year after what I told you of. Then I went for a +year to learn estate management on my uncle's property. When I came home +I thought I would fix it up with my father--he was alive then. He said, +wait a year longer. He was beginning to get ill, and I suppose he didn't +want to face the worry of making arrangements till he got better. But he +never got better, and within a year he died." + +"And then you were your own master. That's two years ago, isn't it? And +here you are coming back from a year's trip round the world. You seem to +be pretty slow about things." + +"One doesn't become one's own master immediately one succeeds to the +ownership of land. These death duties have altered all that. I shan't be +free for another year. Then I hope you will come to my wedding, +Mackenzie." + +"Thanks. Didn't the young lady object to keeping it all hanging on for +so long?" + +Jim did not reply for a moment. Then he said a little stiffly, "I wrote +to her from Oxford when I had thought things over. I thought it wasn't +fair to tie her up before I was ready to marry, and she so young." + +"And that means that you have never allowed yourself to make love to her +since." + +"Yes, it means that." + +"And yet you have been in love with her all the time?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, it shows a greater amount of self-control than most people +possess--certainly a good deal more than I possess, I suppose you are +sure of her." + +Jim did not reply to this, but he said presently, "If it wasn't for the +death duties I should have hoped to be married before this." + +"I'll tell you what I don't understand," said Mackenzie. "I suppose you +live in much the same way as your father did before you." + +"Yes. My mother lives with me, and my sister." + +"Well, surely you _could_ get married if you wanted to. You've got your +house and everything, even if there isn't quite so much money to spend +for a bit. And as for ready money--it doesn't cost nothing to travel for +a year as you're doing." + +"Oh, an uncle of mine paid for that," said Jim. "I got seedy after my +father's death. There was a lot of worry, and--and I was fond of the old +man. The doctors told me to go off. I'm all right now. As for the +rest--well, there are such things as jointures and dowries. No, I +couldn't marry, giving my wife and my mother and sister everything they +ought to have, before another year. Even then it will be a close thing; +I shall have to be careful." + +They fell silent. The dark mass of the ship's hull beneath them slipped +on through the water, drawing ever nearer towards home. The moon climbed +still higher into the sky. "Well, we've had an interesting talk," said +Mackenzie, drawing himself up. "What you have told me is all so entirely +different from anything that would ever happen in my life. If I wanted +to marry a girl I should marry her, and let the money go hang. She'd +have to share and share. But I dare say when I want a thing I want it +for the moment a good deal more than you do; and, generally, I see that +I get it. Now I think I shall turn in. Give me ten minutes." + +He went down to the cabin they both occupied. As he undressed he said to +himself, "Rather a triumph, drawing a story like that from a fellow like +that. And Lord, _what_ a story! He deserves to lose her. I should like +to hear her side of it." + +Jim Graham smoked another cigarette, walking round the deck. He felt +vaguely dissatisfied with himself for having made a confidant of +Mackenzie, and at the same time relieved at having given vent to what he +had shut up for so long in the secret recesses of his mind. + +A day or two later the two men parted at Tilbury. They had not again +mentioned the subject of their long conversation in the Bay of Biscay. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CLINTONS OF KENCOTE + + +Cicely was returning home with her father and mother after her short +taste of the season's gaieties. It was pleasant to lean back in a corner +of the railway carriage and look at the rich Meadshire country, so +familiar to her, running past the window. She had not wanted to go home +particularly, but she was rather glad to be going home all the same. + +The country in South Meadshire is worth looking at. There are +deep-grassed water-meadows, kept green by winding rivers; woods of beech +and oak; stretches of gorse and bracken; no hills to speak of, but +gentle rises, crowned sometimes by an old church, or a pleasant-looking +house, neither very old nor very new, very large nor very small. The big +houses, and there are a good many of them, lie for the most part in what +may be called by courtesy the valleys. You catch a glimpse of them +sometimes at a little distance from the line, which seems to have shown +some ingenuity in avoiding them, standing in wide, well-timbered parks, +or peeping from amongst thicker trees, with their court of farm and +church and clustered village, in dignified seclusion. For the rest, +there are picturesque hamlets; cottages with bright gardens; children, +and fluttering clothes-lines; pigs and donkeys and geese on the cropped +commons; a network of roads and country lanes; and everywhere a look of +smiling and contented well-being, which many an English county of higher +reputation for picturesque scenery might envy. + +The inhabitants of South Meadshire will tell you that it is one of the +best counties for all-round sport. Game is preserved, but not +over-preserved, and the mixture of pasture and arable land and frequent +covert, while it does not tempt the fox-hunting Londoner, breeds stout +foxes for the pleasure of those who know every inch of it; and there is +enough grass, enough water, and stiff enough fences to try the skill of +the boldest, and to provide occasionally such a run as from its +comparative rarity accords a gratification unknown to the frequenter of +the shires. Big fish are sometimes caught in the clear streams of South +Meadshire, and they are caught by the people who own them, or by their +friends. For in this quiet corner of England the life of the hall and +the village still goes on unchanged. At the meets--on lawn, at +cross-road, or by covert-side--everybody knows everybody else, at least +by sight; neighbours shoot with one another and not with strangers; and +the small fry of the countryside get their share of whatever fun is +going on. + +In the middle of this pleasant land lies the manor of Kencote, and a +good many fat acres around it, which have come to the Clintons from time +to time, either by lucky marriages or careful purchase, during the close +upon six hundred years they have been settled there. For they are an old +family and in their way an important one, although their actual +achievements through all the centuries in which they have enjoyed wealth +and local consideration fill but a small page in their family history. + +The Squire had, in the strong room of the Bathgate and Medchester Bank, +in deed-boxes at his lawyers, and in drawers and chests and cupboards in +his house, papers worthy of the attention of the antiquary. From time to +time they did engage the antiquary's attention, and, scattered about in +bound volumes of antiquarian and genealogical magazines, in the +proceedings of learned societies, and in county histories, you may find +the fruits of much careful and rewarding research through these various +documents. When the Squire was approached by some one who wished to +write a paper or read a paper, or compile a genealogy, or carry out any +project for the purposes of which it was necessary to gain access to the +Clinton archives, he would express his annoyance to his family. He would +say that he wished these people would let him alone. The fact was that +there were so few really old families left in England, that people like +himself who had lived quietly on their property for eight or nine +hundred years, or whatever it might be, had to bear all the brunt of +these investigations, and it was really becoming an infernal nuisance. +But he would always invite the antiquary to Kencote, give him a bottle +of fine claret and his share of a bottle of fine port, and every +facility for the pursuit of his inquiries. + +_A History of the Ancient and Knightly Family of Clinton of Kencote in +the County of Meadshire_, was compiled about a hundred years ago by the +Reverend John Clinton Smith, M.A., Rector of Kencote, and published by +Messrs. Dow and Runagate of Paternoster Row. It is not very accurate, +but any one interested in such matters can, with due precaution taken, +gain from it valuable information concerning the twenty-two generations +of Clintons who have lived and ruled at Kencote since Sir Giles de +Clinton acquired the manor in the reign of Edward I. + +The learned Rector devoted a considerable part of his folio volume to +tracing a connection between the Clintons of Kencote and other families +of Clintons who have mounted higher in the world. It is the opinion of +later genealogists that he might have employed his energies to better +purpose, but, in any case, the family needs no further shelter than is +supplied by its own well-rooted family tree. You will find too, in his +book, the result of his investigations into his own pedigree, in which +the weakest links have to bear the greatest strain, as is often the case +with pedigrees. + +It remains only to be said that the Squire, Edward Clinton, had +succeeded his grandfather, Colonel Thomas, of whom you may read in +sporting magazines and memoirs, at the age of eighteen, and had always +been a rich man, and an honest one. + +Kencote lies about six miles to the south-west of the old town of +Bathgate. The whole parish, and it is an exceptionally large one, +belongs to the Squire, with a good deal more land besides in +neighbouring parishes. Kencote House is a big, rather ugly structure, +and was built early in the eighteenth century after the disastrous fire +which destroyed the beautiful old Tudor hall and nearly all its hoarded +treasures. This catastrophe is worth a brief notice, for nowadays an +untitled family often enjoys some consideration from the possession of +an old and beautiful house, and the Clintons of Kencote would be better +known to the world at large if they did not live in a comparatively new +one. + +It happened at the dead of a winter night. Young William Clinton had +brought home his bride, Lady Anne, only daughter and heiress of the Earl +of Beechmont, that afternoon, and there had been torches and bonfires +and a rousing welcome. Nobody knew exactly how it happened, but they +awoke to find the house in flames, and most of the household too +overcome by the results of their merry-making to be of any use in saving +it. The house itself was burnt to a shell, but it was long enough in the +burning to have enabled its more valuable contents to have been saved, +if the work had been set about with some method. The young squire, in +night-cap, shirt, and breeches, whether mindful of his pedigree at that +time of excitement, or led by the fantastic spirit that moves men in +such crises, threw as much of the contents of his muniment room out of +the window as he had time for, and the antiquarians bless him to this +day. Then he went off to the stables, and helped to get out his horses. +My Lady Anne, who was only sixteen, saved her jewels and one or two of +her more elaborate gowns, and then sat down by the sun-dial and cried. +The servants worked furiously as long as the devouring flames allowed +them, but when there was nothing left of Kencote Hall but smouldering, +unsafe walls, under a black, winter sky, and the piled-up heap of things +that had been got out into the garden came to be examined, it was found +to be made up chiefly of the lighter and less valuable pieces of +furniture, a few pictures and hangings, many tumbled folios from the +library, kitchen and house utensils, and just a few pieces of plate and +other valuables to salt the whole worthless mass. + +So perished in a night the chief pride of the Clintons of Kencote, and +the noble house, with its great raftered hall, its carved and panelled +chambers, its spoil of tapestries and furniture, carpets, china, silver, +pictures, books, all the possessions that had been gathered from many +lands through many years, was only a memory that must fade more and more +rapidly as time went on. + +The young couple went back to her ladyship's father, not many miles +away, and Kencote was left in its ruins for ten years or so. Then my +Lord Beechmont died, sadly impoverished by unfortunate dealings with the +stock of the South Sea Company, the house and land that remained to him +were sold, and Kencote was rebuilt with the proceeds, much as it stands +to-day, except that Merchant Jack, the father of Colonel Thomas, bitten +with the ideas of his time, covered the mellow red brick with a coating +of stucco and was responsible for the Corinthian porch, and the +ornamental parapet surmounted by Grecian urns. + +Merchant Jack had been a younger son and had made his fortune in the +city. He was modern in his ideas, and a rich man, and wanted a house as +good as his neighbours. Georgian brick, and tall, narrow, small-paned +windows had gone out of fashion. So had the old formal gardens. Those at +Kencote had survived the destruction of the house, but they did not +survive the devastating zeal of Merchant Jack. They were swept away by a +pupil of Capability Brown's, who allowed the old walls of the kitchen +garden to stand because they were useful for growing fruit, but +destroyed walls and terraces and old yew hedges everywhere else, brought +the well-treed park into relation, as he thought, with the garden, by +means of sunk fences, planted shrubberies, laid down vast lawns, and +retired very well pleased with himself at having done away with one more +old-fashioned, out-of-date garden, and substituted for it a few more +acres of artificial ugliness. + +He did just one thing that turned out well; he made a large lake in a +hollow of the park and ringed it with rhododendrons, which have since +grown to enormous size. At the end of it he caused to be built a stucco +temple overhung with weeping ashes, designed "to invite Melancholy." +There is no showing that Merchant Jack had any desire to respond to such +an invitation, but it was the fashion of the time, and no doubt he was +pleased with the idea. + +Merchant Jack also refurnished the house when his architect had had his +way with it and the workmen had departed. A few good pieces he kept, but +most of the furniture, which had been brought into the house when it was +rebuilt after the fire, disappeared, to make way for heavy mahogany and +rosewood. Some of it went down to the dower house, a little Jacobean +hall in a dark corner of the park, and there is reason to fear that the +rest was sold for what it would fetch. + +In all these lamentable activities, good, rich, up-to-date Merchant Jack +was only improving his property according to the ideas of his time, and +had no more idea of committing artistic improprieties than those people +nowadays who buy a dresser from a farm-house kitchen to put in their +drawing-room, and plaster the adjacent walls with soup plates. His +memorial tablet in Kencote church speaks well of him and his memory must +be respected. + +But we have left Edward Clinton with his wife and daughter sitting for +so long in the train between Ganton and Kencote, that we must now return +to them without any further delay. + +Having got into the railway carriage at the London terminus as a private +gentleman, of no more account than any other first-class passenger, and +weighed only by his potential willingness to pay handsomely for +attentions received, as the successive stages of his journey were +accomplished, he seemed to develop in importance. At Ganton, where a +change had to be made, although it was twenty miles and more from his +own parcel of earth, peaked caps were touched to him, and the +station-master himself, braided coat and all, opened his carriage door, +expressing, as he did so, a hope that the present fair weather would +continue. One might almost, until one had thought it over, have imagined +him to be appealing to the Squire as one who might take a hand in its +continuance if he were so minded, at any rate in the neighbourhood of +Kencote. + +At Kencote itself, so busy was the entire station staff in helping him +and his belongings out of the train, that the signal for starting was +delayed a full minute, and then given almost as an after-thought, as if +it were a thing of small importance. Heads were poked out of carriage +windows, and an impertinent stranger, marking the delay and its cause, +asked the station-master, as he was carried past him, where was the red +carpet. The answer might have been that it was duly spread in the +thoughts of all who conducted the Squire from the train to his carriage, +and was as well brushed as if it had been laid on the platform. + +The Squire had a loud and affable word for station-master and porters +alike, and another for the groom who stood at the heads of the two fine +greys harnessed to his phaeton. He walked out into the road and looked +them over, remarking that they were the handsomest pair he had seen +since he had left home. Then he took the reins and swung himself up on +to his seat, actively, for a man of his age and weight. Mrs. Clinton +climbed up more slowly to her place by his side, Cicely sat behind, and +with a jingle and clatter the equipage rolled down the road, while the +groom touched his hat and went back to the station omnibus in which Mrs. +Clinton's maid was establishing herself in the midst of a collection of +wraps and little bags. For, unless it was unavoidable, no servant of the +Clintons sat on the same seat of a carriage as a member of the family. + +It was in the drowsiest time in the afternoon. The sun shone on the +hay-fields, from which the sound of sharpened scythes and the voices of +the hay-makers came most musically. Great trees bordered the half-mile +of road from the station to the village, and gave a grateful shade. The +gardens of the cottages were bright with June flowers, and the broad +village street, lined with low, irregular buildings, picturesque, but +not at all from neglected age, seemed to be dozing in the still, hot +air. A curtsy at the lodge gates, a turn of the Squire's wrist, and they +were bowling along the well kept road through the park. + +A minute more, and they had clattered on to the stones under the big +porch. + +"Well, here we are again, Probin," said the Squire to his head coachman, +who himself took the reins from his hands. "And here, please God, we'll +stay for the present." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +CLINTONS YOUNG AND OLD + + +The family tradition of the Clintons, whereby the interests and +occupations of the women were strictly subordinated to those of the men, +had not yet availed to damp the spirits or curb the activities of Joan +and Nancy, of whom Mrs. Clinton had made a simultaneous and somewhat +belated present to the Squire thirteen years before. Frank, the sailor, +the youngest son, had been seven at the time the twins were born, and +Dick a young man at Cambridge. Joan and Nancy were still the pets of the +household, strong and healthy pets, and unruly within the limits +permitted them. Released from their schoolroom, they now came rushing +into the hall, and threw themselves on to their parents and their sister +with loud cries of welcome. + +The Squire kissed them in turn--they approached him first as in duty +bound. It had taken him three or four years to get used to their +presence, and during that time he had treated them as the sort of +unaccountable plaything a woman brings into a house and a male +indulgently winks his eye at, a thing beneath his own notice, like a new +gown or a new poodle, or a new curate, but one in which she must be +permitted, in the foolish weakness of her sex, to interest herself. Then +he had gradually begun to "take notice" of them, to laugh at their +childish antics and speeches, to quote them--he had actually done this +in the hunting-field--and finally to like to have them pottering about +with him when duties of investigation took him no further than the +stables or the buildings of the home farm. He had always kept them in +order while they were with him; he had never lost sight of the fact that +they were, after all, feminine; and he had never allowed them to +interfere with his more serious pursuits. But he had fully accepted them +as agreeable playthings for his own lighter hours of leisure, just as he +might have taken to the poodle or the curate, and so treated them still, +although their healthy figures were beginning to fill out, and if they +had been born Clintons of a generation or two before they would have +been considered to be approaching womanhood. + +He now greeted them with hearty affection, and told them that if they +were good girls they might come and look at the pheasants with him when +he had read his letters and they had had their tea, and then took +himself off to his library. + +Mrs. Clinton's greeting was less hearty, but not less affectionate. She +lingered just that second longer over each of them which gives an +embrace a meaning beyond mere convention, but she only said, "I must go +and see Miss Bird. I suppose she is in the schoolroom." She gathered up +her skirts and went upstairs, but when the twins had given Cicely a +boisterous hug, they went back to their mother, and walked on either +side of her. She was still the chief personage in their little world, +although their father and even their brothers were of so much more +importance in the general scheme of things. And not even in the presence +of their father and brothers did they "behave themselves" as they did +with their mother. + +The schoolroom was at the end of a long corridor, down two steps and +round a corner. It was a large room, looking on to the park from two +windows and on to the stableyard from a third. There were shelves +containing the twins' schoolbooks and storybooks, a terrestrial and a +celestial globe, purchased many years ago for the instruction of their +great-aunts, and besides other paraphernalia of learning, signs of more +congenial occupations, such as bird-cages and a small aquarium, boxes of +games, a big doll's house still in tenantable repair though seldom +occupied, implements and materials for wood-carving, and in a corner of +the room a toy fort and a surprising variety of lead soldiers on foot or +on horseback. Such things as these might undergo variation from time to +time. The doll's house might disappear any day, as the rocking-horse had +disappeared, for instance, a year before. But the furniture and other +contents of the room were more stable. It was impossible to think of +their being changed; they were so much a part of it. The Squire never +visited the room, but if he had done so he would have recognised it as +the same room in which he had been taught his own letters, with +difficulty, fifty years before, and if any unauthorised changes had been +made, he would certainly have expressed surprise and displeasure, as he +had done when Walter had carried off to Oxford the old print of Colonel +Thomas on his black horse, Satan, with a view of Kencote House, on a +slight eminence imagined by the artist, in the background. Walter had +had to send the picture back, and it was hanging in its proper place +now, and not likely to be removed again. + +Miss Bird, commonly known as "the old starling," to whom Mrs. Clinton +had come to pay an immediate visit upon entering the house, as in duty +bound, was putting things away. She was accustomed to say that she spent +her life in putting things away after the twins had done with them, and +that they were more trouble to her than all the rest of the family had +been. For Miss Bird had lived in the house for nearly thirty years, and +had acted as educational starter to the whole race of young Clintons, to +Dick, Humphrey, Walter, Cicely, and Frank, and had taken a new lease of +life when the twins had appeared on the scene with the expectation of a +prolonged period of service. She was a thin, voluble lady, as old as the +Squire, to whom she looked up as a god amongst mankind; her educational +methods were of an older generation and included the use of the globes +and the blackboard, but she was most conscientious in her duties, her +religious principles were unexceptionable, and she filled a niche at +Kencote which would have seemed empty without her. + +"O Mrs. Clinton I am so glad to see you back," she said, almost +ecstatically, "and you too Cicely dear--oh my a new hat and such a +pretty one! You look quite the town lady, upon my word and how did you +enjoy the ball? you must tell me all about it every word now Joan and +Nancy I will not put away your things for you once more and that I +declare and you hear me say it you are the most shockingly untidy +children and if I have told you that once I have told you a hundred +times O Mrs. Clinton a new bonnet too and I declare it makes you look +five years younger _at_ least." + +Mrs. Clinton took this compliment equably, and asked if the twins had +been good girls. + +"Well, good!" echoed the old starling, "they know best whether they have +been good, of their lessons I say nothing and marks will show, but to +get up as you might say in the dead of the night and let themselves down +from a window with sheets twisted into a rope and not fit to be seen +since, all creased, _most_ dangerous, besides the impropriety for great +girls of thirteen if any one had been passing as I have told them and +should be _obliged_ to report this behaviour to you Mrs. Clinton on the +first opportunity." + +Joan and Nancy both glanced at their mother tentatively. "We were only +playing Jacobites and Roundheads," said Joan. "It makes it more real." + +"And it wasn't in the middle of the night," added Nancy. "It was four +o'clock, and quite light." + +"Why, you might have killed yourselves!" exclaimed Cicely. + +"_Exactly_ what I said the very words," corroborated the old starling. + +"We tied the sheets very tight," said Joan. + +"And tested them thoroughly," added Nancy. + +"And we won't do it again, mother," said Joan coaxingly. + +"Really, we won't," said Nancy impressively. + +"But what else will you do?" asked Mrs. Clinton. "You are getting too +big for these pranks. If your father were to hear of it, I am sure I +don't know what he would say." + +She knew pretty well that he would have laughed boisterously, and told +her that he didn't want the children molly-coddled. Time enough for that +by and by when they grew up. And the twins probably knew this too, and +were not unduly alarmed at the implied threat. But there was a quality +in their mother's displeasure, rare as it was, which made them +apprehensive when one of their periodical outbursts had come to light. +They were not old enough to perceive that it was not aroused by such +feats as the one under discussion, which showed no moral delinquency, +but only a certain danger to life and limb, now past. But their +experience did tell them that misbehaviour which caused her displeasure +was not thus referred to their father, and with many embraces and +promises of amendment they procured future oblivion of their escapade. + +"Well, I have done my duty," said the old starling, "and very unpleasant +it was to have to welcome you home with such a story, Mrs. Clinton, and +now it is all over and done with I will say and am glad to say that it +is the only _blot_. And that is what I said to both Joan and Nancy that +it was _such_ a pity to have spoilt everything at the last moment, for +otherwise two better behaved children it would have been impossible to +find anywhere." + +At which Joan and Nancy both kissed the old starling warmly, and she +strained them to her flat but tender bosom and called them her precious +pets. + +They went with Cicely into her bedroom while she "took off her things." +They betrayed an immense curiosity for every detail of her recent +experiences, particularly that crowning one of the Court Ball. She was +exalted in their eyes; she had long been grown up, but now she seemed +more grown up than ever, a whole cycle in advance of their active, +sexless juvenility. + +"I don't know," said Joan doubtfully, fingering the new hat which Cicely +had taken off, "but I almost think it must be rather fun to wear pretty +things sometimes." + +But Nancy, the younger by some minutes, rebuked that unwholesome +weakness. "What rot, Joan," she said indignantly. "Sis, we have made up +our minds to ask mother if we may wear serge knickerbockers. Then we +shall be able to do what we like." + +When this sartorial revolution had been discussed, Cicely asked, "Has +Muriel been over while I have been away?" + +"Yes," replied Joan. "Walter was at Mountfield on Sunday, and they came +over in the afternoon. They prowled about together. Of course they +didn't want us." + +"But they had us all the same," said Nancy, with a grin. "We stalked +them. They kissed in the Temple, and again in the peach-house." + +"But there were lucid intervals," said Joan. "They have made up their +minds about something or other; we couldn't quite hear what it was. They +were in the kitchen garden, and we were on the other side of the wall." + +"You weren't listening, darling?" hazarded Cicely. + +"Oh, rather not! We wouldn't do such a thing. But Nancy and I like to +pace up and down the yew walk in contemplation, and of course if they +liked to pace up and down by the asparagus beds at the same time, we +couldn't help hearing the murmur of their voices." + +"It is something very serious," said Nancy. "Walter is going to tackle +Edward about it at once. And Muriel is quite at one with him in the +matter. She said so." + +"How they do go on together, those two!" said Joan. "You would think +they had never met in their lives until they got engaged six months ago. +When they came out of the peach-house Nancy said, 'And this is love!' +Then she ran away." + +"Only because Walter ran after me," said Nancy. + +"And Muriel put her arm round my neck," continued Joan, "and said, 'O +Joan, _darling_! I am so happy that I don't care _who_ sees me.' +Positively nauseating, I call it. You and Jim don't behave like that, +Sis." + +"I should think not," said Cicely primly. + +"Well, you're engaged--or as good as," said Nancy. "But I do rather +wonder what Walter is going to tackle Edward about. It can't be to hurry +on the wedding, for it's only a month off now." + +"We shall know pretty soon," said Joan. "Father doesn't keep things to +himself." + +"No, I expect Edward will make a deuce of a row," said Nancy. + +"Nancy!" said Cicely sharply, "you are not to talk like that." + +"Darling!" said Nancy in a voice of grieved expostulation. "It is what +Walter said to Muriel. I thought there _couldn't_ be any harm in it." + +The twins--they were called "the twankies" by their brothers--went off +after tea in the schoolroom to see the young pheasants with their +father. They were lively and talkative, and the Squire laughed at them +several times, as good-humoured men do laugh at the prattle of innocent +childhood. Arrived at the pens he entered into a long and earnest +conversation with his head keeper, and the twins knew better than to +interrupt him with artless prattle at such a time as that. But going +home again through the dewy park, he unbent once more and egged Nancy on +to imitate the old starling, at which he roared melodiously. He was a +happy man that evening. He had come back to his kingdom, to the serious +business of life, which had a good deal to do with keepers and broods of +pheasants, and to his simple, domestic recreations, much enhanced by the +playful ways of his "pair of kittens." + +The mellow light of the summer evening lay over the park, upon the thick +grass of which the shadows of the trees were lengthening. Sheep were +feeding on it, and it was flat round the house and rather uninteresting. +But it was the Squire's own; he had known every large tree since the +earliest days of his childhood, and the others he had planted, seeing +some of them grow to a respectable height and girth. He would have been +quite incapable of criticising it from the point of view of beauty. The +irregular roofs of the stables and other buildings, the innumerable +chimneys of the big house beyond them, seen through a gap in the trees +which hemmed it in for the most part on three sides, were also his own, +and objects so familiar that he saw them with eyes different from any +others that could have been turned upon them. The sight of them gave +him a sensation of pleasure quite unrelated to their aesthetic or even +their actual value. They meant home to him, and everything that he +loved in the world, or out of it. The pleasure was always there +subconsciously--not so much a pleasure as an attitude of mind--but this +evening it warmed into something concrete. "There's plenty of little +dicky-birds haven't got such a nest as my two," he said to the twins, +who failed to see that this speech, which they wriggled over, but +privately thought fatuous, had the elements of both poetry and religion. + +In the meantime Cicely had made her way over the park in another +direction to visit her aunts in the dower-house, for she knew they would +be itching for an account of her adventures, and she had not had time to +write to them from London. + +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura were the only surviving representatives of the +six spinster daughters of Colonel Thomas Clinton, the Squire's +grandfather. One after the other Aunt Mary, Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Anna +and Aunt Caroline had been carried out of the dark house in which they +had ended their blameless days to a still darker and very narrow house +within the precincts of Kencote church, and the eldest sister, now an +amazingly aged woman, but still in the possession of all her faculties, +and the youngest, who although many years her junior, was well over +seventy, were all that were left of the bevy of spinster ladies. + +On their father's death, now nearly forty years ago, they had removed in +a body from the big house in which they had lived in a state of subdued +self-repression to the small one in which, for the first time, they were +to taste independence. For their father had been a terrible martinet +where women were concerned, and would as readily have ordered Aunt Ellen +to bed, at the age of fifty, if he had been displeased with her, as if +she had been a child of ten. And if he had ordered her she would have +gone. + +Some of the rooms in the dower-house had been occupied by the agent to +the Kencote estate who at that time was a bachelor, and the rest had +been shut up. The six sisters spent the happiest hours they had hitherto +known in the arrangement of their future lives and of the beautiful old +furniture with which the house was stocked. The lives were to be active, +regular, and charitable. Colonel Thomas, who had allowed them each +twenty pounds a year for dress allowance and pocket-money during his +lifetime, had astonished everybody by leaving them six thousand pounds +apiece in his will, which had been made afresh a year before his death. +He had just then inherited the large fortune of his younger brother, who +had succeeded to the paternal business in Cheapside, lived and died a +bachelor, and saved a great deal of money every year. By his previous +will they would have had a hundred a year each from the estate, and the +use of the dower-house. But even that would have seemed wealth to these +simple ladies as long as they remained together, and all of them alive. +For Colonel Thomas had forgotten, in that first will, to make provision +for the probability of one of them outliving the rest and being reduced +to a solitary existence on a hundred pounds a year. However, with +fifteen hundred a year or so between them, and no rent to pay, they were +exceedingly well off, kept their modest carriage, employed two men in +their garden, and found such pleasures in dividing their surplus wealth +amongst innumerable and deserving charities that the arrival by post of +a nurseryman's catalogue excited them no more than that of an appeal to +subscribe to a new mission. + +The beautiful old furniture, huddled in the disused rooms and in the +great range of attics that ran under the high-pitched roof, gave them +immense happiness in the arrangement. They were not in the least alive +to its value at that time, though they had become so in some degree +since, but kept rather quiet about it for fear that their nephew might +wish to carry some of it off to the great house. They thought it very +old-fashioned and rather absurd, and they also held this view of the +beautifully carved and panelled rooms of their old house, which were +certainly too dark for perfect comfort. But they disposed everything to +the best advantage, and produced without knowing it an effect which no +diligent collector could have equalled, and which became still more +delightful and satisfying as the years went on. + +Cicely walked across the level park and went through a deep wood, +entering by an iron gate the garden of the dower-house, which seemed to +have been built in a clearing, although it was older than the oldest of +the trees that hemmed it round. On this hot summer afternoon it stood +shaded and cool, and the very fragrance of its old-fashioned garden +seeming to be confined and concentrated by the heavy foliage. There was +not a leaf too many. But in the autumn it was damp and close and in the +winter very dark. A narrow drive of about a hundred yards led straight +from the main road to the porch and showed a blue telescopic glimpse of +distant country. If all the trees had been cut down in front to the +width of the house it would have stood out as a thing of beauty against +its green background, air and light would have been let into the best +rooms and the pleasant view of hill and vale opened up to them. But the +Squire, tentatively approached years before by his affectionate and +submissive aunts, had decisively refused to cut down any trees at all, +and four out of the six of them had taken their last look of this world +out of one or other of those small-paned windows and seen only a great +bank of laurels--even those they were not allowed to cut down--across a +narrow space of gravel, and the branches of oaks not quite ripe for +felling, above them. + +Cicely went through a garden door opening on to a stone-floored passage +which ran right through the house, and opened the door of her aunts' +parlour. They were sitting on either side of the fireless grate with +their tea-table not yet cleared between them. Aunt Ellen, ninety-three +years of age, with a lace cap on her head and a white silk shawl over +her shoulders, was sitting upright in her low chair, knitting. She wore +no glasses, and her old hands, meagre, almost transparent, with large +knuckles, and skin that looked as if it had been polished, fumbled a +little with her needles and the thick wool. Her eyesight was failing, +though in the pride of her great age she would not acknowledge it; but +her hearing was almost perfect. Aunt Laura, who was seventy-five, +looked, except for her hair, which was not quite white, the older of the +two. She was bent and frail, and she had taken to spectacles some years +before, to which Aunt Ellen alluded every day of her life with contempt. +They said the same things to each other, on that and on other subjects, +time after time. Every day for years Aunt Ellen had said that if dear +Edward had only been able to cut down the trees in front of the house it +would give them more light and open up the view, and she had said it as +if it had only just occurred to her. And Aunt Laura had replied that she +had thought the same thing herself, and did Ellen remember how dear +Anne, who was always one to say out what she wanted, had asked him if he +thought it might be done, but he had said--quite kindly--that the trees +had always been there, and there they would stay. + +The two old ladies welcomed Cicely as if she had been a princess with +whom it was their privilege to be on terms of affectionate intimacy. She +was, in fact, a princess in their little world, the daughter of the +reigning monarch, to whom they owed, and gave, loyal allegiance. Aunt +Laura had been up to the house that morning and heard that they were to +return by the half-past four o'clock train. They had been quite sure +that Cicely would come to see them at once and tell them all her news, +and they had debated whether they would wait for their own tea or not. +They had, in fact, waited for a quarter of an hour. They told her all +this in minute detail, and only by painstaking insistence was Aunt Ellen +herself prevented from rising to ring the bell for a fresh supply to be +brought in. "Well, my dear, if you are quite sure you won't," she said +at last, "I will ring for Rose to take the things away." + +Cicely rang the bell, and Rose, who five-and-thirty years before had +come to the dower-house as an apple-cheeked girl from the village +school, answered the summons. She wore a cap with coloured ribbons--the +two sisters still shook their heads together over her tendency to +dressiness--and dropped a child's curtsey to Cicely as she came in. She +had been far too well-trained to speak until she was spoken to, but Aunt +Ellen said, "Here is Miss Clinton returned from London, Rose, where she +has seen the King and Queen." And Rose said, "Well, there, miss!" with a +smile at Cicely, and before she removed the tea-tray settled the white +shawl more closely round Aunt Ellen's shoulders. + +"Rose is a good girl," said Aunt Ellen, when she had left the room, "but +I am afraid more fond of admiration than she should be. Well, dear, now +tell us all about what you have seen and done. But, first of all, how is +your dear father?" + +"Oh, quite well, thank you, Aunt Ellen," replied Cicely, "and very +pleased to get home, I think." + +"Ah!" said Aunt Ellen. "We have all missed him sorely. I am sure it is +wonderful how he denies himself all kinds of pleasure to remain here and +do his duty. It is an example we should all do well to follow." + +"When he was quite a young man," said Aunt Laura, "there was no one who +was gayer--of course in a _nice_ way--and took his part in everything +that was going on in the higher circles of the metropolis. Your dear +Aunt Elizabeth used to cut out the allusions to him in the _Morning +Post_, and there was scarcely a great occasion on which his name was not +mentioned." + +"But after two years in his regiment he gave it all up to settle down +amongst his own people," said Aunt Ellen. "All his life has been summed +up in the word 'duty.' I wish there were more like him, but there are +not." + +"It seems like yesterday," said Aunt Laura, "that he joined the Horse +Guards Blue. We all wished very much to see him in his beautiful +uniform, which so became him, and your dear Aunt Anne, who was always +the one to make requests if she saw fit, asked him to bring it down to +Kencote and put it on. Dear Edward laughed at her, and refused--quite +kindly, of course--so we all took a little trip to London--it was the +occasion of the opening of the International Reformatory Exhibition at +Islington by the Prince of Wales, as he was then--and your dear father +was in the escort. How noble he looked on his black horse! I assure you +we were all very proud of him." + +Cicely sat patiently silent while these reminiscences, which she had +heard a hundred times before, were entered upon. She looked at Aunt +Ellen, fumbling with her knitting-needles, and wondered what it must be +like to be so very old, and at Aunt Laura, who was also knitting, with +quick and expert fingers, and wondered if she had ever been young. + +"Did the King show your dear father any special mark of esteem?" asked +Aunt Ellen. "It did occur to your Aunt Laura and myself that, not +knowing how heavy are the duties which keep him at Kencote, His Majesty +might have been--I will not say annoyed, because he would not be +that--but perhaps disappointed at not seeing him more often about his +Court. For in the days gone by he was an ornament of it, and I have +always understood, though not from him, that he enjoyed special +consideration, which would only be his due." + +"The King didn't take any notice of father," said Cicely, with the +brusque directness of youth, and Aunt Ellen seemed to be somewhat +bewildered at the statement, not liking to impute blame to her +sovereign, but unable for the moment to find any valid excuse for him. + +"I thought," she said hesitatingly, "that sending specially--the +invitation for all of you--but I suppose there were a great many people +there." + +Cicely took her opportunity, and described what she had seen and done, +brightly and in detail. She answered all her aunts' questions, and +interested them deeply. Her visits, and those of her mother, or the +twins with Miss Bird, were the daily enlivenment of the two old ladies, +and were never omitted. The Squire seldom went to the dower-house, but +when he did look in for a minute or two, happening to pass that way, +they were thrown into a flutter of pleasure and excitement which lasted +them for days. + +When Cicely took her leave an hour later, Aunt Ellen said: "The +consideration with which dear Edward's family treats us, sister, is +something we may well be thankful for. I felt quite sure, and I told +you, that some one would come to see us immediately upon their return. +Cicely is always so bright and interesting--a dear girl, and quite takes +after her father." + +"Dear Anne used to say that she took after her mother," said Aunt Laura; +to which Aunt Ellen replied: "I have not a word to say against Nina; she +has been a good wife to dear Edward, though we all thought at the time +of their marriage that he might have looked higher. But compared with +our nephew, quiet and unassuming as she is, she has very little +character, while Cicely _has_ character. No, sister, Cicely is a +Clinton--a Clinton through and through." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +MELBURY PARK + + +Family prayers at Kencote took place at nine o'clock, breakfast +nominally at a quarter past, though there was no greater interval +between the satisfaction of the needs of the soul and those of the body +than was necessary to enable the long string of servants to file out +from their seats under the wall, and the footmen to return immediately +with the hot dishes. The men sat nearest to the door and frequently +pushed back to the dining-room against the last of the outflowing tide; +for the Squire was ready for his breakfast the moment he had closed the +book from which he had read the petition appointed for the day. If there +was any undue delay he never failed to speak about it at once. This +promptness and certainty in rebuke, when rebuke was necessary, made him +a well-served man, both indoors and out. + +Punctuality was rigidly observed by the Clinton family. It had to be; +especially where the women were concerned. If Dick or Humphrey, when +they were at home, missed prayers, the omission was alluded to. If +Cicely, or even Mrs. Clinton was late, the Squire spoke about it. This +was more serious. In the case of the boys the rebuke hardly amounted to +speaking about it. As for the twins, they were never late. For one thing +their abounding physical energy made them anything but lie-abeds, and +for another, they were so harried during the ten minutes before the gong +sounded by Miss Bird that there would have been no chance of their +overlooking the hour. If they had been late, Miss Bird would have been +spoken to, and on the distressing occasions when that had happened, it +had put her, as she said, all in a twitter. + +When it still wanted a few minutes to the hour on the morning after the +return from London, Cicely was standing by one of the big open windows +talking to Miss Bird, the twins were on the broad gravel path +immediately outside, and two footmen were putting the finishing touches +to the appointments of the table. + +It was a big table, although now reduced to the smallest dimensions of +which it was capable, for the use of the six people who were to occupy +it. But in that great room it was like an island in the midst of a waste +of Turkey carpet. The sideboards, dinner-wagon, and carving-table, and +the long row of chairs against the wall opposite to the three windows +were as if they lined a distant shore. The wallpaper of red flock had +been an expensive one, but it was ugly, and faded in places where the +sun caught it. It had been good enough for the Squire's grandfather +forty years before, and it was good enough for him. It was hung with +portraits of men and women and portraits of horses, some of the latter +by animal painters of note. The furniture was all of massive mahogany, +furniture that would last for ever, but had been made after the date at +which furniture left off being beautiful as well as lasting. The +mantelpiece was of brown marble, very heavy and very ugly. + +At one minute to nine Mrs. Clinton came in. She carried a little +old-fashioned basket of keys which she put down on the dinner-wagon, +exactly in the centre of the top shelf. Cicely came forward to kiss her, +followed by Miss Bird, with comma-less inquiries as to how she had spent +the night after her journey, and the twins came in through the long +window to wish her good morning. She replied composedly to the old +starling's twittering, and cast her eye over the attire of the twins, +which was sometimes known to require adjustment. Then she took her seat +in one of the big easy-chairs which stood on either side of the +fireplace, while Porter, the butler, placed a Bible and a volume of +devotions, both bound in brown leather, before the Squire's seat at the +foot of the table, and retired to sound the gong. + +It was exactly at this moment that the Squire, who opened his letters in +the library before breakfast, was accustomed to enter the room, and, +with a word of greeting to his assembled family, perch his gold-rimmed +glasses on his fine straight nose, and with the help of two book-markers +find the places in the Bible and book of prayers to which the year in +its diurnal course had brought him. The gong would sound, either +immediately before or immediately after he had entered the room, the +maids and the men who had been assembling in the hall would file in, he +would throw a glance towards them over his glasses to see that they were +all settled, and then begin to read in a fast, country gentleman's voice +the portion of Scripture that was to hallow the day now officially +beginning. + +The gong rolled forth its sounding reverberation, Miss Bird and the +three girls took their seats, and then there was a pause. In a house of +less rigid habits of punctuality it would have been filled by small +talk, but here it was so unusual that when it had lasted for no more +than ten seconds the twins looked at one another in alert curiosity and +Cicely's eyes met those of her mother, which showed a momentary +apprehension before they fixed themselves again upon the shining steel +of the fire bars. Another ten seconds went by and then the library door +was heard to open and the Squire's tread, heavy on the paved hall. + +Four pairs of eyes were fixed upon him as he entered the room, followed +at a short but respectful interval by the servants. Mrs. Clinton still +looked inscrutably at the grate. The Squire's high colour was higher +than its wont, his thick grizzled eyebrows were bent into a frown, and +his face was set in lines of anger which he evidently had difficulty in +controlling. He fumbled impatiently with the broad markers as he opened +the books, and omitted the customary glance towards the servants as he +began to read in a voice deeper and more hurried than usual. When he +laid down the Bible and took up the book of prayers he remained +standing, as he sometimes did if he had a touch of rheumatism; but he +had none now, and his abstention from a kneeling position amounted to a +declaration that he was willing to go through the form of family prayers +for routine's sake but must really be excused from giving a mind to it +which was otherwise occupied. + +It was plain that he had received a letter which had upset his +equanimity. This had happened before, and the disturbance created made +manifest in much the same way. But it had happened seldom, because a man +who is in possession of an income in excess of his needs is immune from +about half the worries that come with the morning's post, and any +annoyance arising from the administration of his estate was not usually +made known to him by letter. The Squire's letter-bag was normally as +free of offence as that of any man in the country. + +The twins, eying one another with surreptitious and fearful pleasure, +conveyed in their glances a knowledge of what had happened. The thing +that Walter and Muriel had made up their minds about, whatever it +was--that was what had caused the Squire to remain behind a closed door +until he had gained some slight control over his temper, and led him now +to prefer the petitions appointed in the book bound in brown leather in +a voice between a rumble and a bark. Perhaps everything would come out +when Porter and the footman had brought in the tea and coffee service +and the breakfast dishes, and left the room. If it did not, they would +hear all about it later. Their father's anger held no terrors for them, +unless it was directed against themselves, and even then considerably +less than might have been supposed. He was often angry, or appeared to +be, but he never did anything. Even in the memorable upheaval of seven +years before--when Walter had finally refused to become a clergyman and +announced his determination of becoming a doctor--which had been so +unlike anything that had ever happened within their knowledge that it +had impressed itself even upon their infant minds, and of which they had +long since worried all the details out of Cicely, he had made a great +deal of noise but had given way in the end. He would give way now, +however completely he might lose his temper in the process. The twins +had no fear of a catastrophe, and therefore looked forward with +interest, as they knelt side by side, with their plump chins propped on +their plump hands, to the coming storm. + +The storm broke, as anticipated, when the servants had finally left the +room, and the Squire had ranged over the silver dishes on the side-table +for one to his liking, a search in which he was unsuccessful. + +"I wish you would tell Barnes that if she can't think of anything for +breakfast but bacon, and scrambled eggs, and whiting, and mushrooms, she +had better go, and the sooner the better," he said, bending a terrifying +frown on his wife. "Same thing day after day!" But he piled a plate with +bacon and eggs and mushrooms and carried it off to his seat, while his +daughters and Miss Bird waited round him until he had helped himself. + +"I have just had a letter from Walter," he began directly he had taken +his seat, "which makes me so angry that, 'pon my word, I scarcely know +what to do. Nina, this milk is burnt. Barnes shall go. She sends up food +fit for the pig-tub. Why can't you see that the women servants do their +duty? I can't take _everything_ on my shoulders. God knows I've got +enough to put up with as it is." + +"Joan, ring the bell," said Mrs. Clinton. + +"Oh--God's sake--no, no," fussed the Squire. "I don't want the servants +in. Give me some tea. Miss Bird, here's my cup, please. Take it, please, +_take_ it, Miss Bird. I don't know when I've felt so annoyed. You do all +you can and put yourself to an infinity of trouble and expense for the +sake of your children, and then they behave like this. Really, Walter +wants a good thrashing to bring him to his senses. If I had nipped all +this folly of doctoring in the bud, as I ought to have done, I might +have been able to live my life in peace. It's too bad; 'pon my word, +it's too bad." + +The twins, sustaining their frames diligently with bacon and eggs and +mushrooms--the whiting was at a discount--waited with almost too obvious +expectation for the full disclosure of Walter's depravity. Cicely, +alarmed for the sake of Muriel, ate nothing and looked at her father +anxiously. Miss Bird was in a state of painful confusion because she had +not realised effectively that the Squire had wanted his cup of coffee +exchanged for a cup of tea, and might almost be said to have been +"spoken to" about her stupidity. Only with Mrs. Clinton did it rest to +draw the fire which, if she did it unskilfully, might very well be +turned upon herself. A direct question would certainly have so turned +it. + +"I am sorry that Walter has given you any further cause of complaint, +Edward," she said. + +This was not skilful enough. "Cause of complaint!" echoed the Squire +irritably. "Am I accustomed to complain about anything without good +reason? You talk as if I am the last man in the world to have the right +to expect my wishes to be consulted. Every one knows that I gave way to +Walter against my better judgment. I allowed him to take up this +doctoring because he had set his mind on it, and I have never said a +word against it since. And how now does he reward me when he has got to +the point at which he might begin to do himself and his family some +credit? Coolly writes to me for money--_to me_--_for money_--to enable +him to buy a practice at Melbury Park, if you please. Melbury _Park_! +Pah!!" + +The Squire pushed his half-emptied plate away from him in uncontrollable +disgust. He was really too upset to eat his breakfast. The utterance of +the two words which summed up Walter's blind, infatuated stampede from +respectability brought back all the poignant feelings with which he had +first read his letter. For the moment he was quite beside himself with +anger and disgust, and unless relief had been brought to him he would +have left his breakfast unfinished and stalked out of the room. + +Nancy brought the relief with the artless question, "Where is Melbury +Park, father?" + +"Hold your tongue," said the Squire promptly, and then drew a lurid +picture of a place delivered over entirely to the hovels of nameless +people of the lower middle classes, and worse, a place in which you +would be as effectually cut off from your fellows as if you went to live +in Kamschatka. Indeed, you would not be so cut off if you went to +Kamschatka, for you might be acknowledged to be living there, but to +have it said that you lived at Melbury Park would _stamp_ you. It would +be as easy to say you were living in Halloway Goal. It was a place they +stopped you at when you came into London on the North Central Railway, +to take your tickets. The Squire mentioned this as if a place where they +took your tickets was of necessity a dreadful kind of a place. "Little +have I ever thought," he said, "when I have been pulled up there, and +looked at those streets and streets of mean little houses, that a son of +mine would one day want to go and _live_ there. 'Pon my word, I think +Walter's brain must be giving way." + +It was Cicely who asked why Walter wanted to live at Melbury Park, and +what Muriel said about it. + +"He doesn't say a word about Muriel," snapped the Squire. "I suppose +Muriel is backing him up. I shall certainly speak to Jim and Mrs. Graham +about it. It is disgraceful--positively disgraceful--to think of taking +a girl like Muriel to live in such a place. She wouldn't have a soul to +speak to, and she would have to mix with all sorts of people. A doctor's +wife can't keep to herself like other women. Oh, I don't know why he +wants to go there. Don't ask me such questions. I was ready to start him +amongst nice people, whatever it had cost, and he might have been in a +first-class position while other men of his age were only thinking about +it. But no, he must have his own silly way. He shan't have his way. I'll +put my foot down. I won't have the name of Clinton disgraced. It has +been respected for hundreds of years, and I don't know that I've ever +done anything to bring it down. It's a little too much that one of my +own sons should go out of his way to throw mud at it. I've stood enough. +I won't stand any more. Melbury Park! A pretty sort of _park_!" + +Having thus relieved his feelings the Squire was enabled to eat a fairly +good breakfast, with a plateful of ham to follow his bacon and eggs and +mushrooms, a spoonful or two of marmalade, and some strawberries to +finish up with. It came out further that Walter was coming down by the +afternoon train to dine and sleep, and presumably to discuss the +proposal of which he had given warning, and that the Squire proposed to +ask Tom and his wife to luncheon, or rather that Mrs. Clinton should +drop in at the Rectory in the course of the morning and ask them, as he +would be too busy. + +Then Cicely asked if she might have Kitty, the pony, for the morning, +and the Squire at once said, "No, she'll be wanted to take up food for +the pheasants," after which he retired to his room, but immediately +returned to ask Cicely what she wanted the pony for. + +"I want to go over to Mountfield," said Cicely. + +"Very well, you can have her," said the Squire, and retired again. + +Mrs. Clinton made no comment on the disclosures that had been made, but +took up her basket of keys and left the room. + +"Now, Joan and Nancy, do not linger but get ready for your lessons at a +quarter to ten punctually," Miss Bird broke forth volubly. "Every +morning I have to hunt you from the breakfast table and my life is spent +in trying to make you punctual. I am sure if your father knew the +trouble I have with you he would speak to you about it and then you +would see." + +"Melbury Park!" exclaimed Nancy in a voice of the deepest disgust, as +she rose slowly from the table. "'Pon my word, Joan, it's too bad. I +spend my life in trying to make you punctual and then you want to go to +Melbury Park! Pah! A nice sort of a _park_!" + +"Are you going to see Muriel, Cicely?" asked Joan, also rising +deliberately. "Starling, _darling_! Don't hustle me, I'm coming. I only +want to ask my sister Cicely a question." + +"Yes," said Cicely. "If I couldn't have had Kitty I should have walked." + +"How unreasonable you are, Cicely," said Nancy. "The pony is wanted to +take chickweed to the canaries at Melbury Park." + +"Find out all about it, Cis," said Joan in process of being pushed out +of the room. "Oh, take it, Miss Bird, _please_, take it." + +Cicely drove off through the park at half-past ten. Until she had passed +through the lodge gates and got between the banks of a deep country +lane, Kitty went her own pace, quite aware that she was being driven by +one whose unreasonable inclinations for speed must subordinate +themselves to the comfort of pony-flesh as long as she was in sight of +house or stables. Then, with a shake of her head, she suddenly quickened +her trot, but did not escape the cut of a whip which was always +administered to her at this point. With that rather vicious little cut +Cicely expressed her feelings at a state of things in which, with +fourteen or fifteen horses in the stable and half a dozen at the home +farm, the only animal at the disposal of herself and her sisters was +always wanted for something else whenever they asked for it. + +The Squire had four hunters--sometimes more--which nobody but himself +ever used, and the price of a horse that would carry a man of his weight +comfortably ran into treble figures more often than not. Dick kept a +couple always at Kencote, even Walter had one, and Humphrey and Frank +could always be mounted whenever they wanted a day with the South +Meadshire. There were nine or ten horses, standing in stalls or loose +boxes or at grass, kept entirely for the amusement of her father and +brothers, besides half a dozen more for the carriages, the station +omnibus, the luggage cart, and all the dynamic demands of a large +household. The boys had all had their ponies as soon as their legs could +grip a saddle. This very pony that she was driving was really Frank's, +having been rescued for him from a butcher's cart in Bathgate fourteen +years before, and nobody knew how old she was. She was used for the +mowing machine and for every sort of little odd job about the garden, +and seemed as if she might go on for ever. It was only when Cicely or +the twins drove her that the reminder was given that she was not as +young as she had been, and must not be hustled. + +And she was all they were ever allowed to drive, and then only when she +was not wanted for something else. It was a Clinton tradition, deriving +probably from Colonel Thomas and his six stay-at-home daughters, that +the women of the family did not hunt. They were encouraged to drive and +allowed to ride to the meets of hounds if there was anything to carry +them, and in Cicely's childhood there had been other ponies besides +Kitty, left-offs of her elder brothers, which she had used. But she had +never been given a horse of her own, and the hunters were far too +precious to be galled by a side-saddle. What did she want to ride for? +The Squire hated to see women flying about the country like men, and he +wasn't going to have any more horses in the stable. The men had more +than enough to do as it was. It was part of the whole unfair scheme on +which life at Kencote was based. Everything was done for the men and +boys of the family, and the women and girls must content themselves with +what was left over. + +Pondering these and other things, Cicely drove along the country lanes, +between banks and hedges bright with the growth of early summer, through +woods in which pheasants, reared at great expense that her father and +brothers and their friends might kill them, called one another hoarsely, +as if in a continual state of gratulation at having for a year at least +escaped their destined end; between fields in which broods of partridges +ran in and out of the roots of the green corn; across a bridge near +which was a deep pool terrifically guarded by a notice-board against +those who might have disturbed the fat trout lying in its shadows; +across a gorse-grown common, sacred home of an old dog-fox that had +defied the South Meadshire hounds for five seasons; and so, out of her +father's property on to that of Jim Graham, in which blood relations of +the Kencote game and vermin were protected with equal care, in order +that the Grahams might fulfil the destiny appointed for them and the +Clintons and the whole race of squirearchy alike. + +The immediate surroundings of Mountfield were prettier than those of +Kencote. The house stood at the foot of a wooded rise, and its long +white front showed up against a dark background of trees. It was older +in date than Georgian Kencote, and although its walls had been stuccoed +out of all resemblance to those of an old house, its high-pitched roof +and twisted chimney stacks had been left as they were. The effect was so +incongruous that even unaesthetic Alexander Graham, Jim's father, had +thought of uncovering the red brick again. But the front had been +altered to allow for bigger windows and a portico resembling that at +Kencote, and the architect whom he had consulted, had pressed him to +spend more money on it than he felt inclined to. So he had left it alone +and spent none; and Jim, who was not so well off as his father by the +amount of Muriel's portion and the never-to-be-forgiven Harcourt duties, +was not likely to have a thousand pounds to spare for making his rooms +darker for some years to come. + +The old stable buildings, untouched by the restorer, flanked the house +on one side and the high red brick wall of the gardens on the other. The +drive sloped gently up from the gates through an undulating park more +closely planted than that of Kencote. There were some very old trees at +Mountfield and stretches of bracken here and there beneath them. It was +a pity that the house had been spoilt in appearance, but its amenities +were not wholly destroyed. Cicely knew it almost as well as she knew +Kencote, but she acknowledged its charm now as she drove up between the +oak and the young fern. Under the blue June sky strewn with light +clouds, it stood for a peaceful, pleasant life, if rather a dull one, +and she could not help wondering whether her friend would really be +happier in a house of her own in Melbury Park, which, if painted in +somewhat exaggeratedly dark colours by Cicely's father, had not struck +her, when she had seen it from the railway, as a place in which any one +could possibly live of choice. Perhaps Walter had over-persuaded her. +She would know very soon now, for Muriel told her everything. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A GOOD LONG TALK + + +Mrs. Graham--she was the Honourable Mrs. Graham, a daughter of the +breeder of Jove II. and other famous shorthorns--came out of the door +leading to the stableyard as Cicely drove up. She had been feeding young +turkeys, and wore a shortish skirt of brown tweed, thick boots and a +green Tyrolean hat, and was followed by three dogs--a retriever, a +dachshund, and one that might have been anything. She was tall and +spare, with a firm-set, healthy face, and people sometimes said that she +ought to have been a man. But she was quite happy as a woman, looking +after her poultry and her garden out of doors, and her dogs and her +household within. She had hardly moved from Mountfield since her +marriage thirty years before, and the only fly in the ointment of +content in which she had embalmed herself was that she would have to +leave it when Jim married. But she greeted Cicely, who was expected to +supplant her, with bright cordiality, and lifted up a loud voice to +summon a groom to lead off Kitty to the stable. + +"My dear," she said; "such a nuisance as this wedding is you never knew. +It's as much as I can do to keep the birds and the animals fed, and how +_I_ shall look in heliotrope and an aigrette the Lord only knows. But I +suppose nobody will look at me, and Muriel will be a picture. Have you +heard that Walter is going to take her to live at Melbury Park? It seems +a funny place to go to live in, doesn't it? But I suppose they won't +mind as long as they are together. I never saw such a pair of +love-birds." + +"Walter wrote to father about it this morning," said Cicely, "and he is +coming down this afternoon. Father is furious with him." + +"Well, I'm sure I don't know why," said Mrs. Graham equably. "I +shouldn't care to live in Melbury Park myself, and I don't suppose Mr. +Clinton would. But nobody asks him to. If _they_ want to, it's their own +affair. I'm all for letting people go their own way--always have been. I +go mine." + +"Why does Walter choose such a place as that to take Muriel to?" asked +Cicely, who had not remained quite unimpressed by the Squire's diatribe +against the unfortunate suburb. + +"Oh, it's convenient for his hospital and gives him the sort of practice +he wants for a year or two. _I_ don't know. They won't live there for +ever. I don't suppose it will kill them to know a few people you +wouldn't ask to dinner. It hasn't killed me. I get on with farmers' +wives better than anybody--ought to have been one." + +"Father is going to ask you to put your foot down and say Muriel shan't +go there," said Cicely. + +"Well then, I won't," replied Mrs. Graham decisively. "I'm not a snob." +Then she added hurriedly, "I don't say that your father is one either; +but he does make a terrible fuss about all that sort of thing. I should +have thought a Clinton was good enough to be able to know anybody +without doing himself any harm. But you had better go and talk to Muriel +about it, my dear. You will find her upstairs, with her clothes. Oh, +those clothes! I must go and look after the gardeners. They are putting +liquid manure on the roses, and I'm afraid they will mix it too strong." + +Mrs. Graham went off to attend to her unsavoury but congenial task, and +Cicely went indoors and up to Muriel's room, where she found her friend +with a maid, busy over some detail of her trousseau. They greeted one +another with coolness but affection, the maid was sent out of the room, +and they settled down in chintz-covered easy-chairs by the window for +the usual good long talk. + +Muriel was a pretty girl, less graceful than Cicely, but with her big +brown eyes and masses of dark hair, a foil to her friend's fair beauty. +She had her mother's sensible face, but was better-looking than her +mother had ever been. + +"Now you must tell me every word from the beginning," she said. "You +said nothing in your letters. You didn't make me see the room, or any +one in it." + +Cicely had a good deal to say about her late experiences, but her +friend's own affairs were of more recent interest. "But I want to hear +about Walter and Melbury Park first," she said. "There is a rare to-do +about it at Kencote, I can tell you, Muriel." + +"Is there?" said Muriel, after a short pause, as if she were adjusting +her thoughts. "That was what Walter was afraid of." + +"Don't you mind going to live in a place like that?" asked Cicely. +"Father thinks it is a shame that Walter should take you there." + +"O my dear," said Muriel, with a trifle of impatience, "you know quite +well what I think about all that sort of thing. We have talked it over +hundreds of times. Here we are, stuck down in the middle of all this, +with nothing in the world to do but amuse ourselves, if we can, and +never any chance of pushing along. We have _got_ it all; there is +nothing to go for. That's what I first admired about my darling old +Walter. He struck out a line of his own. If he had been content just to +lop over the fence into Kencote Rectory, I don't think I should ever +have fallen in love with him. I don't know, though. He _is_ the sweetest +old dear." + +"Oh, don't begin about Walter," urged Cicely. + +"Yes, I will begin about Walter," replied Muriel, "and I'll go on with +Walter. He says now that the only thing he is really keen about--except +me--is his work. He always liked it, in a way, but when he made up his +mind to be a doctor it was only because he knew he must have some +profession, and he thought he might as well have one that interested +him. But now it takes up all his thoughts, except when he comes down +here for a holiday, and you know how the old pet enjoys his holidays. +Well, I'm going to do all I can to help him to get on. He says this +practice at Melbury Park is just what he wants, to get his hand in; he +won't be worried with a lot of people who aren't really ill at all, but +have to be kept in a good humour in case they should go off to another +doctor. It will be hard, sound work, and he will be in touch with the +hospital all the time. He is immensely keen about it. I don't want to +say anything against Mr. Clinton, but why _can't_ he see that Walter is +worth all the rest of your brothers put together, because he has set out +to do something and they are just having a good time?" + +"Oh, well, Muriel, I can't allow that," said Cicely. "Dick is quite a +good soldier. He got his D.S.O. in the war. And besides, his real work +is to look after the property, and he knows as much about that as +father. And Humphrey _has_ to go about a lot. You must, in the Foreign +Office. And Frank--he is doing all right. He was made doggy to his +Admiral only the other day." + +"Well, at any rate," replied Muriel, "they start from what they are. And +you can't say that their chief aim isn't to have a good time. Walter has +gone in against men who _have_ to work, whether they want to or not, and +he has done as well as any of them. He owes nothing to being the son of +a rich man. It has been against him, if anything." + +"Father hoped he was going to set up as a consulting physician," said +Cicely. + +"Yes, and why?" asked Muriel. "Only because he wants him to live amongst +the right sort of people. He doesn't care a bit whether he would make a +good consultant or not. Walter says he isn't ready for it. He wants more +experience. It will all come in time. He is not even quite sure what he +wants to specialise on, or if he wants to specialise at all. At present +he only wants to be a G.P., with plenty of work and time for the +hospital." + +"What is a G.P.?" asked Cicely. + +"Oh, a general practitioner. It's what Walter calls it." + +"Then why can't he be a G.P. in a nicer place than Melbury Park? It is +rather hard on you, Muriel, to take you to a place where you can't know +anybody." + +"O my dear, what _do_ I care for all that nonsense about knowing people? +Surely there's enough of that here! Is this person to be called on, who +has come to live in a house which nobody ever called at before, or that +person, because nobody has ever heard of her people? I'm sick of it. +Even mother won't call on Bathgate people, however nice they may be, and +she's not nearly so stuck up as most of the county women." + +"Yes, I know all that, and of course it's nonsense. But you must admit +that it is different with people who aren't gentle-people at all." + +"I'm not a fool, and I don't pretend that I'm going to make bosom +friends of all Walter's patients, though I _am_ going to do what I can +to make things pleasant all round. We shall see our friends in London, +of course. Jim is going to give us a jolly good motor-car, and we shall +be able to dine out and go to the play and all that if we want to, and +people ask us. But it is all so unimportant, Cicely, that side of it. +Walter wants to get out of it. He'll be very busy, and the best times we +shall have will be in our own little house alone, or going right away +when we get a holiday." + +"I dare say you are quite right," said Cicely. "Of course it will be +jolly to have your own house and do what you like with it. Has Walter +got a house yet?" + +"There is quite a decent one we can have where the man who wants to sell +the practice lives. It is really bigger than we want, although it's only +a semi-detached villa. I should be able to have my friends to stay with +me. Cicely, you _must_ come directly we move in, and help to get things +straight, if we go there." + +"Oh, you'll go there all right, if Walter has made up his mind about +it," said Cicely. "Father thinks he will hold out, but he knows, really, +that he won't. That's what makes him so wild." + +Both the girls laughed. "He is a funny old thing," said Muriel +apologetically, "but he has been very nice to me." + +"Only because you have got ten thousand pounds, my dear, and are the +right sort of match for Walter. He wouldn't be very nice to you if +Walter had found you at Melbury Park; not even if you had your ten +thousand pounds. Oh dear, I wish I had ten thousand pounds." + +"What would you do with it?" + +"I should travel. At any rate I should go away from Kencote. Muriel, I +am sick to death of it." + +"Ah, that is because it seems dull after London. You haven't told me a +word about all that you have been doing, and I have been talking about +myself all the time." + +"I didn't care a bit about London. I didn't enjoy it at all--except the +opera." + +"Don't try to be _blasee_, my dear girl. Of course you enjoyed it." + +"I tell you I didn't. Look here, Muriel, really it _is_ unfair the way +the boys have everything in our family and the girls have nothing." + +"I do think it is a shame you are not allowed to hunt." + +"It isn't only that. It is the same with everything. I have seen it much +more plainly since I went to London." + +"Well, my dear, you went to a Court Ball, and to all the best houses. +The boys don't do more than that. I shouldn't do as much if I went to +London in the season." + +"Yes, I went. And I went because Cousin Humphrey took the trouble to get +cards for us. He is an old darling. Do you suppose father would have +taken the smallest trouble about it--for me and mother?" + +"He knows all the great people. I suppose a Clinton is as good as +anybody." + +"Yes, a _man_ Clinton. That is just it. Dick and Humphrey go everywhere +as a matter of course. I saw enough of it to know what society in London +means. It is like a big family; you meet the same people night after +night, and everybody knows everybody else--that is in the houses that +Cousin Humphrey got us invited to. Dick and Humphrey know everybody like +that; they were part of the family; and mother and I were just country +cousins who knew nobody." + +"Well, of course, they are there all the time and you were only up for a +fortnight. Didn't they introduce you to people?" + +"O yes. Dick and Humphrey are kind enough. They wanted me to have a good +time. But you are not supposed to want introductions in London. You are +supposed to know enough men to dance with, or you wouldn't be there. And +the men don't like it. I often heard Dick and Humphrey apologising to +their friends for asking them to dance with me. You know the sort of +thing, Muriel: 'You might take a turn with my little sister, old man, if +you've nobody better. She's up here on the spree and she don't know +anybody.'" + +"O Cicely, they wouldn't give you away like that." + +"Perhaps not quite as bad as that. Dick and Humphrey are nice enough as +brothers, and I believe they're proud of me too, in a way. They always +danced with me themselves, and they always noticed what I was wearing, +and said I looked a topper. I know I looked all right, but directly I +opened my mouth I gave myself away, just like a maid in her mistress's +clothes." + +"O Cicely!" + +"Well, it was like that. I had nothing to talk about. I don't know +London; I can't talk scandal about people I don't know. Of course I had +to tell them I had always lived in the country, and then they began to +talk about hunting at once. Then I had to say that I didn't hunt, and +then they used to look at me through their eyeglasses, and wonder what +the deuce I did do with myself. The fact is, that I can't do anything. +Even the ones with brains--there _were_ a few of them--who tried me with +things besides hunting, couldn't get anything out of me, because there +is nothing to get. I've never been anywhere or seen anything. I don't +know anything--nothing about books or pictures or music or plays. Why on +earth _should_ they want to talk to me? Hardly any of them did twice, +unless it was those who thought I was pretty and wanted to flirt with +me. I felt such a _fool_!" + +She was almost in tears. Her pretty face under its white motor-cap was +flushed; she twisted her gloves in her slender hands. + +"O Cicely, darling!" said Muriel sympathetically, "you are awfully +bright and clever, really. You've many more brains than I have." + +"I'm not clever, but I've got as many brains as other girls. And what +chance have I ever had of learning anything? Dick and Humphrey and +Walter were all sent to Eton and Oxford or Cambridge. They have all had +the most expensive education that any boys could have, and as long as +they behaved themselves pretty well, nobody cared in the least whether +they took advantage of it or not. What education have _I_ had? Miss +Bird! I don't suppose she knows enough to get a place as teacher in a +village school. I suppose I know just about as much as the girls who do +go to a village school. I haven't even had lessons in drawing or music, +or anything that I might perhaps have been good at. I'm an ignorant +_fool_, and it's all father's fault, and it isn't fair." + +She had talked herself into actual tears now. Muriel said, in a dry +voice which did not accord with her expression of face, "This sudden +rage for learning is a new thing, my dear." + +Cicely dabbed her eyes impatiently and sat up in her chair. "I dare say +I am talking a lot of nonsense," she said, "but I have been wondering +what I _do_ get for being the daughter of a rich country gentleman; +because father _is_ rich, as well as being the head of an important +family, as he is always reminding us, though he pretends to think +nothing of it. He has never gone without anything he wanted in the whole +of his life, and the boys have everything they want too, that can be got +for money." + +"Your allowance was just twice as much as mine, when father was alive," +Muriel reminded her. + +"Oh, I know I can have plenty of nice clothes and all that," said +Cicely, "and I have nice food too, and plenty of it, and a nice room, +and a big house to live in. But I don't call it living, that's all. +Father and the boys can live. We can't. Outside Kencote, we're nobody at +all--I've found that out--and mother is of no more importance than I am. +We're just the women of the family. Anything is good enough for us." + +"I don't think you are quite fair, Cicely. Mrs. Clinton doesn't care for +going about, does she? It would depend more upon her than your father +and brothers." + +"What would depend on her?" + +"Well, I mean you grumble at Dick and Humphrey knowing more people than +you do." + +"I suppose what you do mean is that the Birkets aren't as good as the +Clintons." + +There was the slightest pause. Then Muriel said, a little defiantly, +"Well, the Grahams aren't as good as the Conroys." + +"I know that mother isn't only as good as father; she is a great deal +better." + +Cicely spoke with some heat, and Muriel made a little gesture with her +hands. "Oh, all right, my dear," she said, "if you don't want to talk +straight." It was a formula they used. + +Cicely hesitated. "If you mean," she began, but Muriel interrupted her. +"You know quite well what I mean, and you know what I don't mean. You +know I would never say that Mrs. Clinton wasn't as good as anybody in +the world, in the sense you pretended to take my words. We were talking +of something quite different." + +"Sorry, Muriel," replied Cicely. This was another formula. "We did go to +a dance at Aunt Emmeline's, you know. If I hadn't been to all those +other houses I should have enjoyed it immensely. Well, I did enjoy +it--better, really. Aunt Emmeline saw that I had heaps of partners and I +got on well with them. They were mostly barristers and people like that. +They took the trouble to talk, and some of them even made me talk. It is +a lovely house--of course not like one of the great London houses, but +with two big drawing-rooms, and Iff's band, and everything done very +well. If I had gone straight up from here to that ball, it would have +been one of the best I had ever gone to." + +"Well, Mr. Birket is a famous barrister, and I suppose is very well off +too. I should think he knows as many interesting people as anybody." + +"Interesting people, yes; but there wasn't a soul there that I had seen +at the other houses, except Dick and Humphrey." + +"Were they there?" + +"There!" cried Cicely triumphantly. "You see you are quite surprised at +that." + +"Well," said Muriel firmly, "they _were_ there. And how did they +behave?" + +"Oh, they behaved all right. Humphrey went away early, but Dick stayed +quite a long time. Dick can be very sweet if he likes, and he doesn't +give himself airs, really--he only takes it for granted that he is a +great personage. And so he is; you would say so if you saw him in +London. Do you know, Muriel, I was next to the Duchess of Pevensey at +Dunster House, and I heard her whisper to her daughter, quite sharply, +'Evelyn, keep a valse for Captain Clinton, in case he asks you.' Of +course she hadn't an idea that I was Captain Clinton's sister. She had +looked down her nose at me just before, and wondered what I was doing +there." + +"I suppose she didn't say so." + +"Her nose did. You should have seen her face when Dick came up the +moment after and said, 'Here you are, Siskin; come and have a spin'; and +didn't take any notice of dear Evelyn, who must have been at least +thirty." + +"Well, go on about Mrs. Birket's." + +"Yes, well, Dick said, 'Now, Siskin, I don't know any of the pretty +ladies here, and I'm going to dance with you.' But when Aunt Emmeline +came up and insisted upon introducing him to a lot of girls, he went off +as nicely as possible and danced with the whole lot of them. And, you +know, a man like Dick isn't supposed to have to do that sort of thing." + +Muriel laughed; and Cicely, who had recovered her good humour, laughed +too. "Of course, it wasn't anything to fuss about, really," she said, +"but you see what I mean, Muriel, don't you?" + +"No, I don't," said Muriel, "unless you mean exactly what I said just +now, and you bit my head off for. Mr. Clinton is what some people call a +swell, and Dick is a swell too. The Grahams aren't swells, and the +Birkets aren't either. And if you want it quite straight, my dear, +neither you nor I are swells; we're only what they call county." + +"You're so sensible, Muriel darling!" said Cicely. + +"And you've had your head turned, Cicely darling!" retorted Muriel. "You +have been taken up by your great relations, and you have come back to +your simple home discontented." + +"It's all very well, though," said Cicely, becoming serious again, "but +I'm a Clinton just as much as the boys are, and just as much as you are +a Graham. You say the Grahams are not swells--you do use horrible +language, Muriel dear--but I suppose Lord Conroy is, and so, according +to your argument, you ought to be." + +"Uncle Blobs isn't a swell--he's only a farmer with a title." + +"Oh! then I don't know what you mean by a swell." + +"Well, of course the Conroys _are_ swells in a way, but they don't care +about swelling. If mother had liked--and father had let her--she could +have been a fashionable lady, and dear Muriel could have been a +fashionable girl, with her picture in the illustrated papers, sitting in +front of a lattice window with a sweet white frock and a bunch of +lilies. 'We give this week a charming photograph of Miss Muriel Graham, +the only daughter of the Honourable Mrs. Graham. Mrs. Graham is a +daughter of' and so on. As it is, dear Muriel is just the daughter of a +country squire." + +"That is all dear Cicely is, though you said just now that father was a +swell. I don't see, really, that he is much more of a swell than Mr. +Graham was--here." + +"No--he isn't--here. That's just it. That is what you are running your +head against, my dear. Perhaps he isn't really a swell at all, now. But +he could be if he liked, and he was when he was young. It is because he +likes being a country squire best that you have got to put up with being +a country squire's daughter. I'm sorry for you, as you seem to feel it +so much, but I'm afraid there's no help for it. I don't think, really, +you have much to grumble at, but I suppose if you live for a fortnight +exclusively amongst dukes and duchesses, you _are_ apt to get a little +above yourself. Now tell me all about the Court Ball." + +Cicely told her all about the Court Ball; then they talked about other +things, and Muriel said, "You have never asked about Jim. His ship is +due in London next Wednesday and he will be home the day after." + +"Dear old Jim," said Cicely--she was at work on some embroidery for +Muriel. "It will be jolly to see him back again. But it doesn't seem +like a year since he went away." + +"_You_ don't seem to have missed him much." + +"O yes, I have. But it was like when the boys went back to school or to +Cambridge--frightfully dull at first, and then you got used to it, and +they were back before you knew where you were." + +"Yes, I know. But I don't feel like that about Walter now. I don't know +what I should do if he were to go off for a year." + +"Oh, that's quite different. You are deeply in love, my dear." + +"So were you once." + +"Never in the world, Muriel, and you know that quite well. I was a +little donkey. I had only just put my hair up and I thought it a fine +thing to be engaged. Not that that lasted long. Dear old Jim soon +repented, and I don't blame him." + +"Jim is pretty close about things, but I sometimes doubt whether he has +repented." + +"You mean that he still cherishes a tender passion for sweet Cicely +Clinton." + +"I shouldn't wonder." + +"Well, I should. Anyway, it isn't returned. I love Jim, but if I heard +that he had come home engaged, as I dare say he will, I shouldn't mind +in the very least. I should be the first to congratulate him." + +"No, you wouldn't. He would tell mother and me first. And you needn't +give yourself airs, you know. Jim would be a very good match for you. +You would be mistress of Mountfield. I'm not making half such a +brilliant alliance." + +"Brilliant! I'm quite sure you would rather be going to marry somebody +who had his way to make, like Walter, than trickle off from one big, +dull country house to another. Wouldn't you, now?" + +"Well, yes, I would. But it wouldn't make any difference to me, really, +if I had Walter. If Dick were to die, which I'm sure I hope he won't, +and Walter were to succeed to Kencote, I should like it just as much." + +"Well, I dare say it would be all right when one got older. At present I +think it would be burying yourself alive when you ought to have the +chance of doing something and seeing something. No, Muriel, dear. I have +been a squire's daughter all my life, and there's no money in it, as +Humphrey says. The last thing I want to be at present is a squire's +wife. I believe Jim has forgotten all that silliness as much as I have. +If I thought he hadn't, I shouldn't be so glad as I am at the prospect +of seeing him back." + +"I dare say he has. You're not good enough for him." + +"And he isn't good enough for me. I must be going home, or father will +accuse me of over-driving Kitty. I always do over-drive her, but he +doesn't notice unless I am late. Good-bye, Muriel. It has done me good +to talk to you." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE RECTOR + + +The Rector was shown into the library where the Squire was reading the +_Times_, for which a groom rode over to Bathgate every morning at eleven +o'clock, and woe betide him if he ever came back later than half-past +twelve. It was a big room lined with books behind a brass lattice which +nobody ever opened. Though the Squire used it every day, and had used it +for five-and-thirty years, he had never altered its appointments, and +his grandfather had not lived in it. Merchant Jack had furnished it +handsomely for a library, and the Reverend John Clinton Smith, the +historian of Kencote, had bought the books for him, and read most of +them for him too. If he had returned from the tomb in which he had lain +for a hundred years to this room where he had spent some of the happiest +hours of his life, he would only have had to clear out a boxful or two +of papers from the cupboards under the bookshelves and the drawers of +the writing-tables, and remove a few photographs and personal +knick-knacks, and there would have been nothing there that was not +familiar, except the works of Surtees and a few score other books, which +he would have taken up with interest and laid down again with contempt, +in some new shelves by the fireplace. The Squire had no skill with a +room. He hated any alteration in his house, and he had debated this +question of a new bookcase to hold the few books he did read from time +to time with as much care as the Reverend John Clinton Smith, book-lover +as he was, had devoted to the housing of the whole library. + +"Ah, my dear Tom," said the Squire heartily, "I'm glad you came up. I +should have come down to you, but I've been so busy all the morning that +I thought you wouldn't mind a summons. Have you brought Grace?" + +"She is with Nina," said the Rector, and sat heavily down in the +easy-chair opposite to that from which the Squire had risen. He was a +big man, with a big face, clean shaven except for a pair of abbreviated +side whiskers. He had light-blue eyes and a mobile, sensitive mouth. His +clothes were rather shabby, and except for a white tie under a +turned-down collar, not clerical. His voice, coming from so massive a +frame, seemed thin, but it was of a pleasant tenor quality, and went +well with the mild and attractive expression of his face. All the +parishioners of Kencote liked the Rector, though he was not at all +diligent in visiting them. Perhaps they liked him the better on that +account. + +The Rector was the Squire's half-brother. Colonel Thomas Clinton, the +Squire's grandfather, had followed, amongst other traditions of his +family, that of marrying early, and marrying money. His wife was a city +lady, daughter of Alderman Sir James Banket, and brought him forty +thousand pounds. Besides his six daughters, he had one son, who was +delicate and could not support the fatigue of his own arduous pursuit of +sport. He was sent to Eton and to Trinity College, and a cornetcy was +bought for him in the Grenadier Guards. He also married early, and +married, following an alternative tradition, not money, but blood. His +wife was a sister of a brother officer, the Marquis of Nottingham, and +they were happy together for a year. He died of a low fever immediately +after the birth of his son, Edward, that Squire of Kencote with whom we +have to do. + +Colonel Thomas took a great deal more pride in his sturdy grandson than +ever he had been able to take in his weakly son. He taught him to ride +and to shoot, and to tyrannise over his six maiden aunts, who all took a +hand in bringing him up. His own placid, uncomplaining wife had died +years before, and Lady Susan Clinton, tired of living in a house where +women seemed to exist on sufferance, had married again, but had not been +allowed to take her child to her new home. She had the legal right to do +so, of course, but was far too frightened of the weather-beaten, +keen-eyed old man, who could say such cutting things with such a sweet +smile upon his lips, to insist upon it. Her second husband was the +Rector of a neighbouring parish, who grew hot to the end of his days +when he thought of what he had undergone to gain possession of his +bride. He did not keep her long, for she died a year later in giving him +a son. That son was now the Reverend Thomas Beach, Rector of Kencote, to +which preferment the Squire had appointed him nearly thirty years +before, when he was only just of canonical age to receive it. And in the +comfortable Rectory of Kencote, except for a year's curacy to his +father, he had lived all his clerical life. + +The Squire and the Rector were not altogether unlike in appearance. They +were both tall and well covered with flesh, and there was a family +resemblance in their features. But the Squire's bigness and ruddiness +were those of a man who took much exercise in the open air, the Rector's +of a man physically indolent, who lived too much indoors, and lived too +well. + +But if they were not unlike in appearance, they were as dissimilar as +possible in character. The Squire's well-carried, massive frame +betokened a man who considered himself to have a right to hold his head +high and plant his footsteps firmly; the Rector's big body disguised a +sensitive, timorous character, and a soul never quite at ease in its +comfortable surroundings. That ponderous weight of soft flesh, insistent +on warmth and good food and much rest, had a deal to answer for. Spare +and active, with adventures of the spirit not discouraged by the +indolence of the flesh, the Rector of Kencote might have been anything +in the way of a saint that his Church encourages. He would certainly not +have been Rector of Kencote for thirty years, with the prospect of being +Rector of Kencote for thirty years more if he lived so long. He had a +simple, lovable soul. It told him that he did nothing to speak of in +return for his good income and the fine house in which he lived in such +comfort, and troubled him on this score more than it would have troubled +a man with less aptitude for goodness; and it omitted to tell him that +he had more direct influence for righteousness than many a man who would +have consciously exercised all the gifts with which he might have been +endowed. He simply could not bring himself to visit his parish +regularly, two or three afternoons a week, as he had made up his mind to +do when he was first ordained. The afternoons always slipped away +somehow, and there were so many of them. The next would always do. So it +had been for the first years of his pastorate, and he had long since +given way altogether to his indolence and shyness in respect of visiting +his flock; but his conscience still troubled him about it. He was a +great reader, but his reading had become quite desultory, and he now +read only for his own entertainment. His sermons were poor; he had no +delivery and no gift of expression; he could not even give utterance to +the ideas that did, not infrequently, act on his brain, nor hardly to +the human tenderness which was his normal attitude towards mankind. But +he did go on writing fresh ones, stilted and commonplace as they were. +Mental activity was less of a burden to him than bodily activity, and he +had kept himself up to that part of what he thought to be his clerical +duty. + +For the rest, he was fond of his books and his garden, fond of his +opulent, well-appointed house, and all that it contained, and fond of +the smaller distractions of a country life, but no sportsman. He had no +children, but a graceful, very feminine wife, who reacted pleasantly on +his intellect and looked well after the needs of his body. He sometimes +went to London for a week or two, and had been to Paris; but he liked +best to be at home. He watched the progress of the seasons with +interest, and knew something about birds, something about flowers and +trees, was a little of a weather prophet, and often thought he would +study some branch of natural science, but had lacked the energy to do +so. He liked the winter as well as the summer, for then his warm house +called him more seductively. He liked to tramp home along muddy country +roads in the gloaming, drink tea in his wife's pretty drawing-room, chat +to her a little, and then go into his cosy, book-lined study and read +till dinner-time. He would have been a happy man as a layman, relieved +of that gnawing conviction that his placid, easy life was rather far +from being apostolic. And nobody, not even his wife, had any idea that +he was not quite contented, and grateful for the good things that he +enjoyed. + +"Well, Tom," said the Squire, "I'm infernally worried again. It's that +boy Walter. What do you think he wants to do now?" He spoke with none of +the heat of the morning. It might have been thought that he had already +accepted the inevitable and was prepared to make the best of it. + +"I don't know, Edward," said the Rector; and the Squire told him. + +"And you have a particular objection to this place, Melbury Park?" +inquired the Rector guilelessly. + +"O my dear Tom," said the Squire impatiently, "have you ever seen the +place?" + +"From the railway only," admitted the Rector; "and chiefly its +back-gardens. It left an impression of washing on my mind." + +"It left an impression of _not_ washing on mine," said the Squire, and +leant back in his chair to laugh heartily at his witticism. + +The Rector also did justice to it, perhaps more than justice, with a +kind smile. "Well, Edward," he said, "it may be so, but it is, +otherwise, I should say, respectable. It is not like a slum. Has Walter +any particular reason for wishing to go there?" + +The Squire gave a grudging summary of the reasons Walter had advanced +for wishing to go there, and made them appear rather ridiculous reasons. +He also produced again such of the arguments he had advanced at +breakfast-time as seemed most weighty, and managed to work himself up +into a fair return of his morning's feeling of being very badly treated. + +"Well, Edward," said the Rector gently, when he had come to an end, "I +think if I were you I should not make any objections to Walter's going +to Melbury Park." + +"You wouldn't?" asked the Squire, rather weakly. + +"No, I don't think I would. You see, my dear Edward, some of us are +inclined to take life too easily. I'm sometimes afraid that I do +myself." + +"You do your duty, Tom. Nobody is asked to do more than that." + +"Well, you may be right, but I am not sure. However, what I was going to +say was that one cannot help respecting--perhaps even envying--a young +fellow like Walter who doesn't want to take life easily." + +"He has stuck to his work," said the Squire. "I will say that for the +boy; and he's never come to me for money to pay bills with, as Humphrey +has, and even Dick--though, as far as Dick goes, he'll have the property +some day, and I don't grudge him what he wants now within reason." + +"You see, Edward, when a man has congenial work which takes up his time, +he is not apt to get into mischief. I think, if I may say so, that you +ought to admit now, however much you may have objected to Walter's +choice of a profession in the first instance, that he has justified his +choice. He put his hand to the plough and he has not looked back. That +is a good deal to say for a young man with Walter's temptations towards +an easy, perhaps idle, life." + +"Well," said the Squire, "I do admit it. I do admit it, Tom. I have my +natural prejudices, but I'm the last man in the world that any one has a +right to call obstinate. I objected to Walter becoming a doctor in the +first instance. It was natural that I should. He ought to have succeeded +you, as Dick will succeed me. And none of our family have ever been +doctors. But I gave way, and I've every wish, now, that he should +succeed in his profession. And the reason I object to this move so +strongly is that as far as my judgment goes it is not a step in the +right direction. It might be so for the ordinary doctor--I don't know +and I can't say--but I'm willing to help a son of mine over some of the +drudgery, and it will be very disagreeable for me to have Walter +settling down to married life in a place like Melbury Park, when he +might do so much better. You must remember, Tom, that he is the first of +the boys to get married. Dick will marry some day soon, I hope and +trust, and Humphrey too, but until they do, Walter's son, if he has one, +will be heir to this property, eventually. He ought _not_ to be brought +up in a place like Melbury Park." + +"There is a good deal in what you say, Edward," replied the Rector, who +privately thought that there was very little; "but the contingency you +mention is a very unlikely one." + +"I don't lay too much stress on it. If I thought that Walter was right +from the point of rising in his profession to go to this place I would +leave all that out of the question." + +"Well, I'll tell you what, Edward," said the Rector, with an engaging +smile, "supposing you keep an open mind on the question until you have +heard what Walter has to say about it. How would that be?" + +The Squire hummed and ha'd, and thought that on the whole it might be +the best thing to do. + +"You see," said the Rector in pursuance of his bright idea, "it is just +possible that there may be reasons which Walter has considered, and may +wish to urge, that _might_ make it advisable for him, even with the +exceptional advantages you could give him, to go through the training +afforded by just such a practice as this. I should let him urge them, +Edward, if I were you. I should let him urge them. You can but repeat +your objections, if they do not appeal to your judgment. You will be in +a better position to make your own views tell, if you dispose your mind +to listen to his. I should take a kindly tone, I think, if I were you. +You don't want to set the boy against you." + +"No, I don't want that," said the Squire. "And I should have done what +you advise, in any case. It's the only way, of course. Let us go in and +have some luncheon. Then you don't think, Tom, that there would be any +serious objection to my giving way on this point, if Walter is +reasonable about it?" + +"Well, Edward, do you know, I really don't think there would," replied +the Rector, as they crossed the hall to the dining-room. + +The ladies were already there. Mrs. Beach was by the window talking to +the twins, who adored her. She was getting on for fifty, but she was +still a pretty woman, and moved gracefully as she came across the room +to shake hands with her brother-in-law. "It is very nice to see you back +again, Edward," she said, with a charming smile. "You do not look as if +London had disagreed with you." + +"My dear Grace," said the Squire, holding her white, well-formed hand in +his big one. "I'll tell you my private opinion of London, only don't let +it go any further. It can't hold a candle to Kencote." Then he gave a +hearty laugh, and motioned her to a seat on his right. The twins cast a +look of intelligence at one another, and Cicely glanced at her mother. +The Squire had recovered his good humour. + +"For these an' all his mercies," mumbled the Squire, bending his +head.--"Oh, beg your pardon, Tom," and the Rector said grace. + +"Have you heard what that silly fellow Walter wants to do, Grace?" asked +the Squire. + +"Nothing except that he hopes to get married next month," replied Mrs. +Beach, helping herself to an omelette, "and I hope that he will make a +better husband than Tom." + +The Rector, already busy, spared her a glance of appreciation, and the +twins giggled at the humour of their favourite. + +"Yes, he is going to be married, and he proposes to take Muriel to live +at Melbury Park, of all places in the world." + +"Then in that case," replied Mrs. Beach equably, "Tom and I will not +give them the grand piano we had fixed upon for a wedding present. They +must content themselves with the railway whistles." + +The twins laughed outright and were ineffectively rebuked by Miss Bird. +That they were to be seen and not heard at table was a maxim she had +diligently instilled into them. But they were quite right to laugh. Aunt +Grace was surpassing herself. She always kept the Squire in a good +humour, by her ready little jokes and the well-disguised deference she +paid him. The deference was not offered to him alone, but to all men +with whom she came in contact, even her husband, and men liked her +immensely. She teased them boldly, but she deferred to their manhood. +Women sometimes grew tired of her sweetness of manner, which was +displayed to them too, and quite naturally. She was a sweet woman, if +also, in spite of her ready tongue, rather a shallow one. Mrs. Clinton +did not like her, but did not show it, except in withholding her +confidence, and Mrs. Beach had no idea that they were not intimate. +Cicely was indifferent towards her, but had loved her as a child, for +the same reason that the twins thought her the most charming of +womankind, because she treated them as if they were her equals in +intelligence, as no doubt they were. It had never occurred to them to +mimic her, which was a feather in her cap if she had known it. And +another was that Miss Bird adored her, being made welcome in her house, +and, as she said, treated like anybody else. + +By the time luncheon was over the Squire had so overcome his bitter +resentment at the idea of Walter's going to live at Melbury Park, that +he could afford to joke about it. Aunt Grace had suggested that they +should all go and live there, and had so amused the Squire with a +picture of himself coming home to his villa in the evening and eating +his dinner in the kitchen in his shirt sleeves, with carpet slippers on +his feet, which was possibly the picture in her mind of "how the poor +live," that he was in the best of humours, and drank two more glasses of +port than his slightly gouty tendency usually permitted. + +The twins persuaded Miss Bird to take them to the station to meet Walter +in the afternoon. They were not allowed to go outside the park by +themselves, and walked down the village on either side of the old +starling, each of them over-topping her by half a head, like good girls, +as she said herself. They wore cool white dresses, and shady hats +trimmed with poppies, and looked a picture. When they reached the +by-road to the station, Joan said, "One, two, three, and away," and they +shot like darts from the side of their instructress, arriving on the +platform flushed and laughing, not at all like good girls, while Miss +Bird panted in their rear, clucking threats and remonstrances, to the +respectful but undisguised amusement of the porter, and the groom who +had preceded them with the dog-cart. + +Walter got out of a third-class carriage when the train drew up and +said, "Hullo, twanky-diddleses! Oh, my adorable _Sturna vulgaris vetus_, +embrace me! Come to my arms!" + +"Now, Walter, do behave," said Miss Bird sharply. "What will people +think and Joan 'n Nancy I shall certainly tell Mrs. Clinton of your +_disgraceful_ behaviour I am quite ashamed of you running off like that +which you _know_ you are not allowed to do you are very _naughty_ girls +and I am seriously displeased with you." + +"Ellen Bird," said Walter, "don't try and put it on to the twankies. I +looked out of the carriage window and saw you sprinting along the +station road yourself. You have had a little race and are annoyed at +being beaten. I shall put you up in the cart and send you home, and I +will walk back with the twankies." And in spite of Miss Bird's almost +frenzied remonstrances, up into the cart she was helped, and driven off +at a smart pace, with cheers from the twins, now entirely beyond her +control. + +"Well, twanky dears," said Walter, starting off at a smart pace with a +twin on either side, "I suppose there's a deuce of a bust up, eh? Look +here, you can't hang on. It's too hot." + +"It wouldn't be too hot for Muriel to hang on," said Joan, her arm +having been returned to her. + +"There was a bust up this morning at breakfast," said Nancy. "Edward +came in purple with passion two minutes late for prayers." + +"Eh?" said Walter sharply. "Look here, you mustn't speak of the governor +like that." + +"It's only her new trick," said Joan. "She'll get tired of it." + +"You're not to do it, Nancy, do you hear?" said Walter. + +"Oh, all right," said Nancy. "Mr. Clinton of Kencote, J.P., D.L., was so +put out that he wouldn't kneel down to say his prayers." + +"Annoyed, eh?" said Walter. + +"Yes," said Joan, "but he's all right now, Walter. Aunt Grace came to +lunch, and beat Bogey." + +"What!" + +"It's only her new trick," said Nancy. "She'll get tired of it. She +means put him in a good humour." + +"Really, you twankies do pick up some language. Then there's nothing +much to fear, what?" + +"No, we are all coming to live at Melbury Park, and Aunt Grace is going +to take in our washing." + +"Oh, that's the line taken, is it?" said Walter. "Well, I dare say it's +all very funny, but I can't have you twankies giving yourselves airs, +you know. I don't know why they talk over things before you. The +governor might have kept it to himself until he had seen me." + +"Mr. Clinton doesn't keep things to himself," said Nancy. "You might +know that by this time; and Joan and I are quite old enough to take an +intelligent interest in family affairs. We do take the deepest interest +in them, and we know a lot. Little pitchers have long ears, you know." + +"So have donkeys, and they get them pinched if they're not careful," +retorted Walter. "How are you getting on with your lessons, twankies?" + +"I believe our progress is quite satisfactory, thank you, Dr. Clinton," +replied Joan. "Perhaps you would like to hear us a few dates, so that +our afternoon walk may not pass entirely unimproved." + +"You had much better look at Joan's tongue," said Nancy. "Starling said +last night that her stomach was a little out of order, and we rebuked +her for her vulgarity." + +"You are a record pair, you two," said Walter, looking at them with +unwilling admiration. "I don't believe any of us led that poor old woman +the dance that you do. Do you want some jumbles, twankies?" + +"Ra-_ther_," said the twins with one voice, and they turned into the +village shop. + +The tea-table was spread on the lawn, and the Squire came out of the +window of the library as Walter reached the garden. "Well, my boy," he +said, "so you're going to settle down at Melbury Park, are you? That's a +nice sort of thing to spring on us; but good luck to you! You can always +come down here when you want a holiday." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +BY THE LAKE + + +Whitsuntide that year fell early in June, and the weather was glorious. +Cicely awoke on Friday morning with a sense of happiness. She slept with +her blinds up, and both her windows were wide open. She could see from +her pillow a great red mass of peonies backed by dark shrubs across the +lawn, and in another part of the garden laburnums and lilacs and +flowering thorns, and all variations of young green from trees and grass +under a sky of light blue. Thrushes and blackbirds were piping sweetly. +She loved these fresh mornings of early summer, and had often wakened to +them with that slight palpitation of happiness. + +But, when she was fully awake, it had generally happened that the +pleasure had rather faded, at any rate of late years, since she had +grown up. In her childhood it had been enough to have the long summer +day in front of her, especially in holiday time, when there would be no +irksome schoolroom restraint, nothing but the pleasures and adventures +of the open air. But lately she had needed more, and more, at Kencote, +had seldom been forthcoming. Moreover she had hardly known what the +"more" was that she had wanted. She had never been unhappy, but only +vaguely dissatisfied, and sometimes bored. + +This morning her waking sense of well-being did not fade as she came to +full consciousness, but started into full pleasure as she remembered +that her cousins, Angela and Beatrice Birket, with their father and +mother, were in the house. And Dick and Humphrey had come down with them +the evening before. Guests were so rare at Kencote that to have a party +of them was a most pleasurable excitement. Dick and Humphrey would see +that there was plenty of amusement provided, quiet enough amusement for +them, no doubt, but for Cicely high pleasure, with something to do all +the day long, and people whom she liked to do it with. + +And--oh yes--Jim had returned home from his travels the day before, and +would be sure to come over, probably early in the morning. + +She jumped out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and went to the window. +The clock from the stable turret struck six, but she really could not +lie in bed on such a morning as this, with so much about to happen. She +would dress and go out into the garden. A still happier thought--she +would go down to the lake and bathe from the Temple of Melancholy. It +was early in the year, but the weather had been so warm for the last +month that it was not too early to begin that summer habit. Perhaps the +twins would come with her. They were early risers. + +She was just about to turn away from the window when she saw the twins +themselves steal round the corner of the house. Their movements were +mysterious. Although there was nobody about, they trod on tiptoe across +the broad gravel path and on to the dewy lawn. Joan--she could always +tell them apart, although to the outside world they were identical in +form and feature--carried a basket which probably contained provisions, +a plentiful supply of which was generally included in the elaborate +arrangements the twins made for their various games of adventure. There +was nothing odd in this, but what was rather odd was that she also held +a long rope, the other end of which was tied around Nancy's neck, while +Nancy's hands were knotted behind her. + +When they got on to the grass they both turned at the same moment to +glance up at the windows of the house, and caught sight of Cicely, who +then perceived that Joan's features were hidden by a mask of black +velvet. She saw them draw together and take counsel, and then, without +speaking, beckon her insistently to join them. She nodded her head and +went back into the room, smiling to herself, while the twins pursued +their mysterious course towards the shrubberies. She thought she would +not bathe after all; but she dressed quickly and went down into the +garden, a little curious to learn what new invention the children were +busying themselves with. + +It proved to be nothing more original than the old game of buccaneers. +Nancy had awakened to find herself neatly trussed to her bed and Joan in +an unfinished state of attire, but wearing the black velvet mask, +brandishing in her face a horse pistol, annexed from the collection of +old-fashioned weapons in the hall. Thus overpowered she had succumbed +philosophically. It was the fortune of war, and if she had thought of it +she might just as well have been kneeling on Joan's chest, as Joan was +kneeling, somewhat oppressively, on hers. Given her choice of walking +the plank from the punt on the lake or being marooned on the +rhododendron island, she had accepted the latter alternative, +stipulating for an adequate supply of food; and a truce having been +called, while pirate and victim made their toilets and raided together +for the necessary rations, she had then allowed herself to be bound and +led off to the shore where the pirate ship was beached. + +All this was explained to Cicely--the search for provisions having no +particular stress laid on it--when she joined them, and she was awarded +the part of the unhappy victim's wife, who was to gaze across the water +and tear her hair in despair at being unable to go to the rescue. + +"You must rend the air with your cries," Joan instructed her, "not too +loud, because we don't want any one to hear. The pirate king will then +appear on the scene, and stalking silently up behind you--well, you'll +see. I won't hurt you." + +Nancy was already comfortably marooned. She could be seen relieved of +her bonds seated amongst the rhododendrons, which were in full flower on +the island and all round the lake, making her first solitary meal off +cold salmon and a macedoine of fruit, and supporting her painful +situation with fortitude. + +Cicely accepted her role, but dispensed with the business of tearing her +hair. "O my husband!" she cried, stretching her arms across the water. +"Shall I never see thee more? What foul ruffian has treated thee thus?" + +"Very good," said Nancy, with her mouth full--she was only twenty yards +away--"keep it up, Sis." + +"I will not rest until I have discovered the miscreant and taken his +life," proceeded Cicely. + +"Shed his blood," corrected Nancy. "Say something about my bones +bleaching on the shore." + +"Thy bones will bleach on the shore," Cicely obeyed. "And I, a +disconsolate widow, will wander up and down this cruel strand--oh, +don't, Joan, you are hurting." + +For she found herself in the grip of the pirate king, who hissed in her +ear, "Ha, ha, fair damsel! Thou art mine at last. 'Twas for love of thee +I committed this deed. Thy lily-livered husband lies at my mercy, and +once in Davy Jones's locker will be out of my path. Then the wedding +bells shall ring and we will sail together over the bounding main. +Gently, gently, pretty dove! Do not struggle. I will not hurt thee." + +"Unhand me, miscreant," cried Cicely. "Think you that I would forget my +brave and gallant husband for such as thou, steeped in crime from head +to foot? Unhand me, I say. Help! Help!" + +"Peace, pretty one!" cooed the pirate king. "Thou art in my power and +thy cries do not daunt me. I have only to lift my voice and my brave +crew will be all around me. Better come with me quietly. There is a +cabin prepared for thee in my gallant barque. None shall molest thee. +Cease struggling and come with me." + +Urged towards the shore by the pirate king, Cicely redoubled her cries +for assistance, but no one was more surprised than she to see an elderly +gentleman in a grey flannel suit and a straw hat bound from behind the +bushes, level a latch-key at the head of the masked bandit, and cry, +"Loose her, perjured villain, or thy brains shall strew the sand." + +Nancy's clear, delighted laugh came from the island, Joan giggled and +said, "O Uncle Herbert!" + +"Uncle me no Herberts," said Mr. Birket. "Put up your hands or I shoot. +(Cicely, if you will kindly swoon in my arms--Thank you.) Know, base +buccaneer, that I represent his Britannic Majesty on these seas, and +wherever the British flag flies there is liberty. Allow me to disarm you +of your weapon." + +"I yield to superior force," said the bold buccaneer in stately tones. + +"Very wise of you. I should fold my arms and scowl if I were you. +Behold, the lady cometh to. She is, yes she is, the daughter I have +mourned these many years. And you, base marauder, though you know it +not, are the long-lost brother of that luckless wight starving, if I +mistake not, to death on the island. Well for you that your hands are +not imbrued in his gore. Put off at once in your stout ship--and be +careful not to tumble overboard--and restore him to his hapless bride." + +"I will obey your bidding," said the pirate king proudly. "The claims of +relationship are paramount." + +"Well put. I have hopes of you yet. I am also hungry. Bring back the +victim's basket, and we will eat together and forget this unfortunate +occurrence." + +Joan punted across to the island and the marooned Nancy was brought to +the mainland with her somewhat depleted store of provisions. Mr. Birket +dropped his role while the embarkation proceeded, and mopped his brow +with a bandana handkerchief. He was a short, grey-haired man with a keen +lawyer's face. "Well, my dear," he said to Cicely, "I think that went +off very well, but it is somewhat exhausting." + +Cicely laughed. "The twins will never forget it," she said. "Did you see +them come out?" + +"I saw them come on to the lake. I was in the Temple, getting through a +little work." + +"What ever time did you get up?" + +"Oh, half-past five. My regular hour in the summer. I'm kept pretty +busy, my dear. But I don't generally have such a charming place as this +to work in. Now then, pirate, hurry up with those victuals. Your uncle +is hungry." + +They picnicked on the shore--the twins' provisioning having fortunately +been ample--and Mr. Birket proved himself an agreeable companion. Joan +said to Nancy afterwards that the practice of the law seemed to brighten +people's brains wonderfully. He smoked a cigar, told them stories, and +made them laugh. At half-past eight he fetched his papers from the +Temple and they went indoors to get ready for breakfast. "I think," he +said, as they crossed the lawn, "we had better say nothing about the +startling occurrences of the morning. They might come as a shock to our +elders and betters." And Joan and Nancy, remembering the contents of the +basket and the source from which they had been derived, agreed. + +Herbert Birket was Mrs. Clinton's only brother. Their father had been a +Colonel in the Indian Army, and had retired to end his days in a little +house on the outskirts of Bathgate, desiring nothing more than to read +the _Times_ through every morning and find something in it to disagree +with, walk so many miles a day, see his son well started in the +profession he had chosen, and his daughter well, but not splendidly, +married. He had gained his desires in all but the last item. The young +Squire of Kencote, in all the glory of his wide inheritance and his +lieutenancy in the Household Cavalry, had ridden past the little house +on his way to Bathgate and seen a quiet, unassuming, fair-haired girl +watering her flowers in the garden, had fallen in love with her, met her +at a county ball, fallen still more deeply in love, and finally carried +her off impetuously from the double-fronted villa in the Bathgate Road +to rule over his great house at Kencote. + +South Meadshire had rung with the romance, and old Colonel Birket had +not been altogether delighted with his daughter's good fortune, wishing +to spend his last days in peace and not in glory. The wedding had taken +place in London, with a respectable show of relations on the bride's +side and all the accompaniments of semi-military parade on the +bridegroom's. There was no talk of a misalliance on the part of his +friends, nor was there a misalliance, for the Birkets were good enough +people; but the young Squire's six maiden aunts had returned to the +dower-house at Kencote after the wedding and shaken their respective +heads. No good would come of it, they said, and had, perhaps, been a +little disappointed ever afterwards that no harm had come of it, at any +rate to their nephew. + +The old Colonel had long since been laid in his grave, and the little +house in the Bathgate Road, now in the respectable occupancy of a +retired druggist, would have seemed as strange a dwelling-place to the +daughters of Herbert Birket, who had prospered exceedingly, as to the +children of Mrs. Clinton of Kencote. + +Angela and Beatrice Birket were handsome girls, both of them younger +than Cicely, but with their assured manners and knowledge of the world, +looking older. They had been brought up strictly by their mother, who +had paid great attention to their education. They might have been seen +during their childhood on any reasonably fine afternoon walking in +Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park with a highly priced French governess, +two well, but plainly dressed children with long, straight hair and +composed faces. They never appeared in their mother's drawing-room when +visitors were there, being employed in a room upstairs either at +lessons, or consuming the plainest variety of schoolroom tea. They were +taken sometimes to an afternoon concert, and on very rare occasions to a +play. When they were at home in London, their days were given to their +lessons, with the requisite amount of regular exercise to keep them in +good health. In holiday time, in the summer, at Christmas and at Easter, +they were allowed to run quite wild, in old clothes at some +out-of-the-way seaside place, in country farmhouses, where they +scrambled about on ponies and amongst ducks and chickens, or in the +country houses of their friends and relations, where there were other +children of their age for them to play with. So they had loved the +country and hated London, and had never been so surprised in their lives +as when they were duly presented and launched in society to find that +London was the most amusing place in the world and that all the pains +and drudgery to which they had been put there had prepared them for the +enjoyment of the manifold interests and pleasures that came in their +way. They had developed quickly, and those who had known them in their +rather subdued childhood would hardly have known them now. + +Of all the places in which they had spent their holidays in days gone by +they had liked Kencote best. It had been a paradise of fun and freedom +for them; they and Cicely had been happy from morning till night. The +elder boys home from school or college had been kind to them, and Frank, +the sailor, who was about their own age, and not too proud to make a +companion of his sister and cousins, had led the way in all their happy +adventures. And they had loved the twins, whom they had seen grow up +from babyhood. No, there had been no place like Kencote in the old days, +and the pleasure of a visit there still persisted, although it was no +longer the most congenial house at which they visited. + +All the party assembled for prayers in the dining-room. That was +understood to be the rule. The twins were there, very clean and well +brushed and very demure. Mr. Birket wished them good-morning solemnly +and hoped that they had slept well, at which they giggled and were +rebuked by Miss Bird, when their uncle turned away to ask the same +question of Cicely. As Miss Bird said,--What would their uncle think of +them if they could not answer a civil question without behaving in that +silly fashion? At which they giggled again. Angela and Beatrice, tall +and glossy-haired, dressed in white, made a handsome quartet with Dick +and Humphrey, the one in smart grey flannel, the other in white. + +"This little rest will do you both good," said Dick. "You shall lie +about, and Miss Bird shall read to you. You will go back to the +excitements of the metropolis thoroughly refreshed." + +"Oh, we are going to be very energetic," said Angela. "We want to play +lawn tennis, for one thing. One never gets a chance nowadays, and we +both hate croquet." + +"We'll get up a tournament," said Humphrey, "and invite the +neighbourhood. You'll see some queer specimens. I hear you're writing a +book, Trixie." + +Beatrice laughed, and blushed a little. "I've left off," she said. + +"Ah, I've heard stories about you," said Dick. "Soon have something else +to do, eh? Don't blush. I won't tell anybody. Look here, we'll play golf +this morning. We laid out quite a decent little course in the park last +autumn. And in the afternoon we'll have a picnic." + +"Oh, preserve us!" said Humphrey. + +"Oh, do let us have a picnic," said Angela. + +"It will be like old times," said Beatrice. + +"We'll go to Blackborough Castle," said Dick, "and take the twankies. We +must give them a little fun. Siskin, how about a picnic?" + +Mrs. Birket was telling Mrs. Clinton that Beatrice's engagement would be +announced when they returned to London. "She is young," she said, "but +both the girls are older in mind than in age." + +"You have educated them well," Mrs. Clinton said. She looked across the +room at the two handsome, smiling girls, and at her own pretty daughter, +who had not been very well educated and was not older in mind than in +age. But just then the gong sounded, every one took their seats, the +Squire came in with a hearty "Good-morning! Good-morning!" which +greeting his assembled family and guests might take and divide amongst +them, and the proceedings of the day began. + +Later in the morning Angela and Beatrice, Dick and Humphrey were +actively engaged at lawn tennis. Cicely was sitting under a great lime +on the lawn waiting for her turn. The twins, having discovered an +unusually congenial companion in their uncle, had carried him off +somewhere out of sight, and Cicely was alone for the moment. A voice +behind her, "Hullo, Cicely!" made her start, and then she sprang up. +"Jim!" she cried. "How jolly to see you back! I thought you would come +over this morning." + +The game had to be interrupted while the returned traveller was +welcomed. "You look as fit as a fiddle, old boy," said Dick. "You'll be +able to stay at home and enjoy yourself now, I hope. Will you play when +we've finished this? I can lend you a pair of shoes." + +"No thanks," said Jim. "I'll talk to Cicely." So the others went back on +to the lawn. + +"Come and have a stroll round," Jim suggested; and Cicely, with a +half-regretful glance at the tennis lawn, rose to go with him. + +They went to the rhododendron dell round the lake. It was where every +one went naturally if they wanted to walk and talk at the same time. +Jim's honest, weathered face was very frequently turned towards Cicely's +fair, young one, and there was a light in his eyes which made her turn +hers away a little confusedly when they met it. But Jim's voice was +level enough, and his speech ordinary. "I'm jolly glad to get back +again," he said. "I've never liked Mountfield half so well. I was up at +six o'clock this morning, and out and about." + +"So was I," said Cicely, and she told him, laughing, of the events of +the morning. + +"I expect they've grown, those young beggars," said Jim, alluding thus +disrespectfully to the twins. "I've often thought of them while I've +been away, and of everybody at Kencote--you especially." + +"We've all thought of you, too," said Cicely, "and talked about you. You +haven't been forgotten, Jim." + +"I hoped I shouldn't be," he said simply. "By Jove, how I've looked +forward to this--coming over here the first moment I could. I wish you +hadn't got all these people here, though." + +"All these people!" echoed Cicely. "Why, Jim, you know them as well as +we do." + +"Yes, I'm a selfish beggar. I wanted to have you all to myself." + +Cicely was a little disturbed in her mind. Jim had not talked to her +like this for five years. Ever since that long, happy summer when he and +she had been together nearly every day, when he had made love to her in +his slow, rather ponderous way, and she, her adolescence flattered, had +said "yes" when he had asked her to marry him--or rather ever since he +had written to her from Oxford to say that he must wait for some years +before he could expect to marry and that she was to consider herself +quite free--he had never by word or sign shown whether he also +considered himself free, or whether he intended, when the time came, to +ask her again to be his wife. When he had come back to Mountfield at +Christmas he had been in all respects as he had been up to six months +before, friendly and brotherly, and no more. It made it easier for her, +for her pride had been a little wounded. If he had held aloof, but shown +that, although he had given her her freedom, he hoped she had not +accepted it, she would have felt irked, and whatever unformed love she +had for Jim would quickly have disappeared. But, as it was, his equable +friendship kept alive the affection which she had always felt for him; +only it seemed to make the remembrance of their love passages a little +absurd. She was not exactly ashamed of what had happened, but she never +willingly thought of it, and after a year or so it became as much a part +of her past life as the short frocks and pinafores of her childhood. She +had been mildly chaffed about Jim on occasions, and there was no doubt +that in the minds both of her family and of Jim's the expectation of an +eventual marriage had never altogether subsided. Nor, strangely enough, +had it altogether subsided in hers, although if she had ever asked +herself the question as to whether she was in love with Jim in the +slightest degree she would have answered it forcibly in the negative. +But--there it was, as it is with every young girl--some day she would be +married; and it might happen that she would be married to Jim. + +"Do you remember," Jim asked her when they had walked the length of the +lake and come out in front of the Temple, "how you used to try to teach +me to draw here?" + +Yes, it was obviously Jim's intention to open up a buried subject, and +she was not by any means prepared for that. The sketching lessons had +been a shameless subterfuge for obtaining privacy, for Jim had about as +much aptitude for the arts as a dromedary, and his libels on the lake +and the rhododendrons would have made old Merchant Jack and his +landscape gardener turn in their graves. + +Cicely laughed. "Have you brought back any sketches from your travels?" +she asked. + +"No. I've got lots of photographs, though." Jim was always literal. + +"Angela and Beatrice paint beautifully," Cicely said. "We are going to +make sketches at Blackborough this afternoon. Will you come with us, +Jim? We are all going." + +"Yes, I'll come," said Jim. "Cicely, are you glad to see me home again?" + +"Yes, of course, I'm glad. We have all missed you awfully, Jim." + +"You can't think how bucked up I am to think that I need never leave +Mountfield again as long as I live. That's what's so jolly about having +a place of your own. It's part of you. You feel that, don't you, +Cicely?" + +"Well, as I haven't got a place of my own, Jim, I don't know that I do." + +"When those beastly death duties are paid off," Jim began, but Cicely +would not let him finish. "Anyhow," she said, "I should hate to think I +was going to stay in one place all my life, however much I liked it. Of +course, it is natural that you should feel as you do when you have been +travelling for a year. If I ever have the chance of travelling for a +year perhaps I shall feel like that about Kencote." She laughed and +looked him in the face, blushing a little. "Let us go back and play +tennis," she said. + +His face fell, and he walked by her side without speaking. Cicely little +knew how keen was his disappointment. This was the hour he had been +looking forward to every day for the last year, and this the place, with +the sun glinting through the young green of beech and ash and lighting +up those masses and drifts of brilliant colour everywhere about them. It +was true that he had meant to come to no conclusions with the girl he +loved with all his heart. The time for that would not be for another +year at least, according to the decision he had long since come to. But +he had so hungered for her during his long exile, for such it had seemed +to him in spite of the various enjoyments and interests he had gained +from it, that the thought had grown with him that he would take just a +little of the sweetness that a word from her, to show that she was his +as he was hers, would give him. She had not spoken the word, and Jim's +heart was heavy as he walked back to the garden by her side. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE QUESTION OF MARRIAGE + + +"Blackborough Castle?" said the Squire at luncheon. "Well, if you +like--but you'll take your tea in the company of Dick, Tom and Harry, +and I think you would be more comfortable at home." + +"I don't suppose there'll be anybody else there to-day," said Dick, "and +the spirit of youth cries aloud for tea on the floor." So it was +settled. Mrs. Clinton and Mrs. Birket went in the carriage, Angela rode +with Humphrey, and Dick drove the rest of the party, which did not +include the Squire, in the brake. + +"You look like bean-feasters," said Humphrey, as they drove past him and +Angela. "But you need not behave as such," said Miss Bird to the twins, +who, one on each side of their uncle, were inclined to be a trifle +uproarious. + +They had the old keep of the castle pretty well to themselves, spread +their cloth on the green turf by the battlements, where centuries ago +men-at-arms had tramped the now covered stones, and made merry in true +picnic style. There was a footman to clear away, and the party broke up +into little groups, and explored the ruins, and wandered in the thick +woods which surrounded them. + +Jim looked a little wistfully at Cicely as she went away with her arm in +that of Beatrice Birket, but made no attempt to join her, and presently +allied himself to the storming party which Joan was collecting to rescue +Miss Bird, confined in the deepest dungeon. + +"Now, Trixie, you have got to tell me all about it," Cicely said, when +the two girls were out of hearing of the rest. + +"My dear," said Beatrice, laughing, "I told you last night that he had +asked me and I had said yes, and that I am very happy." + +"Oh, I know. But that was before Angela, and she said we were to have no +raptures. I want raptures, please." + +"Well, I'm afraid you won't get them. I'm too well drilled. You know, +Cicely, I rather envy you being brought up as you were. You're more +natural, somehow, than Angela and I." + +"Well, I envy _you_; so we're quits. But never mind about that now. +Trixie, is Angela just the least bit jealous?" + +"No, not a bit," said Beatrice loyally. "But you see she's a year older, +and ever so much cleverer, and prettier too." + +"She's none of those things except a year older. But she's a dear all +the same, and so are you. I don't wonder at anybody falling in love with +you. Are you very much in love too?" + +"Well, Cicely, I don't mind telling you in strict confidence that I am. +But, perhaps, it's in a way you would not sympathise with particularly." + +"Tell me in what way, and you'll see." + +"Of course George isn't especially good-looking; in fact he isn't +good-looking at all, except for his eyes. I used to think I should never +love anybody unless he was as handsome as--as, well, Dick is, for +instance--that sort of man--you know--smart and well set up, and"--with +a laugh--"rather ignorant." + +"Dick isn't ignorant," said Cicely indignantly. + +"My dear, compared to George he is a monument of ignorance, a pyramid of +it; so are most men. It was just that; George is so clever, and he's +making such use of his brains too. He is one of the youngest men in +parliament, and is in office already. It was looking up to him as a +pillar of wisdom, and then finding that he looked to me of all people, +to help him on." + +"I'm sure you will help him on. I heard some one say in London that many +politicians owed a great deal of their success to their wives." + +"I don't mean quite in that way. I don't think George is ambitious, +though I am for him. He wants to get things done. Father says it is +because he is so young. He tells me about everything, and it makes me +grateful--you know, I think when you are very grateful, that is being in +love." + +"You dear thing!" said Cicely, squeezing her arm. "Does Uncle Herbert +like him? They are not on the same side in politics, are they?" + +"No. But it doesn't seem to matter. It doesn't matter in the least to +me. Of course, there _are_ things. George is a tremendous churchman, you +know, and I have never thought much about religion--not deeply, I mean. +But it is a real thing with him, and I'm learning. You see, Cicely, we +are rather a different engaged couple from most, although we don't +appear so to the world at large. Outside our two selves, George is a +coming man, and I am a lucky girl to be making such a match." + +"I'm glad you have told me about it all," Cicely said. "It must be +splendid to be looking forward to helping your husband in all the good +things he is going to do." + +"Oh, it is. I am ever so happy. And George is the dearest soul--so kind +and thoughtful, for all his cleverness. Cicely, you must meet him." + +"I should love to," said Cicely simply. "I never meet anybody +interesting down here." Her incipient sense of revolt had died down for +the time; she was young enough to live in the present, if the present +was agreeable enough, as it was with this mild, unwonted, holiday stir +about her. She only felt, vaguely, a little sorry for herself. + +"It is lovely," said Beatrice; "but I own I shouldn't care for it all +day and every day. It is rather jolly to feel you're in the middle of +things." + +"Oh, I know it is," said Cicely, laughing. "_I_ was in the middle of +things in London, and I enjoyed it immensely." + +Beatrice's engagement was the subject of another conversation that +evening. When the party got back from the picnic, Cicely set out for the +dower-house. Nobody had been near the old aunts that day; it was seven +o'clock, and there was just time to pay them a short visit. Mr. Birket +was in the hall as she passed through, and she asked him to go with her. + +"I should like to pay my respects to those two admirable ladies," he +said. "They make me feel that I am nobody, which is occasionally good +for the soul of man." + +"Ah," said Cicely, as they went across the garden together, "you are a +wicked Radical, you see, and you want to disestablish their beloved +Church." + +"Do I?" said Mr. Birket. "How truly shocking of me. My dear, don't +believe everything you hear. I am sure that my chief fault is that I +don't possess land. Cicely, how much land must you possess if you really +want to hold your head up? Would a hundred acres or so do the trick? I +suppose not. Two hundred acres, now! I might run to that if the land was +cheap." + +"Two hundred acres, I should think, uncle," said Cicely, "with a +manor-house, and, say, a home farm. And if you could get the advowson of +a living, it would be all to the good." + +"Would it? Thank you for telling me. But then I should have to ask the +parson to dinner, and we might not get on. And I should have to go to +church. I like going to church when I'm not obliged to--that is if +they'll preach me a good sermon. I insist upon a good sermon. But if I +had to go to set an example--well, I shouldn't go; and then I should get +into trouble." + +"Yes, I think you would, uncle. You can't live your own life entirely in +the country. There are responsibilities." + +"Ah, you've thought of that, have you? You do think things over?" + +"Yes. I do think things over. There's nothing much else to do." + +Mr. Birket cast a side glance at her. The sun striking through the trees +of the park flushed translucently the smooth, fair flesh of her cheek +and her ungloved hand. In her white frock, moving freely, with the +springy grace of a young animal, she attracted the eye. Her head, under +her wide hat-brim, was pensive, but she looked up at him with a smile. +"If you could bring yourself to it, you know," she began, and broke off. +"I mean," she began again, "I think you must either be a man, or--or +very young, or not young at all." + +Mr. Birket was a man of very quick perception. His face softened a +little. "My dear," he said, "when you are very young things are +happening every day, when you are a little older anything may happen, +and when you are older still happenings don't matter. But you haven't +got to the third stage yet." + +"No," Cicely said, "I suppose not. Happenings do matter to me; and there +aren't enough of them." + +The two old ladies received Mr. Birket courteously. He was accidentally +allied to the Clintons, and in his own path of life had striven, not +without success, to make himself worthy of the alliance. He came to see +them, two old ladies who had lived all their long lives in a small +country village, had hardly ever been to London, and never out of +England, who had been taught to read and write and to add up pounds, +shillings and pence, and had never felt the lack of a wider education. +He came with his great reputation, his membership of Parliament, his +twenty thousand a year of income earned by the exercise of his brain, +and a judgeship looming in the near future, and as far as they were +concerned he came straight out of the little house on the Bathgate Road, +now fitly occupied by a retired chemist. But far be it from them to show +a brother of their nephew's wife that he was not welcome among them. + +They talked of the weather, of Blackborough Castle, of Jim Graham's +return, and of Walter's coming marriage with Muriel. + +"Well, that will be the first wedding in the new generation," said Mr. +Birket. "But there will be another very soon. Have you heard that my +girl, Beatrice, is going to be married?" + +The old ladies had not heard this piece of news and expressed their +interest. Privately they thought it a little odd that Mr. Birket should +talk as if there were any connection between the two events, although, +of course, it was true that Walter was of the new Birket generation as +well as the new Clinton generation. + +"She is rather young," pursued Mr. Birket, "but George Senhouse is a +steady fellow as well as a successful one. It is George Senhouse she is +going to marry--you have heard of him?" + +"Any relation, if I may ask, to Sir George Senhouse of whom we read in +the House of Parliament?" asked Aunt Ellen. + +"Yes--George Senhouse--that's the man. Not on my side, you know, Miss +Clinton, but I'm sure you won't think that a drawback." + +Indeed it was not. Mr. Birket was a Liberal, and therefore a deadly foe +to the true religion of the Church of England as by compromise +established, and to all the societies for raising mankind to a just +appreciation of that religion which the Misses Clinton supported. And +Sir George Senhouse, a capable and earnest young man, with an historic +name, had early devoted his powers to the defence of those things in the +outside world which they held dear. It was, indeed, a surprising piece +of good fortune for Mr. Birket--and no wonder that he was so evidently +pleased. + +"I hope your daughter will be strengthened to assist him in all the good +work he does," said Aunt Ellen. + +"I sincerely hope she will," said Mr. Birket. "The engagement is not +announced yet; but I tell _you_, Miss Clinton--and Miss Laura." + +"Oh, we should not say a word before the proper time," said Aunt Laura. + +When Cicely and Mr. Birket had gone, Aunt Ellen said, "You may take my +word for it, sister, that it is owing to the Clinton connection. We have +lived a retired life, but I know very well how these things tell." + +As Cicely dressed for dinner--it was the first time she had been alone +during the day--she thought about Jim, and what he had said to her, or +tried to say to her, early in the morning. He had disturbed her mind and +given her something that she had to think about. She had told Mr. Birket +that she thought things over, and it was true; she had courage in that +way. With but little in her education or scope of life to feed it, her +brain was active and inquiring. It worked on all matters that came +within her ken, and she never shirked a question. She was affectionate, +loyal, and naturally light-hearted, but she was critical too, of herself +no less than of others. It would have been easy for her, if she had had +less character, to put away from her, as she had done for the last five +years, the consideration of her relationship to Jim, to have ignored his +approach to her, since she had stopped him from coming closer, and to +have deferred searching her own mind until he should have approached her +again and in such a way that she could no longer have avoided it. But +she had locked up the remembrance of the happenings of five years before +in a cupboard of her brain, and locked the key on it. If she had thought +of it at all, she would have had to think of herself as having made a +present to Jim which he had returned to her. And because she could not +altogether escape from the memory of it, she had come to look upon +herself as a rather foolish and very immature young person in those +days, who had not in the least known what she was about when she allowed +herself to be made love to. + +With regard to Jim her thoughts had been even less definite. His +attitude to her had been so entirely brotherly that she had never felt +the necessity of asking herself whether he was still keeping his +expressed love for her alive, although he would not show it, or whether +he, too, thought of their love-making as a piece of rather childish +folly, and had put it completely behind him. Beyond the first slight +awkwardness of meeting him when he came back from Oxford after his +letter to her, she had felt none in his presence, and until this very +morning her attitude towards him had been frank and her feelings +affectionate. He had made that possible by showing the same attitude and +apparently the same feelings. + +But what she now had to consider was whether he had actually been so +frank towards her as she to him; whether he had not been keeping +something back, and, in effect, playing a part. If it were so, their +relationship was not as she had thought it, and would have to be +adjusted. + +She turned her mind to this point first. It would really be rather +surprising if Jim had been in love with her all this time and she had +not known it. She thought she must have known if it were so, and she +rejected the idea. What she could not get away from--it hardly needed +stating in her mind--was that he had tentatively made love to her that +morning. Or rather--and here she rather congratulated herself on making +the distinction, as a process of pure thought--he had seemed to show her +that marriage was in his mind, perhaps as a thing already settled +between them, although she, for her part, had long since given up +thinking of it as a matter to be considered, however loosely, settled. +Of course she knew he was fond of her, as she was of him. If he was not +in love with her, as once he had been, he might still want to marry her, +as the nicest person he could find, and the requisite impulsion might +come from his return after a long absence. She would be included in his +heightened appreciation of all his home surroundings. These +considerations passed through her mind, in no logical sequence of +thought, but at various points of her self-questioning, and when she was +also thinking further of her own part in what might follow, trying to +discover what she wanted and to decide what she should do. The fact that +he had opened and would probably open again the subject of their +marriage was all that really mattered, and she knew that without +thinking. + +She knew, too, without thinking, that she did not want to engage herself +again to marry Jim, at any rate not yet; and, in fact, she would not do +so. What her honesty of mind impelled her to was the discovery of the +root from which this femininely instinctive decision had flowered. What +were her reasons for not wanting to marry Jim now, or soon; and would +they take from her, when examined, that always present but always +unstated possibility of some day finding herself living at Mountfield as +his wife? She a little dreaded the conclusion, which may have shown that +she had already made up her mind; but it was here that an answer had to +be found, and she faced it bravely. + +She was not ready to marry Jim now, or soon, because in the first place +she did not love him--not in that way--and in the second place because +she did not love, in any way, what he stood for. + +When she said to herself that she did not love Jim her mind recoiled a +little. He was such a good sort, so kind, so reliable. It was just as if +she had said that she did not love her brothers. It was ungracious, and +ungrateful. She did love him. Dear old Jim! And she would be sorry to +cause him pain. But, if she did not want him to make love to her--and +certainly she didn't--she couldn't possibly love him as a girl ought to +love her prospective husband--as Beatrice, for instance, loved her young +parliamentarian. That seemed settled. And because she did think things +over, and was no longer very young indeed, she saw that the change of +circumstances in a girl's life when she was going to be married counted +for something, something of the pleasure, something of the excitement. +It was so with Beatrice, and with Muriel. They loved the men they were +going to marry, but they also got a great deal of satisfaction out of +the change in their surroundings, quite apart from that. What sort of +change would she have as Jim's wife? She would step straight out of one +large house into another, and she would no more be the mistress of +Mountfield than she had been of Kencote. So she told herself. For the +mistresses of houses like Kencote and Mountfield were really a sort of +superior housekeeper, allowed to live with the family, but placed where +they were with the sole object of serving their lords and masters, with +far less independence than a paid housekeeper, who could take her money +and go if she were dissatisfied with her position. + +What a prospect! To live out the rest of her life in the subjection +against which she had already begun to rebel, in exactly similar +surroundings and in exactly the same atmosphere! If she married Jim she +would not even have the pleasure of furnishing her own house. It would +be Jim's house, and the furniture and all the appurtenances of it were +so perfect in Jim's eyes that she knew he would never hear of her +altering a thing. She would not be able to rearrange her drawing-room +without his permission. That was what it meant to marry a country +gentleman of Jim's sort, who disliked "gadding about," and would expect +his wife to go through the same dull round, day after day, all her life +long, while he amused himself in the way that best suited him. + +When she had reached this point, and the end of her toilet together, +Cicely suddenly determined that she would _never_ marry Jim, and if he +pressed her she would tell him so. She didn't want to marry anybody. If +only she could get away from Kencote and be a hospital nurse, or +something of the sort, that was all she wanted. With this rather +unsatisfactory conclusion she cleared her mind, ran downstairs, and +found Jim himself alone in the drawing-room. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +TOWN _versus_ COUNTRY + + +"Hullo!" said Jim. "You're down early." + +"I didn't know you were here," said Cicely, and was annoyed at herself, +and blushed in consequence. + +But whatever conclusion Jim may have drawn from her hurried, rather +eager entrance, her denial, and her blush, he only said, "Mother and +Muriel are upstairs." + +"I wonder why Muriel didn't come to my room," said Cicely. "I think I'll +go and find her." + +"All right," said Jim, and Cicely went out of the room again. + +Jim took up a book from a table, turned over a few leaves, and then +threw it down and went to the window, where he stood looking out, with +his hands in his pockets. + +By and by Mr. Birket came in, and joined him. "Shame to be indoors on an +evening like this," he said. "I should like to dine at nine o'clock in +the summer." + +"What about the servants?" asked Jim. + +"Ah, yes," said Mr. Birket. "Is it true you are a Free Trader, Graham?" + +"Yes, I am," said Jim, with a shade of defiance. + +"So am I," said Mr. Birket. + +Jim smiled. "Well, you've got to be in your party," he said. + +"Not at all. It isn't a question of party. It's a question of +common-sense." + +"That's just what I think. I've looked into it with as much intelligence +as I'm capable of--they say about here that isn't much--and I can't see +why you shouldn't be a Tory as good as any of 'em and still stick to +Free Trade." + +"Nor can I," said Mr. Birket. "But they won't let you. You had better +join us, Graham. Anybody with any dawning of sense must be very +uncomfortable where you are." + +"I should be a jolly sight more uncomfortable with you," said Jim. "And +I've got keen on the Empire since I've been travelling." + +"Oh, if you've seen it," said Mr. Birket, somewhat cryptically, and then +the door opened, and Mrs. Clinton and Mrs. Birket came in together. + +Mrs. Birket was a tall, good-looking woman, who held herself upright, +was well dressed and well informed. She had a good manner, and in mixed +company never allowed a drop in the conversation. But as she talked well +this was not so tiresome as it might have been. She was quoted amongst +her circle, which was a wide one, as an excellent hostess, and the +tribute was deserved, because, in addition to her conversational +aptitude, she had the art of looking after her guests without apparent +effort. She had been strict with her daughters, but they were now her +companions, and devoted to her. Mrs. Clinton talked to her, perhaps more +than to any other woman she knew, and the two were friends, although the +circumstances of their lives were wide apart. + +The two ladies were followed by the four girls, who came in chattering, +and by Mrs. Graham, who, even in evening clothes, with a necklace of +diamonds, looked as if she liked dogs. Then came Humphrey, +extraordinarily well dressed, his dark hair very sleek; and Dick, very +well dressed too, but with less of a town air; and then the Squire, just +upon the stroke of eight, obviously looking forward to his dinner. + +"Nina, what on earth can have become of Tom and Grace?" he asked when he +had greeted Mrs. Graham and Muriel. "No sign of 'em anywhere. We can't +wait, you know." + +Mrs. Clinton glanced at the ormolu clock, representing Time with a +scythe and hour-glass, on the mantelpiece, but said nothing. As it began +to chime the door opened and the Rector and Mrs. Beach were announced. + +"Grace! Grace!" said the Squire, holding up a warning finger, but +smiling affably. "I've never known you run it so fine before." + +"My dear Edward," said Mrs. Beach, with her sweet smile, "Tom broke a +collar stud. It is one of those little accidents that nobody can foresee +and nobody can guard against." + +"Except by laying in a stock," said Mrs. Graham. + +"Well, my dear Grace, you were just _not_ late," said the Squire, "I +will forgive you." + +So they all went in to dinner amicably, and a very good dinner it was, +although there was an entire absence of what the Squire called French +fal-lals. English _versus_ French cooking was a favourite dinner-table +topic of his, and he expatiated on it this evening. "It stands to +reason," he said, "that natural food well cooked--of course it must be +well cooked, before an open range, and so on--is better than made-up +stuff. Now what have we got this evening?" He put on his gold-rimmed +glasses and took up a menu-card. A shade of annoyance passed over his +face when he discovered that it was written in French. "Who wrote this +rubbish?" he asked, looking over his glasses at Mrs. Clinton. + +"I did, father," said Cicely, blushing. + +"Good for you, Siskin!" broke in Dick. "Very well done. It gives the +entertainment an air." + +"I helped with the accents," said Angela. + +"Well," said the Squire, "I don't like it. As far as I can make out it's +a purely English dinner, except, perhaps, the soup, and it ought to be +described in English. What's the good of calling roast lamb 'agneau +roti'?" He pronounced it "rotty," with an inflection of scorn. "There's +no sense in it. But as I was saying--where are you going to find better +food than salmon and roast lamb, new potatoes, asparagus, peas--of +course they're forced, but they're English--and so on?" He threw down +the card and took off his glasses. "Everything grown on the place except +the salmon, which old Humphrey Meadshire sent me." + +"You've left out the 'Peche a la Melba'," said Mrs. Beach. "It is the +crowning point of the whole dinner. But I quite agree with you, Edward, +you couldn't have a better one anywhere." + +"Rather on the heavy side," commented Humphrey. + +"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "The fruits of the earth in due season, +or, if possible, a little before it; that's the best dinner any man can +have." + +"Every country has its own cooking," said Mrs. Birket. "I really think +the English is the best if it is well done." + +"Which it very seldom is," said Mrs. Graham. + +"Of course this is the very best time of all the year for it," said the +Rector. "Did you bring back any new curry recipes from India, Jim?" + +Jim replied that he had not, and the Squire said, "By the bye, Jim, I +see that fellow Mackenzie came home in the _Punjaub_. The papers are +full of him this evening. Did you happen to meet him?" + +Jim said that he had shared the same cabin, and that Mackenzie had +promised to spend a week-end at Mountfield some time or other. + +"We are going to make a lion of him in London," said Humphrey. "We +haven't had an explorer for a long time. I believe he's shaggy enough to +be a great success." + +"You must bring him over to dine, Jim," said the Squire. "It's +interesting to hear about these fellows who trot all over the world. But +heavens, what a life!" + +"A very good life, I think," said Mr. Birket. "Not much chance to get +moss-grown." + +"Now, I'm sure that is a dig at us people who live in the country," said +Mrs. Beach. "Because _you_ don't get moss-grown, Mr. Birket." + +"He would if he lived in the country," said Mrs. Birket. "He would lie +on his back all day long and do nothing at all. He has an unequalled +power of doing nothing." + +"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "I'm a very hard worker. Cicely caught me +at it at six o'clock this morning, didn't you, my dear?" + +"You've no responsibilities, Herbert," the Squire broke in. "If you +owned land you wouldn't want to lie on your back." + +"He is trying to make the land lie on _our_ backs," said Dick. "We +shan't have any left soon." + +"All you Radicals," began the Squire; but Mrs. Beach had something to +say: "Mr. Birket, you despise us country folk at the bottom of your +heart. I'm sure you do." + +"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "I think you live a peaceful and idyllic +existence, and are much to be envied." + +"Peaceful!" the Squire snorted. "That's all you Radicals know about it. +I assure you we work as hard as anybody, and get less return for it. I +wish you'd tell your precious leaders so, Herbert." + +"I will," said Mr. Birket. + +"What with one thing and another," proceeded the Squire, "the days are +gone as soon as they are begun." + +"But when they are finished something has always been done," said Mrs. +Beach. "That is the difference between a town life and a country life. +In London you are immensely busy and tire yourself to death, but you've +nothing to show for it." + +"Your brains are sharpened up a bit," said Humphrey. + +"If you have any," suggested Mrs. Graham. + +"Mother, don't be rude," said Muriel. + +"The remark had no personal bearing," said Humphrey, with a grin. + +"I didn't say so," retorted Mrs. Graham. + +"I think it is a matter of temperament," said Mrs. Birket. "Everybody +who lives in London likes the country, and everybody who lives in the +country likes London--for a change. But if you had to live in one or the +other all the year round----" + +"I would choose the country," said Mrs. Beach, "and I'm sure you would, +Edward." + +"Of course I would," said the Squire. "I do live in the country all the +year round. I've had enough of London to last me all my life." + +"Two for the country," said Dick. "Now we'll go round the table. Mother, +where do your tastes lie?" + +Mrs. Clinton did not reply for a moment; then she said, "I don't think I +should mind which it was if I had my family round me." + +"Oh, come now, Nina," said the Squire, "that's no answer. Surely _you_ +don't want to become a town madam." + +"You mustn't bring pressure, Edward," said Mrs. Beach. "We shall have +quite enough on our side." + +"Mother neutral," said Dick. "Jim?" + +"Oh, the country," said Jim. + +"Three for the country. Angela?" + +"London." + +"You must give a reason," said Mrs. Beach. + +Angela laughed. "I like music, and plays," she said, "and hearing people +talk." + +"Well, surely you can hear people talk in the country," said the Squire. + +"And such talk!" added Mrs. Graham, at which everybody laughed except +the Squire, who saw no humour in the remark. + +"Three to one," said Dick. "Aunt Grace, you've had your turn. Now it's +mine. I don't want to bury myself yet awhile, but when the time comes I +expect I shall shy at London as the governor does. I'm country." + +"Why?" asked Angela. + +"Oh, because there's more to do. Now then, Beatrice. You're London, I +suppose." + +"Yes," said Beatrice. "Because there's more to do." + +"Good for you! That's four to two. Mrs. Graham!" + +"Can you ask?" said that lady. "And I won't give any reasons. I like the +country best because I like it best." + +"Father is country. Five to two." + +"And my reason," said the Squire, "is that every man who doesn't like +the country best, when he can get it, isn't a man at all. He's a +popinjay." + +"Well, at the risk of being called the feminine for popinjay," said Mrs. +Birket, with a smile, "I must choose London." + +"Oh, but I don't include the women, my dear Emmeline," said the Squire. +"And I don't include men like Herbert either, who've got their work to +do. I'm thinking of the fellows who peacock about on pavements when they +might be doing 'emselves good hunting, or some such pursuit. It's +country sport that's good for a man, keeps him strong and healthy; and +he sees things in the proper light too. England was a better country +than it is now when the House of Commons was chiefly made up of country +gentlemen. You didn't hear anything about this preposterous socialism +then. I tell you, the country gentlemen are the backbone of England, and +your party will find it out when you've turned them out of the country." + +"Oh, but we shan't do that," said Mr. Birket. "That would be too +dreadful." + +"No politics," said Dick. "We're five to three. Tom, you're a country +man, I'm sure." + +But the Rector was not at all sure that he was. He sometimes thought +that people were more interesting than Nature. On the whole, he thought +he would choose the town. + +"Then I change round," said Mrs. Beach. "Where thou goest, Tom, I will +go. Dick, I'm town." + +"Then that changes the game. Town's one up. Muriel, be careful." + +"Certainly not country," said Muriel. "I've had enough of it. I think +the best place to live in is a suburb." + +"Melbury Park!" laughed the Squire. "Ha! ha!" + +"That's town," said Dick. "Four to six. We yokels are getting worsted." + +"I'll come to your rescue," said Humphrey. "I don't want to be cut off +with a shilling. Give me a big country house and a season ticket, and +I'm with you." + +"Five to six then. Now, Siskin, make it all square." + +"No," said Cicely. "I hate the country." + +"What!" exclaimed the Squire. + +"It's so dreadfully dull," said Cicely. "There's nothing in the world to +do." + +"But this is a revolt!" said Dick. + +"Nothing to do!" echoed the Squire, in a voice of impatient censure. +"There's everything to do. Don't talk nonsense, Cicely. You have got to +live in the country whether you like it or not, so you had better make +the best of it." + +"Very sound advice," said Mr. Birket. "I follow it myself. It may +surprise the company, but I'm for the country. Cows enrapture me, and as +for the buttercups, there's no flower like 'em." + +"Town has it," said Dick. "Seven to six--a very close match." + + * * * * * + +When Mr. and Mrs. Birket were alone together that night, Mr. Birket +said, "My dear, I think Edward Clinton gets more intolerable every time +I see him. I hope I have succeeded in disguising that opinion." + +"Perfectly, Herbert," said his wife. "And you must please continue to do +so for Nina's sake." + +Mr. Birket sighed. "Poor dear Nina!" he said. "She was so bright as a +girl. If she hadn't married that dunderhead she'd have been a happy +woman. I bet she isn't now. He has crushed every bit of initiative out +of her. And I'll tell you what, my dear, he'll crush it out of Cicely if +she doesn't get away from these deadly surroundings. Heavens, what a +life for a clever girl!" + +"Do you think Cicely clever?" + +"She doesn't know anything, because they have never let her learn +anything. But she thinks for herself, and she's beginning to kick at it +all. If she'd had the chances our girls have had, she'd have made use of +them. Can't we give her a chance, Emmeline? She's a particularly nice +girl. Have her up to London for a month or two. The girls are fond of +her--and you're fond of her too, aren't you?" + +"Yes, I'm very fond of her," said Mrs. Birket. + +"Well--then, why not?" + +"Do you think Edward would let her come?" + +"My private opinion of Edward would probably surprise him, if he could +hear it, but I don't think even he would go so far as to deny his +children a pleasure so long as it didn't put him out personally." + +"Well, I'll ask, if you like. I should be very glad to have her. But +some one might fall in love with her, you know, Herbert. She's very +pretty, and there's always the chance." + +"And why on earth not? He doesn't want to keep her an old maid, does +he?" + +"He wants her to marry Jim Graham." + +"I thought that was all over years ago." + +"As far as she is concerned, perhaps. I'm sure Edward still looks upon +it as going to happen some day." + +"I don't believe she'll marry Graham, even if he wants her. He's just +such another as Edward, with a trifle more sense." + +"No, Herbert, he is quite different. I like him. I think it would be a +good thing for Cicely to marry him." + +"She ought to have the chance of seeing other fellows. Then, if she +likes to embark afresh on a vegetable existence, it will be her own +choice. Of course, you needn't vegetate, living in the country, but the +wife of Jim Graham probably would. Give her her chance, anyway." + +But this particular chance was denied to Cicely. The Squire wouldn't +hear of it. "My dear Emmeline," he said, "it is very kind of you--very +kind of you indeed. But she'd only get unsettled. She's got maggots in +her head already. I hope some day to see her married to a country +gentleman, like her mother before her. Though I say it, no women could +be better off. Until the time comes, it's best for Cicely to stay at +home." + +"Idiot!" said Mr. Birket, when the decision was conveyed to him. "I was +mistaken in him. I think now he would be capable of any infamy. Don't +tell Cicely, Emmeline." + +But the Squire told her, and rebuked her because the invitation had been +offered. "What you have to do," he said, "is to make yourself happy at +home. Heaven knows there's enough to make you so. You have everything +that a girl can want. For goodness' sake be contented with it, and don't +always want to be gadding about." + +Cicely felt too sore to answer him, and retired as soon as his homily +was over. In the afternoon--it was on Sunday--she went for a walk with +her uncle. He did not express himself to her as he had done to Mrs. +Birket, but gave her the impression that he thought her father's refusal +unfortunate, but not unreasonable, smiling inwardly to himself as he did +so. + +"I should have loved to come, you know, Uncle Herbert," she said. + +"And we should have loved to have you, my dear," he said. "But, after +all, Kencote is a very jolly place, and it's your own fault if you're +bored in it. Nobody ought to be bored anywhere. I never am." + +"Well then, please tell me what to do with myself." + +"What do you do, as it is?" + +"I read a little, and try to paint, and----" + +"Then read more, and try to paint better. Effort, my dear,--that's the +secret of life. Give yourself some trouble." + +He gave her more advice as they walked and talked together, and she +listened to him submissively, and became interested in what he said to +her. + +"I should like to make myself useful in some way," she said. "I don't +want to spend all my life amusing myself or even improving myself." + +"Oh, improving yourself! That's not quite the way to put it. Expressing +yourself--that's what you want to do--what everybody ought to do. And +look here, my dear, when you say you want to make yourself useful--I +suppose you mean hospital nursing or something of that sort, eh?" + +Cicely laughed. "I have thought of that," she said. + +"Well then, don't think of it any more. It's not the way--at least not +for you. You make yourself useful when you make yourself loved. That's a +woman's sphere, and I don't care if all the suffragettes in the country +hear me say it. A woman ought to be loved in one way or another by +everybody around her; and if she is, then she's doing more in the world +than ninety-nine men out of a hundred. Men want opportunities. Every +woman has them already. Somebody is dependent on her, and the more the +better for her--and the world. What would your old aunts do without you, +or your mother, or indeed anybody in the place? They would all miss you, +every one. Don't run away with the idea you're not wanted. Of course +you're wanted. _We_ want you, only we can't have you because they want +you here." + +"You give me a better conceit of myself," she said gratefully. + +"Keep it, my dear, keep it," said Mr. Birket. "The better conceit we +have of ourselves the more we accomplish. Now I think we'd better be +turning back." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A WEDDING + + +The London newspapers devoted small space, if any, to the wedding of +Walter Clinton, Esq., M.D., third son of Edward Clinton, Esq., of +Kencote, Meadshire, and Muriel, only daughter of the late Alexander +Graham, Esq., and the Honourable Mrs. Graham of Mountfield, Meadshire, +but the _Bathgate Herald and South Meadshire Advertiser_ devoted two of +its valuable columns to a description of the ceremony, a list of the +distinguished guests present, and a catalogue of the wedding presents. +No name that could possibly be included was left out. The confectioner +who supplied the cake, the head gardeners at Kencote and Mountfield +who--obligingly--supplied the floral decorations; the organist who +presided, as organists always do, at the organ, and gave a rendering, a +very inefficient one, of Mendelssohn's Wedding March; the schoolmaster +who looked after the children who strewed flowers on the churchyard +path; the coachman who drove the happy pair to the station; the +station-master who arranged for them a little salvo of his own, which +took the form of fog-signals, as the train came in--they were all there, +and there was not an error in their initials or in the spelling of their +names, although there were a good many in the list of distinguished +guests, and still more in the long catalogue of presents. + +There was a large number of presents, more than enough to open the eyes +of the readers of the _Melbury Park Chronicle and North London +Intelligencer_, which, by courtesy of its contemporary, printed the +account in full, except for the omission of local names, and in _minion_ +instead of _bourgeois_ type. Some of the presents were valuable and +others were expensively useless, and the opinion expressed in Melbury +Park was that the doctor couldn't possibly find room for them all in his +house and would have to take a bigger one. Melbury Park opened its eyes +still wider at the number of titles represented amongst the donors, for +the Clintons, as has been said, had frequently married blood, and many +of their relations were represented, Walter had been popular with his +school and college friends, and on Muriel's side the Conroys and their +numerous connections had come down handsomely in the way of Georgian +sugar-sifters, gold and enamelled umbrella tops, silver bowls and +baskets and bridge boxes, writing-sets, and candlesticks, and other +things more or less adapted to the use of a doctor's wife in a rather +poor suburb of London. + +The wedding, if not "a scene of indescribable beauty, fashion and +profusion," as the Bathgate reporter, scenting promotion, described it, +was a very pretty one. The two big houses produced for the occasion a +sufficient number of guests, and the surrounding country of neighbours, +to fill Mountfield church with a congregation that was certainly well +dressed, if not noticeably reverent. The bride looked beautiful, if a +trifle pale, under her veil and orange blossoms, and the bridegroom as +gallant as could be expected under the circumstances. There were six +bridesmaids, the Honourable Olivia and Martha Conroy and Miss Evelyn +Graham, cousins of the bride, and the Misses Cicely, Joan, and Nancy +Clinton, sisters of the bridegroom, who were attired--but why go further +into these details, which were so fully gone into in the journals +already mentioned? Suffice it to say that the old starling, in a new +gown and the first _toque_ she had ever worn, wept tears of pride at the +appearance of her pupils, and told them afterwards, most unwisely, that +the Misses Olivia and Martha Conroy could not hold a candle to them in +respect of good looks. + +The twins--there is no gainsaying it--did look angelic, with their blue +eyes and fair hair, and the Misses Conroy, who were of the same sort of +age, were not so well favoured by nature; but that was no reason why +Joan should have told them that they were a plain-headed pair, and Nancy +that they had spoilt the whole show, when some trifling dispute arose +between them at the close of a long day's enthusiastic friendship. The +Misses Conroy, though deficient in beauty, were not slow in retort, and +but for the fine clothes in which all four were attired, it is to be +feared that the quarrel would have been pushed to extremes. It was a +regrettable incident, but fortunately took place in a retired corner of +the grounds, and stopped short of actual violence. + +Jim Graham gave his sister away, and Dick acted as best man to his +brother, piloting him through the various pitfalls that befall a +bridegroom with the same cool efficiency as he displayed in all +emergencies, great or small. It was this characteristic which chiefly +differentiated him from his father, who may have been efficient, but was +not cool. + +Jim Graham's eyes often rested on Cicely during the wedding ceremony. +She was by far the prettiest of the bridesmaids, and it was little +wonder if his thoughts went forward to the time when he and she would be +playing the leading part in a similar ceremony. But there was some +uneasiness mixed with these anticipations. Cicely was not quite the same +towards him as she had been before his journey, although since that +morning by the lake he had made no attempt to depart from the brotherly +intimacy which he had told himself was the best he had a right to until +he could claim her for his own. She had never seemed quite at her ease +with him, and he was beginning to follow up the idea, in his slow, +tenacious way, that his wooing, when he should be ready for it, would +have to be done all over again--that it might not be easy to claim her +for his own. And, of course, that made him desire her all the more, and +added in his eyes to her grace and girlish beauty. + +Afterwards, in the house and on the lawn, where a band played and a tent +for refreshments had been put up, he talked to her whenever he could and +did his best to keep a cheerful, careless air, succeeding so well that +no one observing him would have guessed that he had some difficulty in +doing so. Except Cicely; she felt the constraint. She felt that he was +in process of marking the difference in her attitude towards him, and +was impatient of the slow, ruminating observation of which she would be +the object. As long as he was natural with her she would do her best to +keep up the same friendly and even affectionate relations which had +existed between them up to a year ago, but she could not help a slight +spice of irritation creeping into her manner in face of that subtle +change behind his ordinary address. She was trying to clear up her +thoughts on many matters, and Jim was the last person in the world to +help her. She wanted to be left alone. If only he would do that! It was +the only possible way by which he could gain the end which, even now, +she was not quite sure that she would refuse him in the long-run. + +"Well, you needn't be snappy," Jim said to her, with a good-humoured +smile on his placid face when he had asked her for further details of +her visit to London. + +She made herself smile in return. "Was I?" she said. "I didn't mean to +be; but I have been home nearly a month now, and I'm rather tired of +talking about London." + +"All right," replied Jim. "I agree that this is a better place. Come and +have a look at the nags. There has been such a bustle that I haven't +been near them to-day." + +But Cicely refused to go and look at the nags. Nags were rather a sore +point with her, and the constant inspection and weighing of the +qualities of those at Kencote was enough for her without the addition of +the stables at Mountfield. So they went back from the rose-garden where +they were standing to join the crowd on the lawn. + +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura sat in the shade of a big cedar and held a +small reception. During their long lives they had been of scarcely any +account in the ebb and flow of Clinton affairs, but the tide of years +had shelved them on a little rock of importance, and they were paid +court to because of their age. Old Lord Meadshire was the only other +member of their generation left alive. He was their first cousin. His +mother had been the youngest of Merchant Jack's five daughters. He had +never failed to pay them courteous attention whenever he had been at +Kencote, and he was talking to them now, as Cicely joined them, of the +days when they were all young together. The two old ladies had quite +come to believe that they and their cousin Humphrey had spent a large +part of their childhood together, although he was fifteen years younger +than Aunt Ellen, and his visits to Kencote during his youth had been +extremely rare. Colonel Thomas had been too busy with his chosen +pursuits to have much time for interchange of social duties, proclaimed +himself a fish out of water, and behaved like one, whenever he went to +the house of his youngest sister, and had little to offer a lady of high +social importance and tastes in a visit to his own. + +"Well, my dear," Lord Meadshire said to Cicely, as she approached, "I +was reminding your aunts of the time when we used to drive over from +Melford to Kencote in a carriage with postillions. Very few railways in +those days. We old people like to put our heads together and talk about +the past sometimes. I recollect my grandfather--_our_ grandfather," and +he bowed to the two old ladies--"Merchant Jack they used to call him +here, because he had made his money in the city as younger sons used to +do in those days, and are beginning to do again now, but they don't go +into trade as they did then; and he was born in the year of the Battle +of Culloden. That takes you back--what?" + +"I recollect," said Aunt Ellen in a slow, careful voice, "when our Uncle +John used to come down to Kencote by the four-horse coach, and post from +Bathgate." + +"Ah," said Lord Meadshire sympathetically, "I never saw my Uncle John, +to my knowledge, though he left me a hundred pounds in his will. I +recollect I spent it on a tie-pin. I was an extravagant young dog in +those days, my dear. You wouldn't have suspected me of spending a +hundred pounds on a tie-pin, would you?" + +"Uncle John was very kind to us," said Aunt Laura. "There were six of +us, but he never came to the house without bringing us each a little +present." + +"He was always dressed in black and wore a tie-wig," said Aunt Ellen. +"Our dear father and he were very dissimilar, but our father relied on +his judgment. It was he who advised him to send Edward to Bathgate +Grammar School." + +"He would take a kind interest in our pursuits," said Aunt Laura, "and +would always walk with us and spend part of the day with us, however +occupied he might be with our father." + +"Edward was very high-spirited as a child," said Aunt Ellen, "and our +dear father did not sufficiently realise that if he encouraged him to +break away from his lessons, which we all took it in turns to give him, +it made him difficult to teach." + +"And when Uncle John went away in the morning he gave us each one a +present of five new sovereigns wrapped in tissue paper," said Aunt +Laura, "and he would say, 'That is to buy fal-lals with.'" + +"So our Uncle John and our Uncle Giles, the Rector, persuaded our father +to send Edward to Bathgate Grammar School, where he remained until he +went to Eton, riding over there on Monday morning and returning home on +Saturday," concluded Aunt Ellen. + +Lord Meadshire took his leave of the old ladies, and Aunt Ellen said, "I +am afraid that our cousin Humphrey is ageing. We do not see him as much +as we used to do. He was very frequently at Kencote in the old days, and +we were always pleased to see him. With the exception of your dear +father, there is no man for whom I have a greater regard." + +"He is a darling," said Cicely. "He is as kind as possible to everybody. +Would you like me to get you anything, Aunt Ellen? I must go to Muriel +now." + +"No thank you, my dear," said Aunt Ellen. "Your Aunt Laura and I have +had sufficient. We will just rest quietly in the shade, and I have no +doubt that some others of our kind friends will come and talk to us." + +It was getting towards the time for the bride and bridegroom to depart +for their honeymoon, which they were to spend in Norway. Walter had had +no holiday of any sort that year and had thought the desire for solitude +incumbent on newly married couples might reasonably be conjoined with +the desire for catching salmon; and Muriel had agreed with him. + +The men were beginning to show a tendency to separate from the ladies. +The Rector of Kencote and the Vicar of Melbury Park, a new friend of +Walter's who happened, as the Squire put it, to be a gentleman, were +talking together by the buffet under the tent. The Vicar, who was thin +and elderly, and looked jaded, was saying that the refreshment to mind +and spirit, to say nothing of body, which came from living close to +Nature was incalculable, and the Rector was agreeing with him, mentally +reserving his opinion that the real refreshment to mind and spirit, to +say nothing of body, was to be found, if a man were strong enough to +find it, in hard and never-ending work in a town. + +At the other end of the buffet Dick and Humphrey and Jim Graham were +eating sandwiches and drinking champagne. They were talking of fishing, +with reference to Walter's approaching visit to a water which all four +of them had once fished together. + +"It is rather sad, you know," said Humphrey. "Remember what a good time +we had, Jim? It'll never happen again. I hate a wedding. It'll be you +next." + +Jim looked at him inscrutably. "Or Dick," he said. + +Dick put down his glass. "I'm not a starter," he said. "I must go and +see that Walter doesn't forget to change his tie." + +The Squire and Mrs. Clinton and Lord Conroy were in a group together on +the lawn. Lord Conroy, bluff and bucolic, was telling Mrs. Clinton about +his own marriage, fifteen years before. "Never thought I should do it," +he said, "never. There was I, forty and more, but sound, Mrs. Clinton, +mind you, sound as a bell, though no beauty--ha, ha! And there was my +lady, twenty odd, as pretty as paint, and with half the young fellows in +London after her. I said, 'Come now, will you have me? Will you or won't +you? I'm not going near London,' I said, 'not once in five years, and I +don't like soup. Otherwise you'll have your own way and you'll find me +easy to get on with.' She took me, and here we are now. I don't believe +there's a happier couple in England. I believe in marrying, myself. Wish +I'd done it when I was a young fellow, only then I shouldn't have got my +lady. I'm very glad to see my niece married to such a nice young fellow +as your son--very glad indeed; and my sister tells me there's likely to +be another wedding in both families before long--eh? Well, I mustn't be +too inquisitive; but Jim's a nice young fellow too, a very nice young +fellow, though as obstinate as the devil about this Radical kink he's +got in his brain." + +"Oh, he'll get over that," said the Squire. "It isn't sense, you know, +going against the best brains in the country; I tell him we're not _all_ +likely to be wrong. And he's got a stake, too. It don't do to play old +Harry with politics when you've got a stake." + +"Gad, no," assented Lord Conroy. "We've got to stand together. I'm +afraid your brother's against us, though, eh, Mrs. Clinton?" + +"Oh, Herbert!" said the Squire. "He's a lawyer, and they can always make +white black if it suits 'em." + +Mrs. Clinton flushed faintly, and Lord Conroy said, "He's a very rising +man, though, and not so advanced as some. He told me a story just now +about a judge and one of those Suffragettes, as they call 'em, and I +haven't heard such a good story for many a long day." And Lord Conroy +laughed very heartily, but did not repeat the story. + +The carriage drove round to the door, the coachman and the horses +adorned with white favours, and the guests drifted towards the house and +into the big hall. Walter and Dick came down the staircase, and Muriel +and her mother and Cicely followed immediately afterwards. Muriel's eyes +were wet, but she was merry and talkative, and Mrs. Graham was more +brusque in her speech than usual, but very talkative too. Every one +crowded round them, and Walter had some difficulty in leading his bride +through the throng. There was laughter and hand-shaking and a general +polite uproar. At last they got themselves into the carriage, which +rolled away with them to their new life. It was really Joan and Nancy +who had conceived the idea of tying a pair of goloshes on behind, but +the Misses Conroy had provided them, one apiece, and claimed an equal +share in the suggestion. It was arising out of this that their quarrel +presently ensued, and they might not have quarrelled at all had not Miss +Bird told the twins in the hearing of their friends that where they had +learned such a vulgar notion passed her comprehension. It was really a +dispute that did all four young ladies very great credit. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +FOOD AND RAIMENT + + +The Rector gave out his text, "Is not the life more than meat and the +body more than raiment?" and proceeded to read his homily in a +monotonous, sweet-toned voice which had all the good effects of a +sleeping-draught and none of the bad ones. + +Kencote church was old, and untouched by modern restoration or Catholic +zeal. The great west door was open, and framed a bright picture of trees +and grass and cloudless sky. The hot sunshine of an August morning shone +through the traceried windows in the nave, and threw a square of bright +colour from the little memorial window in the chancel on to the wide, +uneven stone pavement. But the church was cool, with the coolness of +ancient, stone-built places, which have resisted for centuries the +attacks of sun and storm alike, and gained something of the tranquil +insensibility of age. + +The congregation was penned, for the most part, in high pews. When they +stood up to sing they presented a few score of heads and shoulders above +the squares and oblongs of dark woodwork; when they sat or knelt the +nave seemed to be suddenly emptied of worshippers, and the drone of the +responses mounting up to the raftered roof had a curious effect, and +seemed to be the voice of the old church itself, paying its tribute to +the unseen mysteries of the long ages of faith. + +On the north side of the chancel, which was two steps higher than the +nave, was the Squire's pew. Its occupants were shielded from the gaze of +those in the body of the church by a faded red curtain hung on an iron +rail, but the Squire always drew it boldly aside during the exhortation +and surveyed the congregation, the greater part of which was dependent +on him for a livelihood and attended church as an undergraduate "keeps +chapels," for fear of unpleasant consequences. + +The Squire's pew occupied the whole of the space usually devoted to the +organ and the vestry in modern built churches, and had a separate +entrance from the churchyard. It had a wooden floor, upon which was a +worn blue carpet sprinkled with yellow fleurs de lis. The big hassocks +and the seat that ran along the north wall were covered with the same +material. In front of the fixed bench was a row of heavy chairs; in the +wall opposite to the curtain was a fireplace. Mrs. Clinton occupied the +chair nearest to the fire, which was always lit early on Sunday morning +in the winter, but owing partly to the out-of-date fashion of the grate +and partly to the height and extent of the church, gave no more heat +than was comfortable to those immediately within its radius, and none at +all to those a little way from it. The Squire himself remained outside +its grateful influence. His large, healthy frame, well covered with +flesh, enabled him to dispense with artificial warmth during his hour +and a half's occupation of the family pew, and also to do his duty by +using the last of the row of chairs and hassocks, and so to command the +opportunities afforded by the red curtain. + +On the stone walls above the wainscoting were hung great hatchments, the +canvas of some fraying away from the black quadrangular frames after a +lapse of years, and none of them very recently hung there. The front of +the pew was open to the chancel, and commanded a full view of the +reading-desk and a side glimpse of the pulpit through the bars of the +carved, rather battered rood-screen. Flanked by the reading-desk on one +side and the harmonium on the other were the benches occupied by the +school-children who formed the choir, and behind them were other benches +devoted to the use of the Squire's household, whose devotions were +screened from the gaze of the common worshippers by no curtain, and who, +therefore--maids, middle-aged women, and spruce men-servants--provided a +source of interested rumination when heads were raised above the wooden +partitions, and bonnets, mantles, and broadcloth could be examined, and +perhaps envied, at leisure. + +Cicely had played the Rector up into the pulpit with the last verse of a +hymn, had found the place from which she would presently play him down +again with the tune of another, had propped the open book on the desk of +the harmonium, and had then slid noiselessly into a chair on a line with +the front choir bench, where she now sat with her hands in her lap, +facing the members of her assembled family, sometimes looking down at +the memorial brass of Sir Richard Clinton, knight, obiit 1445, which was +let into the pavement at her feet, sometimes, through the open doors of +the rood screen, to where that bright picture of sunlit green shone out +of the surrounding gloom at the end of the aisle. + +"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" The text had +been given out twice and carefully indexed each time. The Squire had +fitted his gold-rimmed glasses on to his nose and tracked down the +passage in his big Bible. Having satisfied himself that the words +announced were identical with the words printed, he had put the Bible on +the narrow shelf in front of him and closed his eyes. His first nod had +followed, as usual, about three minutes after the commencement of the +sermon. He had then opened his eyes wide, met the fascinated gaze of a +small singing-girl opposite to him, glared at her, and, having reduced +her to a state of cataleptic terror, pushed aside the red curtain and +transferred his glare to the body of the church. The bald head of a +respectable farmer and the bonnet of his wife, which were all he could +see of the congregation at the moment, assured him that all was well. He +drew the curtain again and went comfortably to sleep without further +ado. + +Mrs. Clinton, at the other end of the row, sat quite still, with no more +evidence of mental effort on her comely, middle-aged face than was +necessary for the due reception of the Rector's ideas, and that was very +little. Joan and Nancy sat one on either side of Miss Bird, Joan next to +her mother. They looked about everywhere but at the preacher, and bided +with what patience they possessed the end of the discourse, aided +thereto by a watchful eye and an occasional admonitory peck from the old +starling. Dick had come in late and settled himself upon the seat behind +the row of chairs. Upon the commencement of the sermon he had put his +back against the partition supporting the curtain, and his long legs up +on the bench in front of him, and by the look on his lean, sunburnt face +was apparently resting his brain as well as his body. + +"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" The +technique of the Rector's sermons involved the repetition of his text at +stated intervals. Cicely thought, as the words fell on her ears for the +third or fourth time, that she could have supplied a meaning to them +which had escaped the preacher. Food and raiment! That represented all +the things amongst which she had been brought up, the large, comfortable +rooms in the big house, the abundant, punctual meals, the tribe of +servants, the clothes and the trinkets, the gardens and stables, +well-stocked and well-filled, the home farm, kept up to supply the needs +of the large household, everything that came to the children of a +well-to-do country gentleman as a matter of course, and made life +easy--but oh, how dull! + +No one seeing her sitting there quietly, her slender, ungloved hands +lying in her lap, prettily dressed in a cool summer frock and a shady, +flower-trimmed hat, with the jewelled chains and bracelets and brooches +of a rich man's daughter rousing the admiring envy of the +school-children, whose weekly excitement it was to count them up--nobody +would have thought that under the plaited tresses of this young girl's +shapely head was a brain seething in revolt, or that the silken laces of +her bodice muffled the beatings of a heart suffocated by the luxurious +dulness of a life which she now told herself had become insupportable. +Cicely had thought a great deal since her visit to London and Muriel's +wedding, and had arrived at this conclusion--that she was suffocating, +and that her life was insupportable. + +She raised her eyes and glanced at her father, wrapped in the pleasant +slumber that overtakes healthy, out-of-door men when they are forced for +a time into unwonted quiescence, and at her brother, calm and +self-satisfied, dressed with a correct elaboration that was only +unobtrusive because it was so expensively perfect. The men of the +family--everything was done to bring them honour and gratification. They +had everything they wanted and did what they would. It was to them that +tribute and obedience were paid by every one around them, including +their own womenfolk. + +She looked at her two young sisters. They were happy enough in their +free and healthy childhood; so had she been at their age, when the +spacious house and the big gardens, the stables and the farm and the +open country had provided everything she needed for her amusement. But +even then there had been the irksome restraint exercised by "the old +starling" and the fixed rules of the house to spoil her freedom, while +her brothers had been away at Eton, or at Oxford or Cambridge, trying +their wings and preparing for the unfettered delights of well-endowed +manhood. + +She looked at her mother, placid and motionless. Her mother was +something of an enigma, even to her, for to those who knew her well she +always seemed to be hiding something, something in her character, which +yet made its mark in spite of the subjection in which she lived. Cicely +loved her mother, but she thought of her now with the least little shade +of contempt, which she would have been shocked to recognise as such. Why +had she been content to bring all the hopes and ambitions that must have +stirred her girlhood thus into subjection? What was the range of her +life now? Ruling her large house with a single eye to the convenience of +her lord and master, liable to be scolded before her children or her +household if anything went wrong; blamed if the faults of any one of the +small army of servants reached the point at which it disturbed his ease; +driving out in her fine carriage to pay dull calls on dull neighbours; +looking after the comfort of ungrateful villagers; going to church; +going to dinner-parties; reading; sewing; gardening under pain of the +head gardener's displeasure, which was always backed up by the Squire if +complaint was brought to him that she had braved it; getting up in the +morning and going to bed at night, at stated hours without variation; +never leaving her cage of confined luxury, except when it suited his +convenience that she should leave it with him. She was nothing but a +slave to his whims and prejudices, and so were all the women of the +family, slaves to wait upon and defer humbly and obediently to their +mankind. + +"Is not the life more than meat and the body than raiment?" It was the +men who enjoyed the life, and the meat and raiment as well. While the +women vegetated at home, they went out into the world. It was true that +they were always pleased to come back again, and no wonder, when +everything was there that could minister to their amusement. It was +quite different for her, living at home all the year round. She was +quite sick of it. Why was not her father like other men of his wealth +and lineage, who had their country houses and their country sports, but +did not spend the whole year over them? Daughters of men of far less +established position than the Squire went to London, went abroad, +visited constantly at other country houses, and saw many guests in their +own houses. Her own brothers did all these things, except the last. They +seldom brought their friends to Kencote, she supposed because it was not +like other big country houses, at any rate not like the houses at which +they stayed. It was old-fashioned, not amusing enough; shooting parties +were nearly always made up from amongst neighbours, and if any one +stayed in the house to shoot, or for the few winter balls, it was nearly +always a relation, or at best a party of relations. And the very few +visits Cicely had ever paid had been to the houses of relations, some of +them amusing, others not at all so. + +She was now rather ashamed of her diatribe to Muriel Graham about her +London visit. She must have given Muriel the impression that what she +hungered for was smart society. She remembered that she had compared the +ball at the house of her aunt, Mrs. Birket, unfavourably with those at +other houses at which she had danced, and blushed and fidgeted with her +fingers when she thought of this. She liked staying with Mrs. Birket +better than with any other of her relations, and she was still sore at +her father's refusal to allow her to spend some months with her. She met +clever, interesting people there, she was always made much of, and she +admired and envied her cousins. They had travelled, they heard music, +saw plays and pictures, read books; and they could talk upon all these +subjects, as well as upon politics and upon what was going on in the big +world that really mattered--not superficially, but as if they were the +things that interested them most, as she knew they were. It was that +kind of life she really longed for; she had only got her thoughts a +little muddled in London because she had been rather humiliated in +feeling herself a stranger where her brothers were so much at home. When +she saw Muriel again she must put herself right there. Muriel would +understand her. Muriel had cut herself adrift from the well-fed +stagnation of country life and rejoiced to be the partner of a man who +was doing something in the world. Life was more than food to her and the +body than raiment. Cicely wished that such a chance had come to her. + +But the Rector had repeated his text for the last time, and was drawing +to the end of his discourse. She must slip back to her seat at the +harmonium, and defer the consideration of her own hardships until later. + +The congregation aroused itself and stood up upon the stroke of the word +"now"; and, whilst the last hymn was being given out and played over, +the Squire started on a collecting tour with the wooden, baize-lined +plate which he drew from beneath his chair. The coppers clinked one by +one upon the silver already deposited by himself and his family, and he +closely scrutinised the successive offerings. His heels rang out +manfully upon the worn pavement beneath which his ancestors were +sleeping, as he strode up the chancel and handed the alms to the Rector. +He was refreshed by his light slumber, his weekly duty was coming to an +end, and he would soon be out in the open air inspecting his stables and +looking forward to his luncheon. He sang the last verses of the hymn +lustily, his glasses on his nose, a fine figure of a man, quite +satisfied with himself and the state in life to which he had been +called. + +The congregation filed out of church into the bright sunshine. Dick, +with Joan on one side of him and Nancy on the other, set out at a smart +pace across the park, bound for the stables and the home farm. Cicely +walked with the old starling, who lifted her flounced skirt over her +square-toed kid boots, as one who expected to find dew where she found +grass, even in the hot August noonday. The Squire and Mrs. Clinton +brought up the rear, and the men and maids straggled along a footpath +which diverged to another quarter of the house. + +Cicely left the rest of the family to the time-honoured inspection of +horses and live stock, always undertaken, summer and winter, after +church on Sunday morning, as a permissible recreation on a day otherwise +devoted to sedentary pursuits. It was one of the tiresome routine habits +of her life, and she was sick of routine. She dawdled in her bedroom, a +room at least twenty feet square, with two big windows overlooking the +garden and the park and the church tower rising from amongst its trees, +until the gong sounded, when she hurried downstairs and took her seat at +the luncheon table on the right of her father. + +The sweets and a big cake were on the table, of which the appointments +were a mixture of massive silver plate and inexpensive glass and china. +The servants handed round the first hot dish, placed a cold uncut +sirloin of beef in front of the Squire and vegetable dishes on the +sideboard, and then left the room. After that it was every one help +yourself. This was the invariable arrangement of luncheon on Sundays, +and allowing for the difference of the seasons the viands were always +the same. If anybody staying in the house liked to turn up their noses +at such Sunday fare--one hot _entree_, cold beef, fruit tarts and milk +puddings, a ripe cheese and a good bottle of wine, why they needn't come +again. But very few people did stay in the house, as has been said, and +none of those who did had ever been known to object. There were no +week-end parties, no traffic of mere acquaintances using the house like +an hotel and amusing themselves with no reference to their host or +hostess. The Squire was hospitable in an old-fashioned way, liked to see +his friends around him and gave them of his best. But they must be +friends, and they must conform to the usages of the house. + +The talk over the luncheon table began with the perennial topic of the +breeding of partridges and pheasants, and was carried on between the +Squire and Dick, while the women kept submissive silence in the face of +important matters with which they had no concern. Then it took a more +general turn, and drifted into a reminiscence of the conversation that +had taken place over the dinner table the night before. Mrs. Graham and +Jim had dined at Kencote and brought Ronald Mackenzie with them, who had +arrived the evening before on his promised week-end visit. + +Humphrey's prophecy had come true. Mackenzie had been the lion of the +London season, and now that London was empty might have taken his choice +of country houses for a week-end visit from whatever county he pleased. +His visit was something of an honour, and was even chronicled in the +newspapers, which had not yet lost interest in his movements. He was a +star of considerable magnitude, liable to wane, of course, but never to +sink quite into obscurity, and just now a planet within everybody's ken. + +It was characteristic of the Clinton point of view that the parentage of +this man, whose sole title to fame arose from the things that he had +done, should be discussed. Dick knew all about him. He did not belong to +any particular family of Mackenzies. He was the son of a Scots peasant, +and was said to have tramped to London at the age of sixteen, and to +have taken forcible shipment as a stowaway in the Black-Lyell Arctic +Expedition; and afterwards to have climbed to the leadership of +expeditions of his own with incredible rapidity. He had never made any +secret of his lowly origin, and was even said to be proud of it. The +Squire approved heartily of this. + +It was also characteristic of the Squire that a man who had done big +things and got himself talked about should be accepted frankly as an +equal, and, outside the sphere of clanship, even as a superior. A great +musician would have been treated in the same way, or a great painter, or +even a great scholar. For the Squire belonged to the class of all others +the most prejudiced and at the same time the most easily led, when its +slow-moving imagination is once touched--a class which believes itself +divinely appointed to rule, but will give political adherence and almost +passionate personal loyalty to men whom in the type it most dislikes, +its members following one another like sheep when their first +instinctive mistrust has been overcome. Mackenzie was one of the most +talked of men in England at this moment. It was a matter of +congratulation that Jim had caught him for a two-days' visit, though +Jim's catch had involved no more skill than was needed to answer an +unexpected note from Mackenzie announcing his arrival on Friday +afternoon. The Clintons had dined at Mountfield on Friday night, the +Grahams and Mackenzie had dined at Kencote on Saturday, and it had been +arranged that Jim and his guest should drive over this afternoon and +stay to dine again. + +When luncheon was over the Squire retired into the library with the +_Spectator_, which it was known he would not read, Dick went into the +smoking-room, Mrs. Clinton and Miss Bird upstairs, and the twins +straight into the garden, where Cicely presently followed them with a +book. She settled herself in a basket chair under a great lime tree on +the lawn, and leaving her book lying unopened on her lap, gave herself +over to further reverie. + +Perhaps the sudden descent of this man from a strange world into the +placid waters of her life had something to do with the surging up of her +discontent, for she had not been so discontented since the Birkets' +visit two months before, having followed out to some extent her uncle's +advice and found life quite supportable in consequence. She knew she had +waited for Mackenzie's name to be mentioned at luncheon and had blushed +when she heard it, only, fortunately, nobody had seen her, not even the +sharp-eyed twins. She would have resented it intensely if her interest +and her blush had been noticed, and put down to personal attraction. It +was not that at all. She rather disliked the man, with his keen, +hawklike face, his piercing eyes, and his direct, unvarnished speech. He +was the sort of man of whom a woman might have reason to be afraid if +she were, by unaccountable mischance, attracted by him, and he by her. +He would dominate her and she would be at least as much of a chattel as +in the hands of a male Clinton. It was what he stood for that interested +her, and she could not help comparing his life with that of her father +and her brothers, or of Jim Graham, much to the disadvantage of her own +kind. + +Her resentment, if it deserved that name, had fixed itself upon her +father and brothers, and Jim shared in it. He was just the same as they +were, making the little work incumbent on him as easy as possible and +spending the best part of his life in the pursuits he liked best. She +had come to the conclusion that there was no place for her in such a +life as that. When Jim proposed to her, as she felt sure he would do +when he was ready, she would refuse him. She felt now that she really +could not go through with it, and her determination to refuse to marry +Jim rose up in her mind and fixed itself as she sat in her chair under +the tree. If he had been a poor man, with a profession to work at, she +would have married him and found her happiness in helping him on. She +wanted the life. The food and the raiment were nothing to her, either at +Kencote or Mountfield. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +RONALD MACKENZIE + + +Cicely rose from her seat and strolled across the lawn, through an iron +gate and a flower-garden, and on to another lawn verging on the +shrubberies. Joan and Nancy were employed here in putting tennis balls +into a hole with the handles of walking sticks. Cicely rebuked them, +for, according to his lights, the Squire was a strict Sabbatarian. + +"Darling!" expostulated Joan, in a voice of pleading, "we are not using +putters and golf balls. There _can't_ be any harm in this." + +Cicely did not think there was, and passed on through the shrubbery walk +to where a raised path skirting a stone wall afforded a view of the road +along which Jim and Ronald Mackenzie would presently be driving. + +She hardly knew why she had come. It was certainly not to watch for Jim. +And if there was any idea in her mind of catching a glimpse of Ronald +Mackenzie, herself unobserved by him, so that she might by a flash gain +some insight into the character of a man who had interested her, she was +probably giving herself useless trouble, for it was not yet three +o'clock and the two men were not likely to arrive for another half-hour +or more. + +But she had no sooner taken her stand by the stone wall and looked down +at the road from under the shade of the great beech which overhung it, +than Jim's dog-cart swung round the corner, and Ronald Mackenzie, +sitting by his side, had looked up and sent a glance from his bold dark +eyes right through her. She had not had time to draw back; she had been +fairly caught. She drew back now, and coloured with annoyance as she +pictured to herself the figure she must have presented to him, a girl so +interested in his coming and going that she must lie in wait for him, +and take up her stand an hour or so before he might have been expected. +At any rate, he should not find her submissively waiting for him when he +drove up to the door. She would keep out of the way until tea-time, and +he might find somebody else to entertain him. + +The shrubbery walk, which skirted the road, wound for over a mile round +the park, and if she followed it she would come, by way of the kitchen +gardens and stableyard, to the house again, and could regain her bedroom +unseen, at the cost of a walk rather longer than she would willingly +have undertaken on this hot afternoon. But it was the only thing to do. +If she went back by the way she had come, she might meet Jim and his +friend in the garden, and of course they would think she had come on +purpose to see them. If she crossed the park she ran the risk of being +seen. So she kept to the shelter of the trees, and followed the windings +of the path briskly, and in rather a bad temper. + +At a point about half-way round the circle, the dense shrubbery widened +into a spinney, and cut through it transversely was a broad grass ride, +which opened up a view of the park and the house. When Cicely reached +this point she looked to her right, and caught her breath in her throat +sharply, for she saw Ronald Mackenzie striding down the broad green path +towards her. He was about fifty yards away, but it was impossible to +pretend she had not seen him, or to go on without waiting for him to +catch her up. Indeed, the moment he caught sight of her he waved his +hand and called out, "I thought I should catch you." He then came up +with a smile upon his face, and no apparent intention of apologising for +his obvious pursuit of her. + +What was the right attitude to take up towards a man who behaved like +that? Cicely blushed, and felt both surprised and annoyed. But she was +powerless to convey a hint of those feelings to him, and all he knew was +that she had blushed. + +"You shouldn't have run away from me like that," he said, as he shook +hands with her and looked her straight in the face. "I shan't do you any +harm. We will go back this way"; and he walked on at a fairly smart rate +by the way she had been going, and left her to adapt her pace to his, +which she did, with the disgusted feeling that she was ambling along at +an undignified trot. + +She was aware that if she opened her mouth she would say just the one +thing that she did not want to say, so she kept it closed, but was not +saved by so doing, because he immediately said it for her. "How did I +know where to find you? Well, I guessed you didn't expect to be spied +under that tree, and that you'd keep away for a bit. I didn't want that, +because I had come over on purpose to see you. So I cast my eye round +the country--I've an eye for country--saw where you would be likely to +go and the place to intercept you. So now you know all about it." + +This was a little too much. Cicely found her tongue. "Thank you," she +said, with dignity, "I didn't want to know all about it," and then felt +like a fool. + +"Then you have something you didn't want," he replied coolly. "But we +won't quarrel; there's no time. Do you know what I think about you and +about this place?" + +He looked down at her and waited for an answer; and an answer had to be +given. She was not quite prepared, or it would be more accurate to say +that she hardly dared, to say, "No, and I don't want to," so she +compromised weakly on "No." + +"Well, I'll tell you. It seems to me just Paradise, this lovely, +peaceful, luxurious English country, after the places I've been to and +the life I've led. And as for you, you pretty little pink and white +rose, you're the goddess that lives in the heart of it. You're the +prettiest, most graceful creature on God's earth, and you're in the +right setting." + +Cicely felt like a helpless rabbit fascinated by a snake. Nothing that +she had ever learned, either by direct precept from the old starling, or +as the result of her own observation of life, had prepared her to cope +with this. Outrageous as were his words and tone, she could only show +that she resented them by implicitly accusing him of making love to her; +and her flurried impulse was to shun that danger spot. + +She laughed nervously. "You use very flowery language; I suppose you +learned it in Tibet," she said, and felt rather pleased with herself. + +"One thing I learned in Tibet," he answered, "if I hadn't learned it +before, was that England is the most beautiful country in the world. I'm +not sure that I wouldn't give up all the excitement and adventure of my +life to settle down in a place like Graham's--or like this." + +Cicely congratulated herself upon having turned the conversation. She +was ready to talk on this subject. "You wouldn't care for it very long," +she said. "It is stagnation. I feel sometimes as if I would give +anything to get out of it." + +He looked down at her with a smile. "And what would you like to do if +you could get out of it?" he asked. + +"I should like to travel for one thing," she said. "If I were a man I +would. I wouldn't be content to settle down in a comfortable country +house to hunt foxes and shoot pheasants and partridges all my life." + +"Like Graham, eh? Well, perhaps you are right. You're going to marry +Graham, aren't you?" + +"No," she said shortly. + +"He thinks you are," he said, with a laugh. "He's a good fellow, Graham, +but perhaps he takes too much for granted, eh? But I know you are not +going to marry Graham. I only asked you to see what you would say. You +are going to marry me, my little country flower." + +"Mr. Mackenzie!" She put all the outraged surprise into her voice of +which she was capable, and stopped short in the path. + +He stopped too, and faced her. His face was firmly set. "I have no time +to go gently," he said. "I ask straight out for what I want, and I want +you. Come now, don't play the silly miss. You've got a man to deal with. +I've done things already and I'm going to do more. You will have a +husband you can be proud of." + +He was the type of the conquering male as he stood before her, dark, +lean, strong and bold-eyed. His speech, touched with a rough northern +burr, broke down defences. He would never woo gently, not if he had a +year to do it in. Men of his stamp do not ask their wives in marriage; +they take them. + +Cicely went red and then white, and looked round her helplessly. "You +can't run away," he said, and waited for her to speak. + +His silence was more insolently compelling than any words could have +been. Her eyes were drawn to his in spite of herself, fluttered a +moment, and rested there in fascinated terror. So the women in ages of +violence and passion, once caught, surrendered meekly. + +"You are mine," he said, in a voice neither raised nor lowered. "I said +you should be when I first saw you. I'll take care of you. And I'll take +care of myself for your sake." + +Suddenly she found herself trembling violently. It seemed to be her +limbs that were trembling, not she, and that she could not stop them. He +put his arm around her. "There, there!" he said soothingly. "Poor little +bird! I've frightened you. I had to, you know. But you're all right +now." + +For answer she burst into tears, her hands to her face. He drew them +away gently, mastering her with firm composure. "It was a shock, wasn't +it?" he said in a low, vibrating monotone. "But it had to be done in +that way. Jim Graham doesn't upset you in that way, I'll be bound. But +Jim Graham is a rich, comfortable vegetable; and I'm not exactly that. +You don't want to be either, do you?" + +"No," she said, drying her eyes. + +"You want a mate you can be proud of," he went on, still soothing her. +"Somebody who will do big things, and do them for your sake, eh? That's +what I'm going to do for you, little girl. I'm famous already, so I +find. But I'll be more famous yet, and make you famous too. You'll like +that, won't you?" + +He spoke to her as if she were a little child. His boasting did not +sound like boasting to her. His strength and self-confidence pushed +aside all the puny weapons with which she might have opposed him. She +could not tell him that she did not love him. He had not asked for her +love; he had asked for herself; or rather, he had announced his +intention of taking her. She was dominated, silenced, and he gave her no +chance to say anything, except what he meant her to say. + +He took his arms from her. "We must go back now," he said, "or they will +wonder what has become of us." He laughed suddenly. "They were a little +surprised when I ran away after you." + +It occurred to her that they must have been considerably surprised. The +thought added to her confusion. "Oh, I can't go back to them!" she +cried. + +"No, no," he said soothingly. "You shall slip into the house by a back +way. I shall say I couldn't find you." + +They were walking along the path, side by side. His muscular hands were +pendant; he had attempted no further possession of her, had not tried to +kiss her. Perhaps he knew that a kiss would have fired her to revolt, +and once revolting she would be lost to him. Perhaps he was not guided +by policy at all, but by the instinctive touch of his power over +men--and women. + +Cicely was beginning to recover her nerve, but her thoughts were in a +whirl. She was not angry; her chief desire was to go away by herself and +think. In the meantime she wanted no further food for thought. But that +was a matter not in her hands. + +"I'm going away in a fortnight, you know," he said. "Back to Tibet. I +left some things undone there." + +"You only came home a month ago," she said, clutching eagerly at a topic +not alarmingly personal. + +"I know. But I'm tired of it--the drawing-rooms and the women. I want to +be doing. _You_ know." + +She thought she did know. The rough appeal thrown out in those two words +found a way through her armour, which his insolent mastery had only +dented and bruised. It gave her a better conceit of herself. This was a +big man, and he recognised something of his own quality in her. At any +rate, she would stand up to him. She would not be "a silly miss." + +"Of course, you have surprised me very much," she said, with an effort +at even speech, which probably came to him as hurried prattle. "I can't +say what I suppose you want me to say at once. But if you will give me +time--if you will speak to my father----" + +He broke in on her. "Good heavens!" he said, with a laugh. "You don't +think I've got time for all that sort of thing, do you?--orange flowers +and church bells and all the rest of it. Don't you say a word to your +father, or any one else. Do you hear?" + +His roughness nerved her. "Then what do you want me to do?" she asked +boldly. + +"Do? Why, come to London and marry me, of course. You've got the pluck. +Or if you haven't, you're not what I thought you, and I don't want you +at all. There's no time to settle anything now, and I'm off to-morrow. +If I stay longer, and come over here again with Graham, they will +suspect something. Meet me to-night out here--this very spot, do you +see? I'll get out of the house and be over here at two o'clock. Then +I'll tell you what to do." + +They had come to a little clearing, the entrance to a strip of planted +ground which led to a gate in the walled kitchen garden, and so to the +back regions of the house. She stood still and faced him. "Do you think +I am going to do that?" she asked, her blue eyes looking straight into +his. + +He had aroused her indignant opposition. What would he do now, this +amazing and masterful man? + +He looked down at her with an odd expression in his face. It was +protecting, tender, amused. "Little shy flower!" he said--he seemed to +cling to that not very original metaphor--"I mustn't forget how you have +been brought up, in all this shelter and luxury, must I? It is natural +to you, little girl, and I'll keep you in it as far as I can. But you've +got to remember what I am too. You must come out of your cotton wool +sometimes. Life isn't all softness and luxury." + +Food and raiment! What had she been thinking of all the morning? Her +eyes fell. + +"You can trust me, you know," he said, still speaking softly. "But you +believe in daring, don't you? You must show a little yourself." + +"It isn't at all that I'm afraid," she said weakly. + +"Of course not. I know that," he answered. "It is simply that you don't +do such things here." He waved his hand towards the corner of the big +house, which could be seen through the trees. "But you want to get out +of it, you said." + +Did she want to get out of it? She was tired of the dull ease. She was +of the Clintons, of the women who were kept under; but there were men +Clintons behind her too, men who took the ease when it came to them, but +did not put it in the first place, men of courage, men of daring. It was +the love of adventure in her blood that made her answer, "Perhaps I will +come," and then try to dart past him. + +He put out his arm to stop her. "I'm not going to walk six miles here +and back on the chance," he said roughly. But she was equal to him this +time. "If you don't think it worth while you need not come," she said. +"I won't promise." Then she was gone. + +He walked back slowly to the garden. Jim Graham was lying back in a +basket chair, dressed in smart blue flannel and Russian leather boots, +talking to Joan and Nancy. Through the open window of the library the +top of the Squire's head could be seen over the back of an easy-chair. + +Mackenzie joined the little group under the lime. "Couldn't find her," +he said shortly. + +"She'll turn up at tea-time," said Jim equably. + +The clear eyes of the twins were fixed on Mackenzie. They had run round +to the front of the house on hearing the wheels of Jim's cart on the +gravel. They wanted to see the great man he had brought with him, and +they were not troubled with considerations of shyness. But the great man +had taken no notice of them at all, standing on the gravel of the drive +staring at him. + +He had jumped down from the cart and made off, directly, round the +corner of the house. + +"Where is he going?" asked the twins. + +"He wants to show Cicely some drawings," said Jim. "He saw her in the +shrubbery. Want a drive round to the stables, twankies?" + +Now the twins devoured Mackenzie with all their eyes. "I am Joan +Clinton, and this is my sister Nancy," said Joan. "Nobody ever +introduces us to anybody that comes here, so we always introduce +ourselves. How do you do?" + +Mackenzie seemed to wake up. He shook hands with both twins. "How do you +do, young ladies," he said with a smile. "You seem very much alike." + +"Not in character," said Nancy. "Miss Bird says that Joan would be a +very well-behaved girl if it were not for me." + +"I'm sure you are both well behaved," said Mackenzie. "You look as if +you never gave any trouble to anybody." + +"What we look and what we are are two very different things," said Joan. +"Aren't they, Jim?" + +"Good Lord, I should think they were," said Jim. He had been bustled off +immediately after luncheon, and was lying back in his chair in an +attitude inviting repose. He had rather hoped that Mackenzie, whose +quick energy of mind and body were rather beyond his power to cope with, +would have been off his hands for half an hour when he had announced his +intention of going in search of Cicely. He would have liked to go in +search of Cicely himself, but that was one of the things that he did no +longer. He had nothing to do now but wait with what patience he could +until his time came. He had a sort of undefined hope that Mackenzie +might say something that would advance him with Cicely, praise him to +her, cause her to look upon him with a little refreshment of her favour. +But he had not welcomed the questions with which the twins had plied him +concerning his guest. + +"Jim wants to go to sleep," said Nancy. "Would you like to come up into +the schoolroom, Mr. Mackenzie? We have a globe of the world." + +"We can find Cicely if you want to see her," added Joan. + +Mackenzie laughed his rough laugh. "We won't bother Miss Clinton," he +said. "But I should like to see the globe of the world." + +So the twins led him off proudly, chattering. Jim heard Joan say, "We +have had a bishop in our schoolroom, but we would much rather have an +explorer," but by the time they had crossed the lawn he was sleeping +peacefully. + +If he had known it, it was hardly the time for him to sleep. + +"If you're ill, go to bed; if not, behave as usual," was a Clinton maxim +which accounted for Cicely's appearance at the tea-table an hour later, +when she would much rather have remained in her own room. The effort, no +small one, of walking across the lawn in full view of the company +assembled round the tea-table, as if nothing had happened to her within +the last hour, braced her nerves. She was a shade paler than ordinary, +but otherwise there was nothing in her appearance to arouse comment. +Mackenzie sprang up from his chair as she approached and went forward to +meet her. "I tried to find you directly I came, Miss Clinton," he said +in his loud voice, which no course of civilisation would avail to +subdue. "I've brought those sketches I told you about last night." + +Cicely breathed relief. She had not been told the pretext upon which he +had started off in pursuit of her immediately upon his arrival, and had +had terrifying visions of a reception marked by anxious and inquiring +looks. But Jim greeted her with his painfully acquired air of accepted +habit, and immediately, she was sitting between him and Mackenzie, +looking at the bundle of rough pencil drawings put into her hands, +outlines of rugged peaks, desolate plains, primitive hillside villages, +done with abundant determination but little skill. She listened to +Mackenzie's explanations without speaking, and was relieved to hand over +the packet to the Squire, who put on his glasses to examine them, and +drew the conversation away from her. + +Mackenzie spoke but little to her after that. He dominated the +conversation, much more so than on the previous evening, when there had +been some little difficulty in extracting any account of his exploits +from him. Now he was willing to talk of them, and he talked well, not +exactly with modesty, but with no trace of boastful quality, such as +would certainly have aroused the prejudices of his listeners against +him. + +He talked like a man with whom the subject under discussion was the one +subject in the world that interested him. One would have said that he +had nothing else in his mind but the lust for strange places to conquer. +He appeared to be obsessed by his life of travel, to be able to think of +nothing else, even during this short interval in his years of adventure, +and in this stay-at-home English company whose thoughts were mostly +bound up in the few acres around them. + +Cicely stole glances at him. Was he acting a carefully thought out plan, +or had he really forgotten her very existence for the moment, while his +thoughts winged their way to cruel, dark places, whose secrets he would +wrest from them, the only places in which his bold, eager spirit could +find its home? He radiated power. She was drawn to him, more than half +against her will. He had called to her to share his life and his +enterprise. Should she answer the call? It was in her mind that she +might do so. + +He made no attempt to claim her after tea; but when the church bells +began to ring from across the park, and she had to go to play for the +evening service, he joined the little party of women--the Clinton men +went to church once on Sundays, but liked their women to go twice--and +sat opposite to her in the chancel pew, sometimes fixing her with a +penetrating look, sometimes with his head lowered on his broad chest, +thinking inscrutable thoughts, while the dusk crept from raftered roof +to stone floor, and the cheap oil lamps and the glass-protected candles +in the pulpit and reading-desk plucked up yellow courage to keep off the +darkness. + +The congregation sang a tuneful, rather sentimental evening hymn in the +twilight. They sang fervently, especially the maids and men in the +chancel pews. Their minds were stirred to soothing and vaguely aspiring +thoughts. Such hymns as this at the close of an evening service were the +pleasantest part of the day's occupations. + +The villagers went home to their cottages, talking a little more +effusively than usual. The next morning their work would begin again. +The party from the great house hurried home across the park. The sermon +had been a little longer than usual. They would barely have time to +dress for dinner. + +Jim Graham's dog-cart came round at half-past ten. The Squire, who had +been agreeably aroused from his contented but rather monotonous +existence by his unusual guest, pressed them to send it back to the +stable for an hour. "The women are going to bed," he said--they were +always expected to go upstairs punctually at half-past ten--"we'll go +into my room." + +But Mackenzie refused without giving Jim the opportunity. "I have a lot +of work to do to-night," he said. "Don't suppose I shall be in bed much +before four; and I must leave early to-morrow." + +So farewells were said in the big square hall. Mrs. Clinton and Cicely +were at a side-table upon which were rows of silver bedroom +candlesticks, Mrs. Clinton in a black evening dress, her white, plump +neck and arms bare, Cicely, slim and graceful, in white. The men stood +between them and the table in the middle of the hall, from which Dick +was dispensing whisky and soda water; the Squire, big and florid, with a +great expanse of white shirt front, Jim and Mackenzie in light overcoats +with caps in their hands. Servants carried bags across from behind the +staircase to the open door, outside of which Jim's horse was scraping +the gravel, the bright lamps of the cart shining on his smooth flanks. + +The Squire and Dick stood on the stone steps as the cart drove off, and +then came back into the hall. Mrs. Clinton and Cicely, their candles +lighted, were at the foot of the staircase. + +"Well, that's an interesting fellow," said the Squire as the butler shut +and bolted the hall door behind him. "We'll get him down to shoot if +he's in England next month." + +"And see what he can do," added Dick. + +Cicely went upstairs after her mother. The Squire and Dick went into the +library, where a servant relieved them of their evening coats and handed +them smoking-jackets, and the Squire a pair of worked velvet slippers. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE PLUNGE + + +When Cicely had allowed the maid who was waiting for her to unfasten her +bodice, she sent her away and locked the door after her. During the +evening she had sketched in her mind a portrait of herself sitting by +the open window and thinking things over calmly. It seemed to be the +thing to do in the circumstances. + +But she could not think calmly. She could not even command herself +sufficiently to go on with her undressing. The evening had been one long +strain on her nerves, and now she could only throw herself on her bed +and burst into tears. She had an impulse to go in to her mother and tell +her everything, and perhaps only the fact that for the moment her +physical strength would not allow her to move held her back. + +After a time she became quieter, but did not regain the mastery of her +brain. She seemed to be swayed by feeling entirely. The picture of her +mother, calm and self-contained, kneeling at her long nightly devotions, +faded, and in its place arose the image of the man who had suddenly +shouldered his way into her life and with rude hands torn away the +trappings of convention that had swathed it. + +He attracted her strongly. He stood for a broad freedom, and her revolt +against the dependence in which she lived was pointed by his contempt +for the dull, easy, effortless life of the big country house. Her mind +swayed towards him as she thought of what he had to offer her in +exchange--adventure in unknown lands; glory, perhaps not wholly +reflected, for there had been women explorers before, and her strong, +healthy youth made her the physical equal of any of them; comradeship in +place of subjection. She weighed none of these things consciously; she +simply desired them. + +There came to her the echo of her brother's speech as she had come up +the stairs: "And let us see what he can do." He stood before her in his +rugged strength, not very well dressed, his greying head held upright, +his nostrils slightly dilated, his keen eyes looking out on the world +without a trace of self-consciousness; and beside him stood Dick in his +smart clothes and his smoothed down hair, coolly ignoring all the big +things the man had done, and proposing to hold over his opinion of him +till he saw whether he could snap off a gun quickly enough to bring down +a high pheasant or a driven partridge. If he could pass that test he +would be accepted without further question as "a good fellow." His other +achievements, or perhaps more accurately the kind of renown they had +brought him, would be set against his lack of the ordinary gentleman's +upbringing. If he could not, he would still be something of an outsider +though all the world should acclaim him. Dick's careless speech--she +called it stupid--affected her strangely. It lifted her suitor out of +the ruck, and made him bulk bigger. + +She got up from her bed and took her seat by the open window, according +to precedent. She had seen herself, during the evening, sitting there +looking out on to the moonlit garden, asking herself quietly, "What am I +going to do?" weighing the pros and cons, stiffening her mind, and her +courage. And she tried now to come to a decision, but could not come +anywhere near to laying the foundation of one. She had not the least +idea what she was going to do, nor could she even discover what she +wanted to do. + +She got up and walked about the room, but that did not help her. She +knelt down and said her prayers out of a little well-worn book of +devotions, and made them long ones. But it was nothing more than +repeating words and phrases whose meaning slipped away from her. She +prayed in her own words for guidance, but none came. There existed only +the tumult of feeling. + +She heard her father and brother come up to bed and held her breath in +momentary terror, then breathed relief at the thought that if they +should, unaccountably, break into her room, which they were not in the +least likely to do, they could not know what was happening to her, or +make her tell them. They went along the corridor talking loudly. She had +often been disturbed from her first sleep by the noise the men made +coming up to bed. She heard a sentence from her father as they passed +her door. "They would have to turn out anyhow if anything happened to +me." + +Dick's answer was inaudible, but she knew quite well what they were +discussing. It had been discussed before her mother and herself, and +even the twins and Miss Bird, though not before the servants, during the +last few days. Lord and Lady Alistair MacLeod, she a newly wed American, +had motored through Kencote, lunched at the inn and fallen in love with +the dower-house. Lady Alistair--_he_ would have nothing to do with +it--had made an offer through the Squire's agent for a lease of the +house, at a rental about four times its market value. The Squire did not +want the money, but business was business. And the MacLeods would be +"nice people to have about the place." All that stood in the way was +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura. They could not be turned out unless they were +willing to go, but the Squire knew very well that they _would_ go if he +told them to. There was a nice little house in the village which would +be the very thing for them if he decided to accept the tempting offer. +He would do it up for them. After all, the dower-house was much too +large and there were only two of them left. So it had been discussed +whether Aunt Ellen, at the age of ninety-three, and Aunt Laura, at the +age of seventy-five, should be notified that the house in which they had +spent the last forty years of their lives, and in which their four +sisters had died, was wanted for strangers. + +That was not the only thing that had been discussed. The question of +what would be done in various departments of family and estate business +when the Squire should have passed away--his prospective demise being +always referred to by the phrase, "if anything should happen to me"--was +never shirked in the least; and Dick, who would reign as Squire in his +stead, until the far off day when something should happen to _him_, took +his part in the discussion as a matter of course. These things were and +would be; there was no sense in shutting one's eyes to them. And one of +the things that would take place upon that happening was that Mrs. +Clinton, and Cicely, if she were not married, and the twins, would no +longer have their home at Kencote, unless Dick should be unmarried and +should invite them to go on living in his house. He would have no legal +right to turn Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura out of the dower-house, if they +still remained alive, but it had been settled ever since the last death +amongst the sisters that they would make way. It would only be +reasonable, and was taken for granted. + +And now, as it seemed, her father and brother had made up their minds to +exercise pressure--so little would be needed--to turn out the poor old +ladies, not for the sake of those who might have a claim on their +consideration, but for strangers who would pay handsomely and would be +nice people to have about the place. Cicely burned with anger as she +thought of it. + + * * * * * + +Two o'clock struck from the clock in the stable turret. Cicely opened +her door softly, crept along the corridor and through a baize door +leading to a staircase away from the bedrooms of the house. At the foot +of it was a door opening into the garden, which she was prepared to +unlock and unbolt with infinite care to avoid noise. But the +carelessness of a servant had destroyed the need of such caution. The +door was unguarded, and with an unpleasant little shock she opened it +and went out. + +The night was warm, and the lawns and trees and shrubs of the garden lay +in bright moonlight. She hurried, wrapped in a dark cloak, to the place +from which she had fled from Mackenzie in the afternoon. She felt an +impulse of shrinking as she saw his tall figure striding up and down on +the grass, but she put it away from her and went forward to meet him. + +He gave a low cry as he turned and saw her. "My brave little girl!" he +said, and laid his hands on her shoulders for a moment, and looked into +her face. He attempted no further love-making; his tact seemed equal to +his daring. "We have come here to talk," he said. "When we have made our +arrangements you shall go straight back. I wouldn't have asked you to +come out here like this if there had been any other way." + +She felt grateful. Her self-respect was safe with him. He understood +her. + +"Will you come with me?" he asked, and she answered, "Yes." + +A light sprang into his eyes. "My brave little queen of girls!" he said, +but held himself back from her. + +"What time can you get out of the house without being missed for an hour +or two?" he asked. + +She stood up straight and made a slight gesture as if brushing something +away, and thenceforward answered him in as matter-of-fact a way as he +questioned her. + +"In the afternoon, after lunch," she said. + +"Very well. There is a train from Bathgate at four o'clock. Can you walk +as far as that?" + +"Oh yes." + +"You can't go from here, and you can't drive. So you must walk. Is there +any chance of your being recognised at Bathgate?" + +"I am very likely to be recognised." + +He thought for a moment. "Well, it can't be helped," he said. "If there +is any one in the train you know you must say you are going up to see +Mrs. Walter Clinton. Graham has told me all about her and your brother." + +"I shan't be able to take any luggage with me," she said. + +"No. That is a little awkward. We must trust to chance. Luck sides with +boldness. You can buy what you want in London. I have plenty of money, +and nothing will please me better than to spend it on you, little girl." +His tone and his eyes became tender for a moment. "I shall be on the +platform in London to meet you," he said. "I shall be surprised to see +you there until you tell me there is nobody to fear. I hate all this +scheming, but it can't be helped. We must get a start, and in two days +we shall be married. Don't leave any word. You can write from London to +say you are going to marry me. I'll do the rest when we are man and +wife." + +Cicely's eyes dropped as she asked, "Where shall I be till--till----" + +"Till we're married? My little girl! It won't be very long. There is a +good woman I know. I'll take you there and she will look after you. I +shall be near. Leave it all to me and don't worry. Have you got money +for your journey?" + +"Yes, I have enough." + +"Very well. Now go back, and think of me blessing the ground you walk +on. You're so sweet, and you're so brave. You're the wife for me. Will +you give me one kiss?" + +She turned her head quickly. "No," he said at once. "I won't ask for it; +not till you are mine altogether." + +But she put up her face to him in the moonlight. "I'm yours now," she +said. "I have given myself to you," and he kissed her, restraining his +roughness, turning away immediately without another word to stride down +the grass path into the darkness of the trees. + +Cicely looked after him for an instant and then went back to the house +and crept up to her room. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +BLOOMSBURY + + +Mackenzie met her at the London terminus. She had seen no one she knew +either at the station at Bathgate or in the train. She was well dressed, +in a tailor-made coat and skirt and a pretty hat. She got out of a +first-class carriage and looked like a young woman of some social +importance, travelling alone for once in a way, but not likely to be +allowed to go about London alone when she reached the end of her +journey. She was quite composed as she saw Mackenzie's tall figure +coming towards her, and shook hands with him as if he were a mere +acquaintance. + +"I have seen nobody I know," she said, and then immediately added, "I +must send a telegram to my mother. I can't leave her in anxiety for a +whole night." + +He frowned, but not at her. "You can't do that," he said, "you don't +want the post-office people to know." + +"I have thought of that. I will say 'Have come up to see Muriel. Writing +to-night.' It isn't true, but I will tell them afterwards why I did it." + +"Will that satisfy them?" + +"I am deceiving them anyhow." + +"Oh, I don't mean that. Will they think it all right--your coming up to +your sister-in-law?" + +"No, they will be very much surprised. But the post-office people will +not gather anything." + +"They will wire at once to your brother. You had much better leave it +till to-morrow." + +"No, I can't do that," she said. "I will wire just before eight o'clock. +Then a return wire will not go through before the morning." + +"Yours might not get through to-night." + +"Oh yes, it will. They would take it up to the house whatever time it +came." + +"Very well," he said. "Now come along," and he hailed a hansom. + +"Please don't think me tiresome," she said, when they were in the cab, +"but there is another thing I must do. I must write to my mother so that +she gets my letter the very first thing to-morrow morning." + +He gave an exclamation of impatience. "You can't do that," he said +again. "The country mails have already gone." + +"I can send a letter by train to Bathgate. I will send it to the hotel +there with a message that it is to be taken over to Kencote the first +thing in the morning." + +"You are very resourceful. It may give them time to get on to our track, +before we are married." + +"I have promised to marry you," she said simply. It was she who now +seemed bold, and not he. + +"I don't see how they could get here in time," he said grudgingly. +"Graham only knows the address of my club, and they don't know there +where I live." He brightened up again. "Very well, my queen," he said, +smiling down at her. "You shall do what you like. Write your letter--let +it be a short one--when you get in, and we will send that and the wire +when we go out to dinner." + +They drove to a dingy-looking house in one of the smaller squares of +Bloomsbury. During the short journey he became almost boisterous. All +the misgivings that had assailed her since they had last parted, the +alternate fits of courage and of frightened shrinking, had passed him +by. This was quite plain, and she was right in attributing his mood +partly to his joy in having won her, partly to his love of adventure. It +was an added pleasure to him to surmount obstacles in winning her. If +his wooing had run the ordinary course, the reason for half his +jubilation would have disappeared. She felt his strength, and, +woman-like, relinquished her own doubts and swayed to his mood. + +"You have begun your life of adventure, little girl," he said, +imprisoning her slender hand in his great muscular one, and looking down +at her with pride in his eyes. She had an impulse of exhilaration, and +smiled back at him. + +The rooms to which he took her, escorted by a middle-aged Scotswoman +with a grim face and a silent tongue, were on the first floor--a big +sitting-room, clean, but, to her eyes, inexpressibly dingy and +ill-furnished, and a bedroom behind folding doors. + +"Mrs. Fletcher will give you your breakfast here," he said, "but we will +lunch and dine out. We will go out now and shop when you are ready." + +She went into the bedroom and stood by the window. Fright had seized her +again. What was she doing here? The woman who had come from her dark, +downstairs dwelling-place to lead the way to these dreadful rooms, had +given her one glance but spoken no word. What must she think of her? She +could hear her replying in low monosyllables to Mackenzie's loud +instructions, through the folding doors. + +Again the assurance and strength and determination which he exhaled came +to her aid. She had taken the great step, and must not shrink from the +consequences. He would look after her. She washed her hands and face--no +hot water had been brought to her--and went back to the sitting-room. "I +am hoping you will be comfortable here, miss," the woman said to her. +"You must ask for anything you want." + +She did not smile, but her tone was respectful, and she looked at Cicely +with eyes not unfriendly. And, after all, the rooms were clean--for +London. + +Mackenzie took her to a big shop in Holborn and stayed outside while she +made her purchases. She had not dared to bring with her even a small +hand-bag, and she had to buy paper on which to write her letter to her +mother. + +"I lived in Mrs. Fletcher's rooms before I went to Tibet," Mackenzie +said as they went back to the house. "I tried to get them when I came +back--but no such luck. Fortunately they fell vacant on Saturday. We'll +keep them on for a bit after we're married. Must make ourselves +comfortable, you know." + +She stole a glance at him. His face was beaming. She had thought he had +taken her to that dingy, unknown quarter as a temporary precaution. +Would he really expect her to make her home in such a place? + +She wrote her letter to her mother at the table in the sitting-room. +Mrs. Fletcher had brought up a penny bottle of ink and a pen with a J +nib suffering from age. Mackenzie walked about the room as she wrote, +and it was difficult for her to collect her thoughts. She gave him the +note to read, with a pretty gesture of confidence. It was very short. + + "My own darling Mother,--I have not come to London to see Muriel, + but to marry Ronald Mackenzie. I said what I did in my telegram + because of the post-office. I am very happy, and will write you a + long letter directly we are married.--Always your very loving + daughter, + + "Cicely." + +"Brave girl!" he said as he returned it to her. + +She gave a little sob. "I wish I had not had to go away from her like +that," she said. + +"Don't cry, little girl," he said kindly. "It was the only way." + +She dried her eyes and sealed up the note. She had wondered more than +once since he had carried her off her feet why it was the only way. + +They carried through the business of the letter and the telegram and +drove to a little French restaurant in Soho to dine. The upstairs room +was full of men and a few women, some French, more English. Everybody +stared at her as she entered, and she blushed hotly. And some of them +recognised Mackenzie and whispered his name. The men were mostly +journalists, of the more literary sort, one or two of them men of note, +if she had known it. But to her they looked no better than the class she +would have labelled vaguely as "people in shops." They were as different +as possible from her brothers and her brothers' friends, sleek, +well-dressed men with appropriate clothes for every occasion, and a +uniform for the serious observance of dinner which she had never +imagined a man without, except on an unavoidable emergency. She had +never once in her life dined in the same frock as she had worn during +the day and hardly ever in the company of men in morning clothes. + +This cheap restaurant, where the food and cooking were good but the +appointments meagre, struck her as strangely as if she had been made to +eat in a kitchen. That it did not strike Mackenzie in that way was plain +from his satisfaction at having introduced her to it. "Just as good food +here as at the Carlton or the Savoy," he said inaccurately, "at about a +quarter of the price; and no fuss in dressing-up!" + +She enjoyed it rather, after a time. There was a sense of adventure in +dining in such a place, even in dining where nobody had thought of +dressing, although dressing for dinner was not one of the conventions +she had wished to run away from; it was merely a habit of cleanliness +and comfort. Mackenzie talked to her incessantly in a low voice--they +were sitting at a little table in a corner, rather apart from the rest. +He talked of his travels, and fascinated her; and every now and then, +when he seemed furthest away, his face would suddenly soften and he +would put in a word of encouragement or gratitude to her. She felt proud +of having the power to make such a man happy. They were comrades, and +she wanted to share his life. At present it seemed to be enough for him +to talk to her. He had not as yet made any demand on her for a return of +confidence. In fact, she had scarcely spoken a word to him, except in +answer to speech of his. He had won her and seemed now to take her +presence for granted. He had not even told her what arrangements he had +made for their marriage, or where it was to be; nor had he alluded in +any way to the course of their future life or travels, except in the +matter of Mrs. Fletcher's room in Bloomsbury. + +"When are we going to Tibet again?" She asked him the question point +blank, as they were drinking their coffee, and Mackenzie was smoking a +big briar pipe filled with strong tobacco. + +He stared at her in a moment's silence. Then he laughed. "Tibet!" he +echoed. "Oh, I think now I shan't be going to Tibet for some months. But +I shall be taking you abroad somewhere before then. However, there will +be plenty of time to talk of all that." Then he changed the subject. + +He drove her back to her rooms and went upstairs with her. It was about +half-past nine o'clock. "I have to go and meet a man at the Athenaeum at +ten," he said. "Hang it! But I will stay with you for a quarter of an +hour, and I dare say you won't be sorry to turn in early." + +He sat himself down in a shabby armchair on one side of the fireless +grate. He was still smoking his big pipe. Cicely stood by the table. + +He looked up at her. "Take off your hat," he said, "I want to see your +beautiful hair. It was the first thing I noticed about you." + +She obeyed, with a blush. He smiled his approval. "Those soft waves," he +said, "and the gold in it! You are a beautiful girl, my dear. I can tell +you I shall be very proud of you. I shall want to show you about +everywhere." + +He hitched his chair towards her and took hold of her hand. "Do you +think you are going to love me a little bit?" he asked. + +She blushed again, and looked down. Then she lifted her eyes to his. "I +don't think you know quite what you have made me do," she said. + +He dropped her hand. "Do you regret it?" he asked sharply. + +She did not answer his question, but her eyes still held his. "I have +never been away from home in my life," she said, "without my father or +mother. Now I have left them without a word, to come to you. You seem to +take that quite as a matter of course." + +The tears came into her eyes, although she looked at him steadily. He +sprang up from his chair and put his hand on her shoulder. "My poor +little girl!" he said, "you feel it. Of course you feel it. You've +behaved like a heroine, but you've had to screw up your courage. I don't +want you to think of all that. That is why I haven't said anything about +it. You mustn't break down." + +But she had broken down, and she wept freely, while he put his arm round +her and comforted her as he might have comforted a child. Presently her +sobbing ceased. "You are very kind to me," she said. "But you won't keep +me away from my own people, will you--after--after----" + +"After we are married? God bless me, no. And they won't be angry with +you--at least, not for long. Don't fear that. Leave it all to me. We +shall be married to-morrow. I've arranged everything." + +"You have not told me a word about that," she said forlornly. + +"I didn't mean to tell you a word until to-morrow came," he said. "You +are not to brood." + +"You mean to rush me into everything," she said. "If I am to be the +companion to you that I want to be, you ought to take me into your +confidence." + +"Why, there!" he said, "I believe I ought. You're brave. You're not like +other girls. You can imagine that I have had a busy day. I have a +special license, signed by no less a person than the Archbishop of +Canterbury. Think of that! And we are going to be married in a church. I +knew you would like that; and I like it better too. You see I have been +thinking of you all the time. Now you mustn't worry any more." He patted +her hand. "Go to bed and get a good sleep. I'll come round at ten +o'clock to-morrow morning, and we're to be married at eleven. Then a new +life begins, and by the Lord I'll make it a happy one for you. Come, +give me a smile before I go." + +She had no difficulty in doing that now. He took her chin in his +fingers, turned her face up to his and looked into her eyes earnestly. +Then he left her. + +She had finished her breakfast, which had been cleared away, when he +came in to her the next morning. She was sitting in a chair by the empty +grate with her hands in her lap, and she looked pale. + +Mackenzie had on a frock coat, and laid a new silk hat and a new pair of +gloves on the table as he greeted her with unsentimental cheerfulness. + +"Will you sit down?" she said, regarding him with serious eyes. "I want +to ask you some questions." + +He threw a shrewd glance at her. "Ask away," he said in the same loud, +cheerful tone, and took his seat opposite to her, carefully disposing of +the skirts of his coat, which looked too big even for his big frame. + +"I have been thinking a great deal," she said. "I want to know exactly +what my life is to be if I marry you." + +"_If_ you marry me!" he took up her words. "You _are_ going to marry +me." + +"You said something last night," she went on, "which I didn't quite +understand at the time; and I am not sure that you meant me to. Are you +going to take me with you to Tibet, and on your other journeys, or do +you want to leave me behind--here?" There was a hint of the distaste she +felt for her surroundings in the slight gesture that accompanied the +last word. But she looked at him out of clear, blue, uncompromising +eyes. + +He did not return her look. "Here?" he echoed, looking round him with +some wonder. "What is the matter with this?" + +"Then you do mean to leave me here." + +"Look here, my dear," he said, looking at her now. "I am not going to +take you to Tibet, or on any of my big journeys. I never had the +slightest intention of doing so, and never meant you to think I had. A +pretty thing if I were to risk the life of the one most precious to me, +as well as my own, in such journeys as I take!" + +"Then what about me?" asked Cicely. "What am I to do while you are away, +risking your own life, as you say, and away perhaps for two or three +years together?" + +"Would you be very anxious for me?" he asked her, with a tender look, +but she brushed the question aside impatiently. + +"I am to live alone, while you go away," she said, "live just as dull a +life as I did before, only away from my own people, and without anything +that made my life pleasant in spite of its dulness. Is that what you are +offering me?" + +"No, no," he said, trying to soothe her. "I want you to live in the +sweetest little country place. We'll find one together. You needn't stay +here a minute longer than you want to, though when we are in London +together it will be convenient. I want to think of you amongst your +roses, and to come back to you and forget all the loneliness and +hardships. I want a home, and you in it, the sweetest wife ever a man +had." + +"I don't want that," she said at once. "You are offering me nothing that +I didn't have before, and I left it all to come to you--to share the +hardships and--and--I would take away the loneliness." + +"You are making too much of my big journeys," he broke in on her +eagerly. "That is the trouble. Now listen to me. I shall be starting for +Tibet in March, and----" + +"Did you know that when you told me you were going in a fortnight?" she +interrupted him. + +"Let me finish," he said, holding up his hand. "It is settled now that I +am going to Tibet in March, and I shan't be away for more than a year. +Until then we will travel together. I want to go to Switzerland almost +directly to test some instruments. You will come with me, and you can +learn to climb. I don't mind that sort of hardship for you. At the end +of October we will go to America. I hadn't meant to go, but I want money +now--for you--and I can get it there. That's business; and for pleasure +we will go anywhere you like--Spain, Algiers, Russia--Riviera, if you +like, though I don't care for that sort of thing. When I go to Tibet +I'll leave you as mistress of a little house that you may be proud of, +and you'll wait for me there. When I get back we'll go about together +again, and as far as I can see I shan't have another big job to tackle +for some time after that--a year, perhaps two years, perhaps more." + +She was silent for a moment, thinking. "Come now," he said, "that's not +stagnation. Is it?" + +"No," she said unwillingly. "But it isn't what I came to you for." She +raised her eyes to his. "You know it isn't what I came to you for." + +His face grew a little red. "You came to me," he said in a slower, +deeper voice, looking her straight in the eyes, "because I wanted you. I +want you now and I mean to have you. I want you as a wife. I will keep +absolutely true to you. You will be the only woman in the world to me. +But my work is my work. You will have no more say in that than I think +good for you. You will come with me wherever I think well to take you, +and I shall be glad enough to have you. Otherwise you will stay behind +and look after my home--and, I hope, my children." + +Her face was a deep scarlet. She knew now what this marriage meant to +him. What it had meant to her, rushing into it so blindly, seemed a +foolish, far off thing. Her strongest feeling was a passionate desire +for her mother's presence. She was helpless, alone with this man, from +whom she felt a revulsion that almost overpowered her. + +He sat for a full minute staring at her downcast face, his mouth firmly +set, a slight frown on his brows. + +"Come now," he said more roughly. "You don't really know what you want. +But I know. Trust me, and before God, I will make you happy." + +She hid her face in her hands. "Oh, I want to go home," she cried. + +He shifted in his chair. The lines of his face did not relax. He must +set himself to master this mood. He knew he had the power, and he must +exercise it once for all. The mood must not recur again, or if it did it +must not be shown to him. + +And there is no doubt at all that he would have mastered it. But as he +opened his mouth to speak, Cicely sitting there in front of him, crying, +with a white face and strained eyes, there were voices on the stairs, +the door opened, and Dick and Jim Graham came into the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE PURSUIT + + +Cicely had not been missed from home until the evening. At tea-time she +was supposed to be at the dower-house, or else at the Rectory. It was +only when she had not returned at a quarter to eight, that the maid who +waited upon her and her mother told Mrs. Clinton that she was not in her +room. + +"Where on earth can she be?" exclaimed Mrs. Clinton. Punctuality at +meals being so rigidly observed it was unprecedented that Cicely should +not have begun to dress at a quarter to eight. At ten minutes to eight +Mrs. Clinton was convinced that some accident had befallen her. At five +minutes to, she tapped at the door of the Squire's dressing-room. +"Edward," she called, "Cicely has not come home yet." + +"Come in! Come in!" called the Squire. He was in his shirt sleeves, +paring his nails. + +"I am afraid something has happened to her," said Mrs. Clinton +anxiously. + +"Now, Nina, don't fuss," said the Squire. "What can possibly have +happened to her? She must be at the dower-house, though, of course, she +ought to be home by this time. Nobody in this house is ever punctual but +myself. I am always speaking about it. You _must_ see that the children +are in time for meals. If nobody is punctual the whole house goes to +pieces." + +Mrs. Clinton went downstairs into the morning-room, where they were wont +to assemble for dinner. Dick was there already, reading a paper. "Cicely +has not come home yet," she said to him. + +"By Jove, she'll catch it," said Dick, and went on reading his paper. + +Mrs. Clinton went to the window and drew the curtain aside. It was not +yet quite dark and she could see across the park the footpath by which +Cicely would come from the dower-house. But there was no one there. Mrs. +Clinton's heart sank. She knew that something _had_ happened. Cicely +would never have stayed out as late as this if she could have helped it. +She came back into the room and rang the bell. "I must send down," she +said. + +Dick put his paper aside and looked up at her. "It _is_ rather odd," he +said. + +The butler came into the room, and the Squire immediately behind him. +"Edward, I want some one to go down to the dower-house and see if Cicely +has been there," Mrs. Clinton said. "I am anxious about her." + +The Squire looked at her for a moment. "Send a man down to the +dower-house to ask if Miss Clinton has been there this afternoon," he +said, "and if she hasn't, tell him to go to the Rectory." + +The butler left the room, but returned immediately with Cicely's +telegram. It was one minute to eight o'clock. He hung on his heel after +handing the salver to Mrs. Clinton and then left the room to carry out +his previous instructions. It was not his place to draw conclusions, but +to do as he was told. + +Mrs. Clinton read the telegram and handed it to the Squire, searching +his face as he read it. "What, the devil!" exclaimed the Squire, and +handed it to Dick. + +The big clock in the hall began to strike. Porter threw open the door +again. "Dinner is served, ma'am," he said. + +"You needn't send down to the dower-house," Dick said, raising his eyes +from the paper. "Miss Clinton has gone up to stay with Mrs. Walter." +Then he offered his arm to his mother to lead her out of the room. + +"Shut the door," shouted the Squire, and the door was shut. "What on +earth does it mean?" he asked, in angry amazement. + +"Better have gone in to dinner," said Dick. "I don't know." + +Mrs. Clinton was white, and said nothing. The Squire turned to her. +"What does it mean, Nina?" he asked again. "Did you know anything about +this?" + +"Of course mother didn't know," said Dick. "There's something queer. +It's too late to send a wire. I'll go up by the eleven o'clock train and +find out all about it. Better go in now." He laid the telegram +carelessly on a table. + +"Don't leave it about," said the Squire. + +"Better leave it there," said Dick, and offered his arm to his mother +again. + +They went into the dining-room, only a minute late. + +"Tell Higgs to pack me a bag for two nights," said Dick when the Squire +had mumbled a grace, "and order my cart for ten o'clock. I'm going up to +London. I shan't want anybody." + +Then, as long as the servants were in the room they talked as usual. At +least Dick did, with frequent mention of Walter and Muriel and some of +Cicely. The Squire responded to him as well as he was able, and Mrs. +Clinton said nothing at all. But that was nothing unusual. + +When they were alone at last, the Squire burst out, but in a low voice, +"What on earth does it mean? Tell me what it means, Dick." + +"She hasn't had a row with any one, has she, mother?" asked Dick, +cracking a walnut. + +Mrs. Clinton moistened her lips. "With whom?" she asked. + +"I know it's very unlikely. I suppose she's got some maggot in her head. +Misunderstood, or something. You never know what girls are going to do +next. She _has_ been rather mopy lately. I've noticed it." + +"She has not seen Muriel since she was married," said Mrs. Clinton. "She +has missed her." + +"Pah!" spluttered the Squire. "How dare she go off like that without a +word? What on earth can you have been thinking of to let her, Nina? And +what was Miles doing? Miles must have packed her boxes. And who drove +her to the station? When did she go? Here we are, sitting calmly here +and nobody thinks of asking any of these questions." + +"It was Miles who told me she had not come back," said Mrs. Clinton. +"She was as surprised as I was." + +"Ring the bell, Dick," said the Squire. + +"I think you had better go up, mother, and see what she took with her," +said Dick. "Don't say anything to anybody but Miles, and tell her to +keep quiet." + +Mrs. Clinton went out of the room. Dick closed the door which he had +opened for her, came back to the table, and lit a cigarette. "There's +something queer, father," he said, "but we had better make it seem as +natural as possible. I shouldn't worry if I were you. I'll find out all +about it and bring her back." + +"Worry!" snorted the Squire. "It's Cicely who is going to worry. If she +thinks she is going to behave like that in this house she is very much +mistaken." + +Dick drove into Bathgate at twenty minutes to eleven. He always liked to +give himself plenty of time to catch a train, but hated waiting about on +the platform. So he stopped at the George Hotel and went into the hall +for a whisky-and-soda. + +"Oh, good evening, Captain," said the landlord, who was behind the bar. +"If you are going back to Kencote you can save me sending over. This +letter has just come down by train." He handed Dick a square envelope +which he had just opened. On it was his name and address in Cicely's +writing, and an underlined inscription, "Please send the enclosed letter +to Kencote by special messenger as early as possible to-morrow morning." +Dick took out the inner envelope which was addressed to his mother, and +looked at it. "All right," he said, "I'll take it over," and slipped it +into the pocket of his light overcoat. He ordered his whisky-and-soda +and drank it, talking to the landlord as he did so. Only a corner of the +bar faced the hall, which was otherwise empty, and as he went out he +took the letter from his pocket and opened it. + +"The devil you will!" he said, as he read the few words Cicely had +written. Then he went out and stood for a second beside his cart, +thinking. + +"I'm going to Mountfield," he said as he swung the horse round and the +groom jumped up behind. The groom would wonder at his change of plan and +when he got back he would talk. If he told him not to he would talk all +the more. Wisest to say nothing at present. So Dick drove along the five +miles of dark road at an easy pace, for he could catch no train now +until seven o'clock in the morning and there was no use in hurrying, and +thought and thought, as he drove. If he failed in stopping this +astonishing and iniquitous proceeding it would not be for want of +thinking. + +Mountfield was an early house. Jim himself unbarred and unlocked the +front door to the groom's ring. The chains and bolts to be undone seemed +endless. "Take out my bag," said Dick, as he waited, sitting in the +cart. "I'm going to stay here for the night. There'll be a note to take +back to Mrs. Clinton. See that it goes up to her to-night." + +He spoke so evenly that the groom wondered if, after all, there was +anything going on under the surface at all. + +"Hullo, old chap," Dick called out, directly Jim's astonished face +appeared in the doorway. "Cicely has bolted off to see Muriel, and the +governor has sent me to fetch her back. I was going up by the eleven +o'clock train, but I thought I'd come here for to-night, and take you up +with me in the morning. There's nothing to hurry for." + +Then he got down from the cart and gave the reins to the groom. "I just +want to send a note to the mater so that she won't worry," he said, as +he went into the house. + +He went across the hall into Jim's room, and Jim, who had not spoken, +followed him. "Read that," he said, putting the letter into his hand. + +Jim read it and looked up at him. There was no expression on his face +but one of bewilderment. + +"You think it over," said Dick, a little impatiently, and went to the +writing-table and scribbled a note. + + "Dear Mother,--I thought I would come on here first on the chance + of hearing something, and glad I did so. There is a letter from + Cicely. It is all right. Jim and I are going up to-morrow morning. + Don't worry. + + "Dick." + +Then, without taking any notice of Jim, still standing gazing at the +letter in his hand with the same puzzled expression on his face, he went +out and despatched the groom, closing the hall door after him. + +He went back into the room and shut that door too. "Well!" he said +sharply. "What the devil does it mean?" + +Jim's expression had changed. It was now angry as well as puzzled. "It +was when he went after her on Sunday," he said. "_Damn_ him! I +thought----" + +"Never mind what you thought," said Dick. "When did he see her alone?" + +"I was going to tell you. When we came over yesterday afternoon he saw +her over the wall, and directly we got to the house he bolted off after +her. He said he had promised to show her some sketches." + +"But he didn't find her. He said so at tea-time--when she came out." + +Jim was silent. "Perhaps that was a blind," said Dick. "How long was it +before he came back and said he couldn't find her?" + +"About half an hour, I should think. Not so much." + +"He _must_ have found her. But, good heavens! he can't have persuaded +her to run away with him in half an hour! He had never been alone with +her before." + +"No." + +"And he didn't see her alone afterwards." + +Jim's face suddenly went dark. "He--he--went out after we went up to +bed," he said. + +"What?" + +"He asked me to leave the door unlocked. He said he might not sleep, and +if he didn't he should go out." + +The two men looked at one another. "That's a nice thing to hear of your +sister," said Dick bitterly. + +"It's a nice thing to hear of a man you've treated as a friend," said +Jim. + +"How long have you known the fellow?" + +"Oh, I told you. I met him when I was travelling, and asked him to look +me up. I haven't seen him since until he wrote and said he wanted to +come for a quiet Sunday." + +"Why did he want to come? I'll tell you what it is, Jim. She must have +met him in London, and you were the blind. Yes, that's it. She's been +different since she came back. I've noticed it. We've all noticed it." + +"I don't believe they met before," said Jim slowly. + +"Why not?" + +"I don't believe they did. Dick, do you think they can be married +already? Is there time to stop it?" + +"Yes, there's time. I've thought it out. We'll go up by the seven +o'clock train. Where does the fellow live?" + +Jim thought a moment. "I don't know. He wrote from the Royal Societies +Club." + +"Well, we'll find him. I'm not going to talk about it any more now. I'm +too angry. Cicely! She ought to be whipped. If it _is_ too late, she +shall never come to Kencote again, if I have any say in the matter, and +I don't think my say will be needed. Let's go to bed. We shall have +plenty of time to talk in the train." + +"I'll go and get hold of Grove," said Jim. "He must get a room ready, +and see that we get to the station in the morning," and he went out of +the room. + +Dick walked up and down, and then poured himself out whisky-and-soda +from a table standing ready. He lit a cigarette and threw the match +violently into the fireplace. When Jim returned he said, "I've managed +to keep it pretty dark so far. The governor would have blurted +everything out--everything that he knew. I'm glad I intercepted that +letter to the mater. I haven't any sort of feeling about opening it. +_I'm_ going to see to this. If we can get hold of her before it's too +late, she must go to Muriel for a bit; I must keep it from the governor +as long as I can--until I get back and can tackle him. He'll be so +furious that he'll give it away all round. He wouldn't think about the +scandal." + +"Pray God we shan't be too late," said Jim. "What a fool I've been, +Dick! I took it all for granted. I never thought that she wasn't just as +fond of me as I was of her." + +Dick looked at him. "Well, I suppose that's all over now," he said, "a +girl who behaves like that!" + +Jim turned away, and said nothing, and by and by they went up to bed. + +They drove over to Bathgate the next morning and caught the seven +o'clock train to Ganton, where they picked up the London express. Alone +in a first-class smoking-carriage they laid their plans. "I have an idea +that is worth trying before we do anything else," said Jim. "When we +were travelling together that fellow told me of some rooms in Bloomsbury +he always went to when he could get them." + +"Do you know the address?" + +"Yes," said Jim, and gave it. "He said they were the best rooms in +London, and made me write down the address. I found it last night." + +"Why on earth didn't you say so before?" + +"I had forgotten. I didn't suppose I should ever want to take rooms in +Bloomsbury." + +"It's a chance. We'll go there first. If we draw blank, we will go to +his club, and then to the Geographical Society. We'll find him +somewhere." + +"We can't do anything to him," said Jim. + +"I'm not thinking much of him," Dick confessed. "It would be a comfort +to bruise him a bit--though I dare say he'd be just as likely to bruise +me. He's got an amazing cheek; but, after all, a man plays his own hand. +If she had behaved herself properly he couldn't have done anything." + +He flicked the ash of his cigar on to the carpet and looked carelessly +out of the window, but turned his head sharply at the tone in which Jim +said, "If I could get him alone, and it couldn't do her any harm +afterwards, I'd kill him." And he cursed Mackenzie with a deliberate, +blasphemous oath. + +Dick said nothing, but looked out of the window again with an expression +that was not careless. + +Jim spoke again in the same low voice of suppressed passion. "I told him +about her when I was travelling. I don't know why, but I did. And after +you dined on Friday we spoke about her. He praised her. I didn't say +much, but he knew what I felt. And he had got this in his mind then. He +must have had. He was my friend, staying in my house. He's a liar and a +scoundrel. For all he's done, and the name he's made, he's not fit +company for decent men. Dick, I'd give up everything I possess for the +chance of handling him." + +"I'd back you up," said Dick. "But the chief thing is to get her away +from him." + +"I know that. It's the only thing. We can't do anything. I was thinking +of it nearly all night long. And supposing we don't find him, or don't +find him till too late." + +"We won't think of that," said Dick coolly. "One thing at a time. And +we'll shut his mouth, at any rate. I feel equal to that." + +They were silent for a time, and then Jim said, "Dick, I'd like to say +one thing. She may not care about seeing me. I suppose she can't care +for me much--now--or she wouldn't have let him take her away. But I'm +going to fight for her--see that? I'm going to fight for her, if it's +not too late." + +Dick looked uncomfortable in face of his earnestness. "If you want her," +he began hesitatingly, "after----" + +"Want her!" echoed Jim. "Haven't I always wanted her? I suppose I +haven't shown it. It isn't my way to show much. But I thought it was all +settled and I rested on that. Good God, I've wanted her every day of my +life--ever since we fixed it up together--years ago. I wish I'd taken +her, now, and let the beastly finance right itself. It wouldn't have +made much difference, after all. But I wanted to give her everything she +ought to have. If I've seemed contented to wait, I can tell you I +haven't been. I didn't want to worry her. I--I--thought she understood." + +"She's behaved very badly," said Dick, too polite to show his surprise +at this revelation. Jim had always been rather a queer fellow. "If you +want her still, she ought to be precious thankful. The whole thing +puzzles me. I can't see her doing it." + +"I couldn't, last night," said Jim, more quietly. "I can now. She's got +pluck. I never gave her any chance to show it." + +They were mostly silent after this. Every now and then one of them said +a word or two that showed that their thoughts were busy in what lay +before them. The last thing Jim said before the train drew up at the +same platform at which Cicely had alighted the day before was, "I can't +do anything to him." + +They drove straight to the house in Bloomsbury. Mrs. Fletcher opened the +door to them. "Mr. Mackenzie is expecting us, I think," said Dick +suavely, and made as if to enter. + +Mrs. Fletcher looked at them suspiciously, more because it was her way +than because, in face of Dick's assumption, she had any doubts of their +right of entrance. "He didn't say that he expected anybody," she said. +"I can take your names up to him." + +"Oh, thanks, we won't trouble you," said Dick. "We will go straight up. +First floor, as usual, I suppose?" + +It was a slip, and Mrs. Fletcher planted herself in the middle of the +passage at once. + +"Wait a moment," she said. "What do you mean by 'as usual'? Neither of +you have been in the house before. You won't go up to Mr. Mackenzie +without I know he wants to see you." + +"Now, look here," said Dick, at once. "We are going up to Mr. Mackenzie, +and I expect you know why. If you try to stop us, one of us will stay +here and the other will fetch the policeman. You can make up your mind +at once which it shall be, because we've no time to waste." + +"Nobody has ever talked to me about a policeman before; you'll do it at +your peril," she said angrily, still standing in the passage, but Dick +saw her cast an eye towards the door on her left. + +"I'm quite ready to take the consequences," said Dick, "but whatever +they are it won't do you any good with other people in your house to +have the police summoned at half-past ten in the morning. Now will you +let us pass?" + +She suddenly turned and made way for them. Dick went upstairs and Jim +followed him. The door of the drawing-room was opposite to them. "I'll +do the talking," said Dick, and opened the door and went in. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE CONTEST + + +Mackenzie sprang up and stood facing them. His face had changed in a +flash. It was not at all the face of a man who had been caught and was +ashamed; it was rather glad. Even his ill-made London clothes could not +at that moment disguise his magnificent gift of virility. So he might +have looked--when there was no one to see him--face to face with sudden, +unexpected danger in far different surroundings, dauntless, and eager to +wrest his life out of the instant menace of death. + +Dick had a momentary perception of the quality of the man he had to deal +with, which was instantly obliterated by a wave of contemptuous +dislike--the dislike of a man to whom all expression of feeling, except, +perhaps, anger, was an offence. He had looked death in the face too, but +not with that air. Assumed at a moment like this it was a vulgar +absurdity. He met Mackenzie's look with a cool contempt. + +But the challenge, and the reply to it, had occupied but a moment. +Cicely had looked up and cried, "O Dick!" and had tried to rise from her +chair to come to him, but could not. The tone in which she uttered that +appeal for mercy and protection made Jim Graham wince, but it did not +seem to affect her brother. "Go and get ready to come with us," he said. + +Jim had never taken his eyes off Cicely since he had entered the room, +but she did not look at him. She sat in her chair, trembling a little, +her eyes upon her brother's face, which was now turned toward her with +no expression in it but a cold authority. + +She stood up with difficulty, and Jim took half a step forward. But +Mackenzie broke in, with a gesture towards her. "Come now, Captain +Clinton," he said. "You have found us out; but I am going to marry your +sister. You are not going to take her away, you know." He spoke in a +tone of easy good humour. The air, slightly theatrical, as it had +seemed, with which he had faced their intrusion, had disappeared. + +Dick took no notice of him whatever. "I am going to take you up to +Muriel," he said to Cicely. "There's a cab waiting. Have you anything to +get, or are you ready to come now?" + +She turned to go to her room, but Mackenzie interposed again. "Stay +here, please," he said. "We won't take our orders from Captain Clinton. +Look here, Clinton, I dare say this has been a bit of a shock to you, +and I'm sorry it had to be done in such a hurry. But everything is +straight and honest. I want to marry your sister, and she wants to marry +me. She is of age and you can't stop her. I'm going to make her a good +husband, and she's going to make me the best of wives." + +He still spoke good-humouredly, with the air of a man used to command +who condescends to reason. He knew his power and was accustomed to +exercise it, with a hand behind his back, so to speak, upon just such +young men as these; men who were socially his superiors, and on that +very account to be kept under, and taught that there was no such thing +as social superiority where his work was to be done, but only leader and +led. + +But still Dick took no notice of him. "Come along, Cicely," he said, +with a trifle of impatience. + +Mackenzie shrugged his shoulders angrily. "Very well," he said, "if +you've made up your mind to take that fool's line, take it and welcome. +Only you won't take _her_. She's promised to me. My dear, tell them so." + +He bent his look upon Cicely, the look which had made her soft in his +hands. Dick was looking at her too, standing on the other side of the +table, with cold displeasure. And Jim had never looked away from her. +His face was tender and compassionate, but she did not see it. She +looked at Dick, searching his face for a sign of such tenderness, but +none was there, or she would have gone to him. Her eyes were drawn to +Mackenzie's, and rested there as if fascinated. They were like those of +a frightened animal. + +"Come now," said Mackenzie abruptly. "It is for you to end all this. I +would have spared you if I could--you know that; but if they must have +it from you, let them have it. Tell them that I asked you to come away +and marry me, and that you came of your own accord. Tell them that I +have taken care of you. Tell them that we are to be married this +morning." + +She hesitated painfully, and her eyes went to her brother's face again +in troubled appeal. He made no response to her look, but when the clock +on the mantelpiece had ticked half a dozen audible beats and she had not +spoken, he turned to Mackenzie. + +"I see," he said. "You have----" + +"Oh, let her speak," Mackenzie interrupted roughly, with a flashing +glance at him. "You have had your say." + +"It is quite plain, sir," proceeded Dick in his level voice, "that you +have gained some sort of influence over my sister." + +"Oh, that is plain, is it?" sneered Mackenzie. + +"Excuse me if I don't express myself very cleverly," said Dick. "What I +mean is that somehow you have managed to _bully_ her into running away +with you." + +They looked into one another's eyes for an instant. The swords were +crossed. Mackenzie turned to Cicely. "Did I do that?" he asked quietly. + +"If I might suggest," Dick said, before she could reply, "that you don't +try and get behind my sister, but speak up for yourself----" + +"Did I do that?" asked Mackenzie again. + +"O Dick dear," said Cicely, "I said I would come. It was my own fault." + +"Your own fault--yes," said Dick. "But I am talking to this--this +gentleman, now." + +Mackenzie faced him again. "Oh, we're to have all that wash about +gentlemen, are we? I'm not a gentleman. That's the trouble, is it?" + +"It is part of the trouble," said Dick. "A good big part." + +"Do you know what I do with the _gentlemen_ who come worrying me for +jobs when I go on an expedition, Captain Clinton--the gentlemen who want +to get seconded from your regiment and all the other smart regiments, to +serve under me?" + +"Shall we stick to the point?" asked Dick. "My cab is waiting." + +Mackenzie's face looked murderous for a moment, but he had himself in +hand at once. "The point is," he said, "that I am going to marry your +sister, with her consent." + +"The point is how you got her consent. I am here in place of my +father--and hers. If she marries you she marries you, but she doesn't do +it before I tell her what she is letting herself in for." + +"Then perhaps you will tell her that." + +"I will." Dick looked at Cicely. "I should like to ask you to begin with +when you first met--Mr. Mackenzie," he said. + +"Dear Dick!" cried Cicely, "don't be so cruel. I--I--was discontented at +home, and I----" + +"We met first at Graham's house," said Mackenzie, "when you were there. +I first spoke to her alone on Sunday afternoon, and she promised to come +away and marry me on Sunday night. Now go on." + +"That was when you told Graham that you couldn't sleep, I suppose, in +the middle of the night." + +"I walked over from Mountfield, and she came to me in the garden, as I +had asked her to. We were together about three minutes." + +Dick addressed Cicely again, still with the same cold authority. "You +were discontented at home. You can tell me why afterwards. You meet this +man and hear him bragging of his great deeds, and when he takes you by +surprise and asks you to marry him, you are first of all rather +frightened, and then you think it would be an adventure to go off with +him. Is that it?" + +"It's near enough," said Mackenzie, "except that I don't brag." + +"I've got my own ears," said Dick, still facing Cicely. "Well, I dare +say the sort of people you're used to don't seem much beside a man who +gets himself photographed on picture postcards, but I'll tell you a few +of the things we don't do. We don't go and stay in our friends' houses +and then rob them. You belonged to Jim. You'd promised him, and this man +knew it. We don't go to other men's houses and eat their salt and make +love to their daughters behind their backs. We don't tell mean lies. We +don't ask young girls to sneak out of their homes to meet us in the +middle of the night. We respect the women we want to marry, we don't +compromise them. If this man had been a fit husband for you, he would +have asked for you openly. It's just because he knows he isn't that he +brings all his weight to bear upon you, and you alone. He doesn't dare +to face your father or your brothers." + +Cicely had sunk down into her chair again. Her head was bent, but her +eyes were dry now. Mackenzie had listened to him with his face set and +his lips pressed together. What he thought of the damaging indictment, +whether it showed him his actions in a fresh light, or only heightened +his resentment, nobody could have told. "Have you finished what you have +to say?" he asked. + +"Not quite," replied Dick. "Listen to me, Cicely." + +"Yes, and then listen to me," said Mackenzie. + +"What sort of treatment do you think you're going to get from a man who +has behaved like that? He's ready to give you a hole-and-corner +marriage. He wants you for the moment, and he'll do anything to get you. +He'll get tired of you in a few weeks, and then he'll go off to the +other side of the world and where will _you_ be? How much thought has he +given to _your_ side of the bargain? He's ready to cut you off from your +own people--_he_ doesn't care. He takes you from a house like Kencote +and brings you here. He's lied to Jim, who treated him like a friend, +and he's behaved like a cad to us who let him into our house. He's done +all these things in a few days. How are you going to spend your life +with a fellow like that?" + +Cicely looked up. Her face was firmer, and she spoke to Mackenzie. "We +had begun to talk about all these things," she said. "I asked you a +question which you didn't answer. Did you know when you told me you were +going back to Tibet in a fortnight and there wasn't time to--to ask +father for me, that you weren't going until next year?" + +"No, I didn't," said Mackenzie. + +"When did he tell you that?" asked Dick. + +"On Sunday." + +"I can find that out for you easily enough. I shouldn't take an answer +from him." + +Again, for a fraction of a second, Mackenzie's face was deadly, but he +said quietly to Cicely, "I have answered your question. Go on." + +"You know why I did what you asked me," she said. "I thought you were +offering me a freer life and that I should share in all your travels and +dangers. You told me just before my brother came in that you didn't want +me for that." + +"I told you," said Mackenzie, speaking to her as if no one else had been +in the room, "that you _would_ have a freer life, but that I shouldn't +risk your safety by taking you into dangerous places. I told you that I +would do all that a man could do to protect and honour his chosen wife, +and that's God's truth. I told you that I would make you happy. That I +know I can do, and I will do. Your brother judges me by the fiddling +little rules he and the like of him live by. He calls himself a +gentleman, and says I'm not one. I know I'm not his kind of a gentleman. +I've no wish to be; I'm something bigger. I've got my own honour. _You_ +know how I've treated you. Your own mother couldn't have been more +careful of you. And so I'll treat you to the end of the chapter when you +give me the right to. You can't go back now; it's too late. You see how +this precious brother of yours looks at you, after what you have done. +You'll be sorry if you throw yourself into _his_ hands again. Show some +pluck and send him about his business. You can trust yourself to me. You +won't regret it." + +The shadow of his spell was over her again. She hesitated once more and +Dick's face became hard and angry. "Before you decide," he said, "let me +tell you this, that if you do marry this fellow you will never come to +Kencote again or see any of us as long as you live." + +"You won't see your eldest brother," said Mackenzie. "I'll take care of +that. But you _will_ see those you want to see. I'll see to that too. +It's time to end this. I keep you to your word. You said you were mine, +and you meant it. I don't release you from your promise." + +Cicely's calm broke down. "Oh, I don't know what to do," she cried. "I +did promise." + +"I keep you to your promise," said Mackenzie inexorably. + +Then Jim, who had kept silence all this time, spoke at last. "Cicely," +he said, "have you forgotten that you made _me_ a promise?" + +"O Jim," she said, without looking at him, "don't speak to me. I have +behaved very badly to you." + +"You never wanted to marry him," said Mackenzie roughly. "He's not the +husband for a girl of any spirit." + +Jim made no sign of having heard him. His face was still turned towards +Cicely. "It has been my fault," he said. "I've taken it all for granted. +But I've never thought about anybody else, Cicely." + +Mackenzie wouldn't allow him to make his appeal as he had allowed Dick. +"He has had five years to take you in," he said. "He told me so. And he +hasn't taken you because he might have less money to spend on himself, +till he'd paid off his rates and taxes. He told me that too. He can +afford to keep half a dozen horses and a house full of servants. He +can't afford a wife!" + +He spoke with violent contempt. Dick gazed at him steadily with +contemptuous dislike. "This is the fellow that invited himself to your +house, Jim," he said. + +"Let me speak now, Dick," said Jim, with decision. "He can't touch me, +and I don't care if he does. He's nothing at all. I won't bother you. +Cicely, my dear. I've always loved you and I always shall. But----" + +"No, he won't bother you," interrupted Mackenzie with a sneer. "He's +quite comfortable." + +"But you will know I'm there when you are ready to be friends again. If +I haven't told you before I'll tell you now. I've kept back all I've +felt for you, but I've never changed and I shan't change. This won't +make any difference, except that----" + +"Except that he's lost you and I've won you," Mackenzie broke in. "He's +had his chance and he's missed it. You don't want to be worried with his +drivel." + +Cicely looked up at Mackenzie. "Let him speak," she said, with some +indignation. "I have listened to all you have said." + +Mackenzie's attitude relaxed suddenly. After a searching glance at her +he shrugged his shoulders and turned aside. He took up his grey kid +gloves lying on the table and played with them. + +"I don't blame you for this--not a bit," said Jim, "and I never shall. +Whatever you want I'll try and give you." + +"O Jim, I can't marry you now," said Cicely, her head turned from him. +"But you are very kind." She broke into tears again, more tempestuous +than before. Her strength was nearly at an end. + +"I've told you that I shan't worry you," Jim said. "But you mustn't +marry this man without thinking about it. You must talk to your +mother--she'll be heart-broken if you go away from her like this." + +"Oh, does she want me back?" cried Cicely. + +"Yes, she does. You must go up to Muriel now. She'll want you too. And +you needn't go home till you want to." + +"I shall never be able to go home again," she said. + +Mackenzie threw his gloves on to the table. "Do you want to go home?" he +asked her. His voice had lost that insistent quality. He spoke as if he +was asking her whether she would like to take a walk, in a tone almost +pleasant. + +"I want to go away," she said doggedly. + +"Then you may go," said Mackenzie, still in the same easy voice. "I +wanted you, and if we had been in a country where men behave like men, I +would have had you. But I see I'm up against the whole pudding weight of +British respectability, and I own it's too strong for me. We could have +shifted it together, but you're not the girl to go in with a man. I'll +do without you." + +"You had better come now, Cicely," said Dick. + +Mackenzie gave a great laugh, with a movement of his whole body as if he +were throwing off a weight. + +"Shake hands before you go," he said, as she rose obediently. "You're +making a mistake, you know; but I don't altogether wonder at it. If I'd +had a day longer they should never have taken you away. I nearly got +you, as it was." + +Cicely put her hand into his and looked him squarely in the face. +"Good-bye," she said. "You thought too little of me after all. If you +had really been willing for me to share your life, I think I would have +stayed with you." + +His face changed at that. He fixed her with a look, but she took her +hand out of his and turned away. "I am ready, Dick," she said, and again +he shrugged his broad shoulders. + +"I wish I had it to do over again," he said. "Well, gentlemen, you have +won and I have lost. I don't often lose, but when I do I don't whine +about it. You can make your minds easy. Not a word about this shall pass +my lips." + +Dick turned round suddenly. "Will you swear that?" he asked. + +"Oh, yes, if you like. I mean it." + +Dick and Cicely went out of the room. "Well, Graham, I hope you'll get +her now I've lost her," said Mackenzie. + +Jim took no notice of him, but went out after the other two. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +AFTER THE STORM + + +Cicely had an air at once ashamed and defiant as she stepped up into the +cab. Dick gave the cabman the address. "See you to-night, then," he said +to Jim. It had been arranged between them that when Cicely had been +rescued Jim should fall out, as it were, for a time. "Good-bye, Cicely," +he said. "Give my love to Walter and Muriel," and walked off down the +pavement. + +"You can tell me now," said Dick, when the cab had started, "what went +wrong with you to make you do such a thing as that." + +"I'm not going to tell you anything," said Cicely. "I know I have made a +mistake, and I know you will punish me for it--you and father and the +boys. You can do what you like, but I'm not going to help you." + +Tears of self-pity stood in her eyes, and her face was now very white +and tired, but very childish too. Dick was struck with some compunction. +"I dare say you have had enough for the present," he said, not unkindly. +"But how you could!--a low-bred swine like that!" + +Cicely set her lips obstinately. She knew very well that this weapon +would be used freely in what she had called her punishment. Men like +Dick sifted other men with a narrow mesh. A good many of those whom a +woman might accept and even admire, if left to herself, would not pass +through it. Certainly Mackenzie wouldn't. She would have had to suffer +for running away, but she would suffer far more for running away with "a +bounder." And what made it harder was that, although she didn't know it +yet, in the trying battle that had just been waged over her, the sieve +of her own perceptions had narrowed, and Mackenzie, now, would not have +passed through that. She would presently be effectually punished there, +if Dick and the rest should leave her alone entirely. + +Dick suddenly realised that he was ravenously desirous of a cigarette, +and having lit one and inhaled a few draughts of smoke, felt the +atmosphere lighter. + +"By Jove, that was a tussle," he said. "He's a dangerous fellow, that. +You'll thank me, some day, Cicely, for getting you away from him." + +"You didn't get me away," said Cicely. "You had nothing whatever to do +with it." + +"Eh?" said Dick. + +"If you had been just a little kind I would have come with you the +moment you came into the room. I was longing for some one from home. You +made it the hardest thing in the world for me to come. If I had stayed +with him it would have been your fault. I'll never forgive you for the +way you treated me, Dick. And you may do what you like to me now, and +father may do what he likes. Nothing can be worse than that." + +She poured out her words hurriedly, and only the restraint that comes +with a seat in a hansom cab within full view of the populace of Camden +Town prevented her bursting into hysterical tears. + +Dick would rather have ridden up to the mouth of a cannon than drive +through crowded streets with a woman making a scene, so he said, "Oh, +for God's sake keep quiet now," and kept quiet himself, with something +to think about. + +Presently he said, "No one knows at home yet that you aren't with +Muriel. You've got me to thank for that, at any rate." + +Cicely blushed with her sudden great relief, but went pale again +directly. "I wrote to mother," she said. "She would get the letter early +this morning." + +"I've got the letter in my pocket," said Dick. "She hasn't seen it." + +"You opened my letter to mother!" she exclaimed. + +"Yes, I did, and lucky for you too. It was how we found you." + +She let that pass. It was of no interest to her then to learn by what +chance they had found her. "Then do you really mean that they don't know +at home?" she asked eagerly. + +"They know you have gone to Muriel--you'll be there in half an hour--and +nothing else." + +"O Dick, then you won't tell them," she cried, her hand on his sleeve. +"You can't be so cruel as to tell them." + +She had the crowded streets to thank for Dick's quick answer, "I'm not +going to tell them. Do, for Heaven's sake, keep quiet." + +She leant back against the cushions. She had the giddy feeling of a man +who has slipped on the verge of a great height, and saved himself. + +"You'll have plenty to answer for as it is," said Dick, with a short +laugh. "You've run away, though you've only run away to Muriel. You +won't get let down easily." + +She was not dismayed at that. The other peril, surmounted, was so +crushingly greater. And there had been reasons for her running away, +even if she had not run away to Mackenzie. She stood by them later and +they helped her to forget Mackenzie's share in the flight. But now she +could only lean back and taste the blessed relief that Dick had given +her. + +"Do Walter and Muriel know I am coming?" she asked. + +"I sent them a wire from Ganton this morning to say that I should +probably bring you, and they weren't to answer a wire from home, if one +came, till they had heard from me. You've made me stretch my brains +since last night, Cicely. You'd have been pretty well in the ark if it +hadn't been for me." + +"You didn't help me for my own sake though," said Cicely. + +Both of them spoke as if they were carrying on a conversation about +nothing in particular. Their capacity for disturbing discussion was +exhausted for the time. Cicely felt a faint anticipatory pleasure in +going to Muriel's new house, and Dick said, "This must be Melbury Park. +Funny sort of place to find your relations in!" + +But Adelaide Avenue, to which the cabman had been directed, did not +quite bear out the Squire's impressions, nor even the Rector's, of the +dreary suburb; and lying, as it did, behind the miles of shop-fronts, +mean or vulgarly inviting, which they had traversed, and away from the +business of the great railway which gave the name of Melbury Park, its +sole significance to many besides the Squire, it seemed quiet, and even +inviting. It curved between a double row of well-grown limes. Each +house, or pair of houses, had a little garden in front and a bigger one +behind, and most of the houses were of an earlier date than the modern +red brick suburban villa. They were ugly enough, with their stucco +fronts and the steps leading up to their front doors, but they were +respectable and established, and there were trees behind them, and big, +if dingy, shrubs inside their gates. + +Walter's house stood at a corner where a new road had been cut through. +This was lined on each side with a row of two-storied villas behind low +wooden palings, of which the owner, in describing them, had taken +liberties with the name of Queen Anne. But Walter's house and the one +adjoining it in the Avenue, though built in the same style, or with the +same lack of it, were much bigger, and had divided between them an old +garden of a quarter of an acre, which, although it would have been +nothing much at Kencote, almost attained to the dignity of "grounds" at +Melbury Park. + +There was a red lamp by the front gate, and as they drew up before it, +Muriel came out under a gabled porch draped with Virginia creeper and +hurried to welcome them to her married home. + +She looked blooming, as a bride should, even on this hot August day in +London. She wore a frock of light holland, and it looked somehow +different from the frocks of holland or of white drill which Cicely had +idly observed in some numbers as she had driven through the streets and +roads of the suburb. She had a choking sensation as she saw Muriel's +eager face, and her neat dress, just as she might have worn it at home. + +"Hullo, Dick," said Muriel. "Walter will be in to lunch. O Cicely, it +_is_ jolly to see you again. But where's your luggage? You've come to +stay. Why, you're looking miserable, my dear! What on earth's the +matter? And what did Mr. Clinton's telegram mean, and Dick's? We haven't +wired yet, but we must." + +They had walked up the short garden path, leaving Dick to settle with +the cabman, who had been nerving himself for a tussle, and was surprised +to find it unnecessary. + +"I'm in disgrace, Muriel," said Cicely. "I'll tell you all about it when +we are alone, if Dick doesn't first." + +Muriel threw a penetrating look at her and then turned to Dick, who +said, with a grin, "This is the drive, is it, Muriel?" + +"You are not going to laugh at my house, Dick," said Muriel. "You'll be +quite as comfortable here as anywhere. Come in. This is the hall." + +"No, not really?" said Dick. "By Jove!" + +It was not much of a hall, the style of Queen Anne as adapted to the +requirements of Melbury Park not being accustomed to effloresce in +halls; but a green Morris paper, a blue Morris carpet, and white +enamelled woodwork had brought it into some grudging semblance of +welcoming a visitor. The more cultured ladies of Melbury Park in +discussing it had called it "artistic, but slightly _bizarre_," a phrase +which was intended to combine a guarded appreciation of novelty with a +more solid preference for sanitary wallpaper, figured oilcloth and paint +of what they called "dull art colours." + +"Look at my callers," said Muriel, indicating a china bowl on a narrow +mahogany table that was full to the brim with visiting cards. "I can +assure you I'm the person to know here. No sniffing at a doctor's wife +in Melbury Park, Dick." + +"By Jove!" said Dick. "You're getting into society." + +"My dear Dick, don't I tell you, I _am_ society. Oh, good gracious, I +was forgetting. Walter told me to send a telegram to Kencote the very +moment you came. Mr. Clinton wired at eight o'clock this morning and +it's half-past twelve now." + +Cicely turned away, and Dick became serious again. "Where's the wire?" +he asked. "I'll answer it." + +"Come into Walter's room," said Muriel, "there are forms there." + +"I wonder he hasn't wired again," said Dick, and as he spoke a telegraph +boy came up to the open door. + + "Cannot understand why no reply to telegram. Excessively annoyed. + Wire at once.--Edward Clinton," ran the Squire's second message, + and his first, which Muriel handed to Dick: "Is Cicely with you. + Most annoyed. Wire immediately.--Edward Clinton." + +"I'll soothe him," said Dick, and he wrote, "Cicely here. Wanted change. +Is writing. Walter's reply must have miscarried.--Dick." "Another lie," +he said composedly. + +"I want some clothes sent, please, Dick," said Cicely in a constrained +voice. + +"Better tell 'em to send Miles up," said Dick, considering. + +"No, I don't want Miles," said Cicely, and Dick added, "Please tell +Miles send Cicely clothes for week this afternoon." + +"I suppose you can put her up for a week, Muriel," he said. + +"I'll put her up for a month, if she'll stay," said Muriel, putting her +arm into Cicely's, and the amended telegram was despatched. + +"Now come and see my drawing-room," said Muriel, "and then you can look +after yourself, Dick, till Walter comes home, and I will take Cicely to +her room." + +The drawing-room opened on to a garden, wonderfully green and shady +considering where it was. The white walls and the chintz-covered chairs +and sofa had again struck the cultured ladies of Melbury Park as +"artistic but slightly _bizarre_," but the air of richness imparted by +the numberless hymeneal offerings of Walter's and Muriel's friends and +relations had given them a pleasant subject for conversation. Their +opinion was that it was a mistake to have such valuable things lying +about, but if "the doctor" collected them and took them up to put under +his bed every night it would not so much matter. + +"They all tell me that Dr. Pringle used this room as a dining-room," +said Muriel. "It is the first thing they say, and it breaks the ice. We +get on wonderfully well after that; but it is a pretty room, isn't it, +Dick?" + +She had her arm in Cicely's, and pressed it sometimes as she talked, but +she did not talk to her. + +"It's an uncommonly pretty room," said Dick. "Might be in Grosvenor +Square. Where did you and Walter get your ideas of furnishing from, +Muriel? We don't run to this sort of thing at Kencote and Mountfield. +Content with what our forefathers have taught us, eh?" + +"Oh, we know what's what, all right," said Muriel. "We have seen a few +pretty rooms, between us. Now I'm going to take Cicely upstairs. You can +wander about if you like, Dick, and there are cigarettes and things in +Walter's room." + +"I'll explore the gay parterre," said Dick. Then he turned to Cicely and +took hold of her chin between his thumb and finger. "Look here, don't +you worry any more, old lady," he said kindly. "You've been a little +fool, and you've had a knock. Tell Muriel about it and I'll tell Walter. +Nobody else need know." + +She clung to him, crying. "O Dick," she said, "if you had only spoken to +me like that at first!" + +"Well, if I had," said Dick, "I should have been in a devil of a temper +now. As it is I've worked it off. There, run along. You've nothing to +cry for now." He kissed her, which was an unusual attention on his part, +and went through the door into the garden. Muriel and Cicely went +upstairs together. + +Dick soon exhausted the possibilities of the garden and went into the +house again and into Walter's room. It had red walls and a Turkey +carpet. There was a big American desk, a sofa and easy-chairs and three +Chippendale chairs, all confined in rather a small space. There was a +low bookcase along one wall, and above it framed school and college +photographs; on the other walls were prints from pictures at Kencote. +They were the only things in the room, except the ornaments on the +mantelpiece, and a table with a heavy silver cigarette box, and other +smoking apparatus, that lightened its workmanlike air. But Dick was not +apt to be affected by the air of a room. He sat down in the easy-chair +and stretched his long legs in front of him, and thought over the +occurrences of the morning. + +He was rather surprised to find himself in so equable a frame of mind. +His anger against Cicely had gradually worked up since the previous +evening until, when he had seen her in the room with Mackenzie, he could +have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her, with clenched teeth. She +had done a disgraceful thing; she, a girl, had taken the sacred name of +Clinton in her hands and thrown it to the mob to worry. That he had +skilfully caught and saved it before it had reached them did not make +her crime any the less. + +But he could not now regain--he tested his capacity to regain, out of +curiosity--his feeling of outraged anger against her. Curious that, in +the train, he had felt no very great annoyance against Mackenzie. He +asked himself if he hadn't gone rather near to admiring the decisive +stroke he had played, which few men would have attempted on such an +almost complete lack of opportunity. But face to face with him his +dislike and resentment had flared up. His anger now came readily enough +when he thought of Mackenzie, and he found himself wishing ardently for +another chance of showing it effectively. It was this, no doubt, that +had softened him towards his little sister, whom he loved in his +patronising way. The fellow had got hold of her. She was a little fool, +but it was the man who was to blame. And his own resource had averted +the danger of scandal, which he dreaded like any woman. He could not but +be rather pleased with himself for the way in which he had carried +through his job, and Cicely gained the advantage of his +self-commendation. There was one thing, though--his father must never +know. The fat would be in the fire then with a vengeance. + +Turning over these things in his mind, Dick dropped off into a light +doze, from which he was awakened by the entrance of Walter. Walter wore +a tall hat and a morning coat. It was August and it was very hot, and in +Bond Street he would have worn a flannel suit and a straw hat. But if he +did that here his patients would think that _he_ thought anything good +enough for them. There were penalties attached to the publication of +that list of wedding presents in the _Melbury Park Chronicle and North +London Intelligencer_, and he had been warned of these and sundry other +matters. He was not free of the tiresome side-issues of his profession +even in Melbury Park. "Hullo, Dick, old chap!" he said as he came in +with cheerful alacrity. "Is Cicely here, and what has happened?" + +"Hullo, Walter!" said Dick. "Yes, Cicely is here and I have wired to the +governor. She has led us a nice dance, that young woman. But it's all +over now." + +"What has she done? Run away with some fellow?" + +"That's just what she did do. If I hadn't been pretty quick off the post +she'd have been married to him by this time." + +Walter sat down in the chair at his writing-table. His face had grown +rather serious. He looked as if he were prepared to receive the +confidences of a patient. + +"Who did she go off with?" he asked. + +Dick took a cigarette from the silver box, and lit it. "Mr. Ronald +Mackenzie," he said, as he threw the match into the fireplace. + +"Ronald Mackenzie! Where did she pick _him_ up?" + +"He picked her up. He was staying at Mountfield." + +"I know, but he must have seen her before. He can't have persuaded her +in five minutes." + +"Just what I thought. But he did; damn him!" Then he told Walter +everything that had happened, in his easy, leisurely way. "And the great +thing now is to keep it from the governor," he ended up. + +"Really, it's pretty strong," said Walter, after a short pause. "Fancy +Cicely! I can't see her doing a thing like that." + +"I could have boxed her ears with pleasure when I first heard of it," +said Dick. "But somehow I don't feel so annoyed with her now. Poor +little beggar! I suppose it's getting her away from that brute. He'd +frightened her silly. He nearly got her, even when we were there +fighting him." + +"But what about poor old Jim?" asked Walter. "It's too bad of her, you +know, Dick. She was engaged to Jim." + +"Well, it was a sort of engagement. But I don't blame her much there. If +Jim had gone off and married some other girl I don't know that any of us +would have been very surprised." + +"I should." + +"Well, you know him better than I do, of course. I must say, when he +told me in the train coming up that he was as much struck on Cicely as +ever, it surprised me. He's a funny fellow." + +"He's one of the best," said Walter. "But he keeps his feelings to +himself. He has always talked to me about Cicely, but I know he hasn't +talked to anybody else, because Muriel was just as surprised as you were +when I told her how the land lay." + +"He told Mackenzie--that's the odd thing," said Dick. + +"Did he?" + +"Yes. It makes the beast's action all the worse." + +"Well, I don't understand that. Perhaps he had a suspicion and gave him +a warning." + +"I don't think so. He let him go off after her on Sunday afternoon, and +didn't think anything of it. However, he's had a shaking up. He won't +let her go now." + +"Does he want to marry her still?" + +"O Lord, yes, more than ever. That's something to be thankful for. It +will keep the governor quiet if we can hurry it on a bit." + +"But he's not to know." + +"He knows she ran away here, without bringing any clothes. That's got to +be explained. It's enough for the governor, isn't it?" + +"I should think so. Enough to go on with. Didn't Jim want to throttle +that fellow?" + +"He did before we got there, but he knew he couldn't do anything. It +would only have come back on Cicely. He behaved jolly well, Jim did. He +didn't take the smallest notice of Mackenzie from first to last, but he +talked to Cicely like a father. _She_ says--_I_ don't say it, mind +you--that it was Jim who got her away from him; she wouldn't have come +for me." Dick laughed. "I dare say we both had something to do with it," +he said. "I got in a few home truths. I think Mr. Ronald Mackenzie will +be rather sorry he came poaching on our land when he turns it over in +his mind." + +"Well," said Walter, rising, as the luncheon bell rang, "it's a funny +business altogether. You must tell me more later. Like a wash, Dick? Is +Cicely going to stay here for a bit?" + +"Oh, yes," replied Dick, as they went out of the room. "Muriel says +she'll keep her. We've wired for clothes." He lowered his voice as they +went upstairs. "You must go easy with her a bit, you and Muriel," he +said. "She's been touched on the raw. You'll find her in rather an +excited state." + +"Oh, I shan't worry her," said Walter. "But I think she's behaved badly +to Jim all the same." + +But Walter's manner towards his erring sister, when they met in the +dining-room, showed no sign of his feelings, if they were resentful on +behalf of his friend. She was there with Muriel when he and Dick came +down. She was pale, and it was plain that she had been crying, but the +parlour-maid was standing by the sideboard, and the two girls were +talking by the window as if they had not just come from a long talk +which had disturbed them both profoundly. + +"Well, Cicely," said Walter. "Come to see us at last! You don't look +very fit, but you've come to the right man to cure you." Cicely kissed +him gratefully, and they sat down at the table. + +The dining-room was Sheraton--good Sheraton. On the walls were a plain +blue paper and some more prints. The silver and glass on the fresh cloth +and on the sideboard were as bright as possible, for Muriel's +parlour-maid was a treasure. She earned high wages, or she would not +have demeaned herself by going into service at Melbury Park, where, +however, she had a young man. The cook was also a treasure, and the +luncheon she served up would not have disgraced Kencote, where what is +called "a good table" was kept. It was all great fun--to Muriel, and +would have been to Cicely too at any other time. The little house was +beautifully appointed, and "run" more in the style of a little house in +Mayfair than in Melbury Park. Muriel, at any rate, was completely happy +in her surroundings. + +They drank their coffee in the veranda outside the drawing-room window. +They could hear the trains and the trams in the distance, and it seemed +to be a favourite pursuit of the youths of Melbury Park to rattle sticks +along the oak fencing of the garden, but otherwise they were shut in in +a little oasis of green and could not be seen or overheard by anybody. +There were certain things to be said, but no one seemed now to wish to +refer to Cicely's escapade, the sharp effect of which had been over-laid +by the ordinary intercourse of the luncheon table. + +It was Cicely herself who broke the ice. She asked Dick nervously when +he was going back to Kencote. + +"Oh, to-morrow, I think," said Dick. "Nothing to stay up here for." + +Muriel said, "Cicely would like Mrs. Clinton to come up. She doesn't +want to ask her in her letter. Will you ask her, Dick?" + +Dick hesitated. "Do you want to tell mother--about it?" he asked of +Cicely. + +"Yes," she said. + +"Well, I think you had much better not. It'll only worry her, and she +need never know." + +"I am going to tell her," said Cicely doggedly. + +"I wouldn't mind your telling her, if you want to," said Dick, after a +pause, "but it's dangerous. If the governor suspected anything and got +it out of her----" + +"Oh, she wouldn't tell Mr. Clinton," said Muriel. "I think Cicely is +quite right to tell her. Don't you, Walter?" + +"I suppose so," said Walter. "But I think it's a risk. I quite agree +with Dick. It _must_ be kept from the governor. It's for your own sake, +you know, Cicely." + +"None of you boys know mother in the least," said Cicely, in some +excitement. "She's a woman, and so you think she doesn't count at all. +She counts a great deal to me, and I want her." + +"All right, my dear," said Walter kindly. "We only want to do what's +best for you. Don't upset yourself. And you're all right with Muriel and +me, you know." + +"You're both awfully kind," said Cicely, more calmly, "and so is Dick +now. But I do want mother to come, and I _know_ she wouldn't tell +father." + +"I know it too," said Muriel. "I will write to her to-night and ask her; +only we thought Mr. Clinton might make some objection, and you could get +over that, Dick." + +"Oh, I'll get over that all right," said Dick. "Very well, she shall +come. Do you want me to tell her anything, Cicely, or leave it all to +you?" + +"You can tell her what I did," said Cicely in a low voice. + +"All right. I'll break it gently. Now are we all going to Lord's, or are +you two going to stay at home?" + +"Cicely is going to lie down," said Muriel, "and I think I will stay at +home and look after her." She threw rather a longing look at Walter. He +didn't often allow himself a half holiday, and she liked to spend them +with him. + +"Don't stay for me, Muriel," Cicely besought her. "I shall be perfectly +all right, and I'd really rather be alone." + +"No," said Muriel, after another look at Walter. "I'm going to stay at +home." And she wouldn't be moved. + +Walter telephoned for his new motor-car and changed his clothes. "Do you +know why Muriel wouldn't come with us?" he asked, when he and Dick were +on their way. "It was because she thought you and I would rather sit in +the pavilion." + +"So we would," said Dick, with a laugh. "But she's a trump, that girl." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE WHOLE HOUSE UPSET + + +The twins arose betimes on the morning after Cicely's flight, +determined, as was their custom, to enjoy whatever excitement, legal, or +within limits illegal, was to be wrested from a long new summer day, but +quite unaware that the whole house around them was humming with +excitement already. + +For upon Dick's departure the night before the Squire had thrown caution +to the winds, and be-stirred himself, as he said, to get to the bottom +of things. Not content with Mrs. Clinton's report of Miles's statement, +which was simply that she knew nothing, he had "had Miles up" and +cross-examined her himself. He had then had Probin up, the head +coachman, who would have known if Cicely had been driven to the station, +which it was fairly obvious she had not been. He also had Porter the +butler up, more because Porter was always had up if anything went wrong +in the house than because he could be expected to throw any light on +what had happened. And when the groom came back from Mountfield with +Dick's note to Mrs. Clinton, late as it was, he had _him_ up, and sent +him down again to spread his news and his suspicions busily, although he +had been threatened with instant dismissal if he said a word to anybody. + +Having thus satisfied himself of what he knew already, that Cicely had +walked to the station and had taken no luggage with her, and having +opened up the necessary channels of information, so that outdoor and +indoor servants alike now knew that Cicely had run away and that her +father was prepared, as the phrase went, to raise Cain about it, the +Squire went up to bed, and breaking his usual healthy custom of going to +sleep immediately he laid his head on his pillow, rated Mrs. Clinton +soundly for not noticing what was going on under her very nose. "I can't +look after everything in the house and out of it too," he ended up. "I +shall be expected to see that the twins change their stockings when they +get their feet wet, next. Good-night, Nina. God bless you." + +So, to return to the twins; when the schoolroom maid came to awaken them +in the morning and found them, as was usual, nearly dressed, they +learned, for the first time, what had been happening while they had +slept, all unconscious. + +"Why can't you call us in proper time, Hannah?" said Joan, as she came +in. "We told you we wanted our hot water at half-past three, and it has +just struck seven. You'll have to go if you can't get up in time." + +Hannah deposited a tray containing two large cups of tea and some +generous slices of bread and butter on a table and said importantly, +"It's no time to joke now, Miss Joan. There's Miss Clinton missing, and +most of us kep' awake half the night wondering what's come of her." + +Hannah had not before succeeded in making an impression upon her young +mistresses, but she succeeded now. Joan and Nancy stared at her with +open eyes, and gave her time to heighten her effects as they redounded +to her own importance. + +"But I can't stop talking now, miss," she said. "I'll just get your 'ot +water and then I must go and 'elp. Here I stop wasting me time, and +don't know that something hadn't 'appened and I may be wanted." + +"You're wanted here," said Joan. "What do you mean--Miss Clinton +missing? Has she gone away?" + +"I'll just tell you what I know, Miss Joan," said Hannah, "and then I +must go downstairs and 'elp. I was going along the passage by the room +last night, jest when they was ready to take in dinner, and Mr. Porter +came along and says to me, 'What are _you_ doing here?' Well, of course, +I was struck all of a 'eap, because----" + +"Oh, don't let's waste time with her," interrupted Nancy, "let's go and +ask Miss Bird what it's all about." + +"Wait a minute, Miss Nancy," cried Hannah. "I was telling you----" + +But the twins were at the door. "Lock her in," said Joan. "We shall want +her when we come back." And they locked her in, to the great damage of +her dignity, and went along the passage to the room which had sheltered +Miss Bird's virgin slumbers for nearly thirty years. They were at first +refused admission, but upon Joan's saying in a clear voice outside the +door, "We want to know about Cicely. If you won't tell us we must go and +ask the servants," Miss Bird unlocked the door, and was discovered in a +dressing-gown of pink flannel with her hair in curl papers. The twins +were too eager for news to remark upon these phenomena, and allowed Miss +Bird to get back into bed while they sat at the foot of it to hear her +story. + +"Well, you must know some time," said Miss Bird, "and to say that you +will ask the servants is _not_ the way to behave as you know very well +and I am the proper person to come to." + +"Well, we have come to you," said Joan, "only you wouldn't let us in. +Now tell us. Has Cicely run away?" + +"Really, Joan, that is a most foolish question," said Miss Bird, "to +call it running away to visit Walter and Muriel her _own_ brother and +sister too as you might say and that is all and I suppose it is that +Hannah who has been putting ideas into your head for I came in to see +you last night and you knew nothing but were both in a _sweet_ sleep and +I often think that if you could see yourselves then you would be more +careful how you behave and especially Nancy for it is innocence and +goodness itself and a pity that it can't be so sleeping _and_ waking." + +"I've seen Joan asleep and she looked like a stuck pig," said Nancy. +"But what _has_ happened, starling darling? Do tell us. Has Cicely just +gone up to stay with Muriel? Is that all?" + +"It is very inconsiderate of Cicely," said Miss Bird, "nobody could +_possibly_ have objected to her going to stay with Muriel and Miles +would have packed her clothes and gone up to London with her to look +after her and to go by herself without a _word_ and not take a _stitch_ +to put on her back and Mr. Clinton in the greatest anxiety and very +naturally annoyed for with all the horses in the stable to walk to +Bathgate in this heat for from Kencote she did _not_ go one of the men +was sent there to inquire I wonder at her doing such a thing." + +"Keep the facts in your head as they come, Joan," said Nancy. "She +didn't tell anybody she was going. She didn't take any clothes. She +walked to Bathgate, I suppose, to put them off the scent." + +"But whatever did she do it for?" asked Joan. "Something must have upset +her. It is running away, you know. I wish she had told us about it." + +"We'd have gone with her," said Nancy. "She must have done it for a +lark." + +"Oh, don't be a fool," said Joan. This was one of the twins' formulae. It +meant, "There _are_ serious things in life," and was more often used by +Joan than by Nancy. + +"Joan how often am I to tell you not to use that expression?" said Miss +Bird, "I may speak to the winds of Heaven for all the effect it has +don't you know that it says he that calleth his brother thou fool shall +be in danger of hell fire?" + +"Nancy isn't my brother, and I'll take the risk," said Joan. "Didn't +Cicely tell mother that she was going?" + +"No she did not and for that I blame her," said Miss Bird. "Mrs. Clinton +came to me in the schoolroom as I was finishing my dinner and although +her calmness is a lesson to all of us she was upset as I could see and +did my _very_ best to persuade her not to worry." + +"It's too bad of Cicely," said Joan. "What are they going to do now?" + +"Your brother Dick went up to London by the late train and a telegram +was to be sent the _first_ thing this morning to relieve all anxiety +though with Muriel no harm can come to Cicely if she got there safely +which I hope and trust may be the case although to go about London by +herself is a thing that she knows she would not be allowed to do, but +there I'm saying a great deal too much to you Joan 'n Nancy you must not +run away with ideas in your head Cicely no doubt has a _very_ good +reason for what she has done and she is _years_ older than both of you +and you must not ask troublesome questions when you go downstairs the +only way you can help is by holding your tongues and being good girls." + +"Oh, of course, that's the moral of it," said Nancy. "If the roof were +to fall in all we should have to do would be to be good girls and it +would get stuck on again. Joan, I'm hungry; I must go and finish my +bread and butter." + +"Thank you, starling darling, for telling us," said Joan, rising from +her seat on the bed. "It seems very odd, but I dare say we shall get to +the bottom of it somehow. Of course we shan't be able to do any lessons +to-day." + +"Oh, indeed Joan the very _best_ thing we can do to show we----" began +Miss Bird, but the twins were already out of the room. + +They had to wait some little time before they could satisfy their +curiosity any further, because, in spite of their threat to Miss Bird, +and the excellent relations upon which they stood with all the servants +in the house, they were not in the habit of discussing family affairs +with them, and this was a family affair of somewhat portentous bearings. +They kept Hannah busy about their persons and refused to let her open +her mouth until they were quite dressed, and when they had let +themselves loose on the house for the day paid a visit to Cicely's room. + +Its emptiness and the untouched bed sobered them a little. "What _did_ +she do it for?" exclaimed Joan, as they stood before the dressing-table +upon which all the pretty silver toilette articles lying just as usual +seemed to give the last unaccountable touch of reality to the sudden +flight. "Nancy, do you think it could have been because she didn't want +to marry Jim?" + +"Or because Jim didn't want to marry her," suggested Nancy. + +But neither suggestion carried conviction. They looked about them and +had nothing to say. Their sister, who in some ways was so near to them, +had in this receded immeasurably from their standpoint. They were face +to face with one of those mysterious happenings amongst grown ups of +which the springs were outside the world as they knew it. And Cicely was +grown up, and she and they, although there was so much that they had in +common, were different, not only in the amount but in the quality of +their experience of life. + +They always went in to their mother at eight o'clock, but were not +allowed to go before. They did not want to go out of doors while so much +was happening within, nor to stay in their schoolroom, which was the +last place to which news would be brought; so they perambulated the hall +and the downstairs rooms and got in the way of the maids who were busy +with them. And at a quarter to eight were surprised by their father's +entrance into the library, where they happened to be sitting for the +moment. + +Their surprise was no greater than his, nor was it so effectively +expressed. He saw at once, and said so, that they were up to some +mischief, and he would not have it, did they understand that? + +"We were only sitting talking, father," said Joan. "There was nowhere +else to go." + +"I won't have this room used as a common sitting-room," said the Squire. +"Now go, and don't let me catch you in here again." + +The twins went out into the big hall. "Why couldn't you cry a little at +being spoke to like that?" said Nancy. "He would have told us +everything." + +"That's worn out," replied Joan. "The last time I did it he only said, +'For God's sake don't begin to snivel.' Besides I was rather +frightened." + +Just then the Squire opened his door suddenly. The twins both jumped. +But he only said, "Oh, you're there. Come in here, and shut the door." + +They went in. "Now look here," said the Squire, "you are old enough now +to look at things in a sensible light. I suppose you have heard that +your sister has taken it upon herself to take herself off without a with +your leave or by your leave and has turned the whole house +topsy-turvy--eh?" + +"Yes, father," said the twins dutifully. + +"Who told you--eh?" + +"Miss Bird, father." + +"I wish Miss Bird would mind her own business," said the Squire. "What +did she tell you for?" + +"Because she wanted us to be good girls, and not worry you with +questions," replied Nancy. + +"Oh! Well, that's all right," said the Squire, mollified. + +"Now what I want to know is--did Cicely say anything to either of you +about going away like this?" + +"Oh no, father," replied the twins, with one voice. + +"Well, I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. No daughter of mine +shall behave in that way in this house. Here's everything a girl can +want to make her happy--it's the ingratitude of it that I can't put up +with, and so Miss Cicely shall find when she condescends to come home, +as she shall do if I have to go to fetch her myself." + +Neither of the twins saw her way to interpose a remark. They stood in +front of their father as they stood in front of Miss Bird in the +schoolroom when they "did repetition." + +"Do either of you know if Cicely wasn't contented or anything of that +sort?" inquired the Squire. + +"She has been rather off her oats since Muriel was married," said Joan. + +"Eh! What's that!" exclaimed the Squire, bending his heavy brows on her +with a terrific frown. "Do you think this is a time to play the +fool--with me? Off her oats! How dare you speak like that? We shall have +you running away next." + +Joan's face began to pucker up. "I didn't mean anything, father," she +said in a tremulous voice. "I heard you say it the other day." + +"There, there, child, don't cry," said the Squire. "What I may say and +what you may say are two very different things. Off her oats, eh? Well, +she'd better get _on_ her oats again as quick as possible. Now, I won't +have you children talking about this, do you understand?--or Miss Bird +either. It's a most disagreeable thing to have happened, and if it gets +out I shall be very much annoyed. I don't want the servants to know, and +I trust you two not to go about wagging your tongues, do you hear?" + +"O father, we shouldn't think of saying anything about it to anybody," +exclaimed Nancy. + +"Eh? What? There's nothing to make a mystery about, you know. Cicely has +gone up to London to visit Walter and Muriel. No reason why anybody +should know more than that. There _isn't_ any more to know, except what +concerns me--and I won't have it. Now don't interrupt me any more. Go +off and behave yourselves and don't get in the way. You've got the whole +house to yourselves and I don't want you here. Ring the bell, Joan, I +want Porter to send a telegram." + +The twins departed. They could now go up to their mother. "Don't want +the servants to know!" said Nancy as they went upstairs. "Is it the +camel or the dromedary that sticks its head in the sand?" + +"The ostrich," said Joan. "It seems to me there's a great deal of fuss +about nothing. Cicely wanted to see her dear Muriel, so she went and +_saw_ her. I call it a touching instance of friendship." + +"And fidelity," added Nancy. + +Their view of the matter was not contradicted by anything that Mrs. +Clinton did or said when they went in to her. She was already dressed +and moving about the room, putting things to rights. It was a very big +room, so big that even with the bed not yet made nor the washstand set +in order, it did not look like a room that had just been slept in. It +was over the dining-room and had three windows, before one of which was +a table with books and writing materials on it. There were big, +old-fashioned, cane-seated and backed easy-chairs, with hard cushions +covered with chintz, other tables, a chintz-covered couch, a bookcase +with diamond-paned glass doors. On the broad marble mantelpiece were an +Empire clock and some old china, and over it a long gilt mirror with a +moulded device of lions drawing chariots and cupids flying above them. +On the walls, hung with a faded paper of roses, were water-colour +drawings, crayon portraits, some fine line engravings of well-known +pictures, a few photographs in Oxford frames. The bedroom furniture +proper was of heavy mahogany, a four-post bed hung with white dimity, a +wardrobe as big as a closet. Nothing was modern except the articles on +the dressing-table, nothing was very old. + +Never later than eight o'clock the Squire would rise and go into his +dressing-room, and when Mrs. Clinton had dressed and in her orderly +fashion tidied her room she would sit at her table and read until it was +time to go down to breakfast. Whenever he got up earlier she got up +earlier too, and had longer to spend by the window open to the summer +morning, or in the winter with her books on the table lit by candles. +They were for the most part devotional books. But once the Squire had +come in to her very early one October morning when he was going +cub-hunting and found her reading _The Divine Comedy_ with a translation +and an Italian dictionary and grammar. He had talked of it downstairs as +a good joke: "Mother reading Dante--what?" and she had put away those +books. + +She was a little paler than usual this morning, but the twins noticed no +difference in her manner. She kissed them and said, "You have heard that +Cicely went to London yesterday to stay with Muriel. Father is anxious +about her, and I am rather anxious too, but there is nothing really to +worry about. We must all behave as usual, and two of us at least mustn't +give any cause of complaint to-day." + +She said this with a smile. It was nothing but a repetition of Miss +Bird's exhortation to hold their tongues and be good girls, but they +embraced her, and made fervent promises of good behaviour, which they +fully intended to keep. Then they read something for a few minutes with +their mother and left her to her own reading and her own thoughts. + +The morning post brought no letter from Cicely, and again the Squire +remained standing while he read prayers. Immediately after breakfast he +went down to the Rectory, ostensibly to warn Tom and Grace not to talk, +actually to have an opportunity of talking himself to a fresh relay of +listeners. He expressed his surprise in the same terms as he had already +used, and said repeatedly that he wouldn't have it. Then, as it was +plain that, whether he would or no, he already had had it, he rather +weakly asked the Rector what he would do if he were in his place. + +"Well, Edward," said the Rector thoughtfully, "of course it is very +tiresome and all that, and Cicely ought not to have gone off in that way +without any warning. Still, we don't know what is going on in girls' +minds, do we? Cicely is a sensible girl enough, and I think when she +comes back if you were to leave it to Nina to find out what there was to +make her go off suddenly like that--well, how would that be, eh?" + +"I can't understand it," said the Squire for the twentieth time. "Nina +knows no more about it all than I do. I can't help blaming her for that, +because----" + +"O Edward," said Mrs. Beach, "whoever is to blame, it is not Nina. +Cicely is devoted to her, and so are the dear twins, for all their +general harum-scarumness." + +"Well, I was going to say," said the Squire, who had been going to say +something quite different, "that Nina is very much upset about this. She +takes everything calmly enough, as you know, but she's a good mother to +her children--I will say that for her--and it's enough to upset any +woman when her daughter behaves to her in this monstrous fashion." + +"How do you think it would be," asked the Rector, "if Nina were to go up +to London and have a talk with Cicely there?" + +The Squire hummed and ha'd. "I don't see the sense of making more fuss +about it than has been made already," he said. "I told Nina this +morning, 'If you go posting off to London,' I said, 'everybody will +think that something dreadful has happened. Much better stop where you +are.'" + +"If she wants to go," said Mrs. Beach, "I think it would be the very +best thing. She would bring Cicely to a right frame of mind--nobody +could do it better; and you would be at home, Edward, to see that +nothing was done here to complicate matters. I think that would be very +important, and nobody could do that but you." + +"So you think it would be a good idea if I let Nina go up to her?" said +the Squire. + +The Rector and Mrs. Beach both thought it would be a very good idea. + +"Well," said the Squire, "I thought perhaps it would, but I hadn't quite +made up my mind about it. I thought we'd better wait, at any rate, till +we got an answer to my wire to Walter. And that reminds me--I'd better +be getting back. Well, good-bye, Tom, good-bye, my dear Grace. Of course +I needn't ask either of _you_ not to let this go any further." + +The non-arrival of an answer to his message had a cumulative effect upon +the Squire's temper during the morning. At half-past eleven o'clock he +gained some temporary relief to his discomfort by despatching another +one, and did not entirely recover his balance until Dick's telegram +arrived about luncheon time. Then he calmed down suddenly, joked with +the twins over the table and told Miss Bird that she was getting younger +every day. He also gave Mrs. Clinton her marching orders. "I think you +had better go up, Nina," he said, "and see what the young monkey has +been after. I'm excessively annoyed with her, and you can tell her so; +but if she really _is_ with Walter and Muriel I don't suppose any harm +has come to her. I must say it's a relief. Still, I'm very angry about +it, and so she'll find out when she comes home." + +So another telegram was despatched, and Mrs. Clinton went up to London +by the afternoon train accompanied by the discreet and faithful Miles. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +MRS. CLINTON + + +That night Cicely and her mother sat late together in Mrs. Clinton's +bedroom. Mrs. Clinton was in a low easy-chair and Cicely on a stool at +her feet. Outside was the continuous and restless echo of London pushing +up to the very feet of its encircling hills, but they were as far +removed from it in spirit as if they had been at home in still and +spacious Kencote. + +Mrs. Clinton had arrived at Muriel's house in time for dinner. Walter +had come home from Lord's soon enough to meet her at the station and +bring her out in his motor-car. He had made Miles sit in front with his +servant and he had told his mother what Dick would have told her if she +had waited to come to Cicely until after he had returned to Kencote. She +had listened to him in silence as he unfolded his story, making no +comment even when he told her of Dick's opening her daughter's letter to +her; but when he told her that Cicely had asked that she should be sent +for she had clasped her hands and said, "Oh, I am so glad." + +Muriel had met her at the door, but Cicely had stayed in the +drawing-room, pale and downcast. She had gone in to her alone and kissed +her and said, "I am glad you wanted your mother, my darling. You shall +tell me everything to-night when we go upstairs, and we won't think +about it any more until then." + +So the evening had passed almost pleasantly. At times even Cicely must +have forgotten what lay behind and before her, for she had laughed and +talked with a sort of feverish gaiety; only after such outbursts she had +grown suddenly silent and trembled on the verge of tears. Walter had +watched her and sent her upstairs before ten o'clock, and her mother had +gone up with her and helped her to undress as if she had been a child +again. Then she had put on her dressing-gown and gone to Mrs. Clinton's +room, and resting her head on her mother's knee had told her everything +with frequent tears and many exclamations at her own madness and folly. + +It was more difficult to tell even than she had thought. When all was +said about her discontent and the suddenness with which she had been +urged towards a way of escape from surroundings that now seemed +inexpressibly dear to her, there remained that inexcusable fault of +leaving her mother without a word, for a man whom she couldn't even +plead that she loved. With her mother's hand caressing her hair it +seemed to her incredible that she could have done such a thing. She +begged her forgiveness again and again, but each time that she received +loving words in answer she felt that it must be impossible that they +could ever be to one another again what they had been. + +At last Mrs. Clinton said, "You must not think too much of that, my +darling. You were carried away; you hardly knew what you were doing. It +is all wiped out in my mind by your wanting me directly you came to +yourself. We won't talk of it any more. But what we ought to talk of, +Cicely dear, and try to see our way through, is the state of mind you +had got into, which made what happened to you possible, and gave this +man his opportunity. I think that six months ago, although he might have +tried to behave in the same way, you would only have been frightened; +you would have come straight to me and told me." + +"Oh yes, I should, mother," she cried. + +"Then what was it that has come between us? You have told me that you +were discontented at home, but couldn't you have told me that before?" + +Cicely was silent. Why hadn't she told her mother, to whom she had been +used to tell everything, of her discontent? A sudden blush ran down from +her cheeks to her neck. It was because she had judged her mother, as +well as her father and brothers, her mother who had accepted the life +that she had kicked against and had bent a meek head to the whims of her +master. She couldn't tell her that. + +"The thing that decided me," she began hesitatingly, "when I was sitting +in my room that night not knowing what I was going to do, I heard father +and Dick talking as they came up, and they had decided to turn Aunt +Ellen and Aunt Laura out of the house they had lived in nearly all their +lives and let it to those MacLeod people. It seemed to me so--so selfish +and--and horrible." + +"You cannot have heard properly," said Mrs. Clinton. "It was what they +had decided not to do. Father woke me up to tell me so. But even if----I +don't understand, Cicely dear." + +"O mother, can't you see?" cried Cicely. "If I was wrong about that, and +I'm very glad I was, it is just what they _might_ have done. They had +talked it all over again and again, and they couldn't make up their +minds--and before us!" + +"Before us?" + +"Yes. We are nobodies. If father were to die Dick would turn us out of +the house as a matter of course. He would have everything; we should +have nothing." + +Mrs. Clinton was clearly bewildered. "Dick would not turn us out of the +house unless he were married," she said, "and we should not have +nothing. We should be very well off. But surely, Cicely, it is +impossible that you can have been thinking of money matters in that way! +You cannot be giving me a right impression of what has been in your +mind." + +"No, it isn't that," said Cicely. "I don't know anything about money +matters, and I haven't thought about them--not in that way. But father +and the boys do talk about money; a lot seems to depend upon it, and I +can't help seeing that they spend a great deal of money on whatever they +want to-do, and we have to take what's left." + +"Still I don't understand, dear," said Mrs. Clinton. "Certainly it costs +a great deal to keep up a house like Kencote; but it is our home; we are +all happy there together." + +"Are you quite happy there, mother?" asked Cicely. + +Mrs. Clinton put by the question. "You know, of course," she went on, +"that we are well off, a good deal better off than most families who +have big properties to keep up. For people in our position we live +simply, and if--if I were to outlive father, and you and the children +were still unmarried, we should live together--not in such a big house +as Kencote--but with everything we could desire, or that would be good +for us." + +"And if we lived like that," said Cicely, "wouldn't you think some +things good for us that we don't have, mother? If we had horses, +wouldn't you let me have one to ride? Wouldn't you take me to London +sometimes, not to go to smart parties, but to see something of +interesting people as Angela and Beatrice do at Aunt Emmeline's, and see +plays and pictures and hear music? Wouldn't you take us abroad +sometimes? Should we have to live the whole year round in the country, +doing nothing and knowing nothing?" + +Mrs. Clinton's hand stopped its gentle, caressing movement, and then +went on again. During the moment of pause she faced a crisis as vital as +that which Cicely had gone through. She had had just those desires in +her youth and she had stifled them. Could they be stifled--would it be +right to stifle them--in the daughter who had, perhaps, inherited them +from her? + +"You asked me just now," she said, "whether I was happy. Yes, I am +happy. I have my dear ones around me, I have my religion, I have my +place in the world to fill. I should be very ungrateful if I were not +happy. But if you ask me whether the life I lead is exactly what it +would be if it rested only with me to order it--I think you know that it +isn't?" + +"But why shouldn't it be, mother? Other women do the things they like, +and father and the boys do exactly what they like. If you have wanted +the same things that I want now, I say you ought to have had them." + +"If I had had them, Cicely, I should not have found out one very great +thing--that happiness does not come from these things; it does not come +from doing what you like, even if what you like is good in itself. I +might almost say that it comes from not doing what you like. That is the +lesson that I have learned of life, and I am thankful that it has been +taught me." + +Cicely was silent for a time. She seemed to see her mother, dear as she +had been to her, in a new light, with a halo of uncomplaining +self-sacrifice round her. Her face burned as she remembered how that +morning in church, and since, she had thought of her as one who had +bartered her independence for a life of dull luxury and stagnation. It +came upon her with a flash of insight that her mother was a woman of +strong intelligence, who had, consciously, laid her intellectual gifts +on the altar of duty, and found her reward in doing so. The thought +found ineffective utterance. + +"Of course it is from you that Walter gets his brains," she said. + +Mrs. Clinton did not reply to this. "You are very young to learn the +lesson," she said. "I am not sure--I don't think it is a lesson that +every one need learn--that every woman need learn. I should like you to +make use of your brains--if that is really what you have been unhappy +about, Cicely. But is it so, my dear?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Cicely. "I suppose not. If I had wanted to +learn things, there are plenty of books at Kencote and I had plenty of +time. It was in London--it was just one of the things. First I was +jealous--I suppose it was that--because Dick and Humphrey had always had +such a good time and seemed to belong to everything, and I was so out of +it all. I still think that very unfair. Then when I went to Aunt +Emmeline's and saw what a good time Angela and Beatrice had in a +different sort of way--I wanted that too. And I think _that_ is unfair. +When I talked to them--I like them very much, but I suppose they wanted +to show how much better off they were than I am--the only thing they +seemed to think I was lucky in was my allowance, and even then they said +they didn't see how I could spend it, as I never went anywhere. I felt +so _ignorant_ beside them. Once Angela said something to me in +French--the maid was in the room--and I didn't understand her. I was +ashamed. Mother, I think I ought to have had the chances that Angela and +Beatrice have had." + +Mrs. Clinton listened with a grave face. How could she not have believed +most of it to be true? She knew that, in marrying her, her husband had +been considered to be marrying rather beneath him. And yet, her +brother's daughters were--there was no doubt of it--better fitted to +take a place, even a high place, in the world than her own daughter. Her +husband could never have seen it, but she knew that it was true. Her +younger niece was already engaged to be married to a man of some mark in +the world, and she would be an intellectual companion to him. If Cicely +had caught the fancy of such a man she would have had everything to +learn. Even in this deplorable danger through which she had just passed, +it was her ignorance that had laid her open to it. Perhaps her very +ignorance had attracted the man to her, but he certainly would not have +been able so to bend her to his will if she had lived more in the world. + +"There is one thing, darling," said Mrs. Clinton, "that we have not +spoken of. I don't want to complicate the troubles you are passing +through, but it has a bearing on what you have been saying." + +"You mean about Jim," said Cicely courageously. + +"Yes. Father and I have both been very glad of what we have always +looked upon as an engagement, although it could not be a recognised one +when--when it was first mooted. You must remember, dear, that we are +country people. It seems to us natural that our daughters should marry +country gentlemen--should marry into the circle of our friends and +neighbours. And the prospect of your living near us has always given us +great pleasure. You seemed to me quite happy at home, and I thought you +would have the best chance of happiness in your married life in another +home not unlike ours. I thought you were well fitted to fill that place. +I did not think of you--I don't think it ever crossed my mind to think +of you--as wanting a different life, the sort of life that your cousins +lead, for instance." + +"Jim was very good to me, this morning," Cicely said, in a low voice. "I +love him for it. Of course I do love him, in a way, just as I love Dick +or Walter. I was very much ashamed at having left _him_ like that, for +somebody who--who isn't as good as he is. Jim _is_ good, in a way a man +ought to be. But, mother--I can't marry Jim now, after this." + +"It is too soon to talk of it, or perhaps even to think of it. And you +have no right to marry anybody unless you love him as a woman should +love her husband, not as you love your brothers. We need not talk of +marriage now at all. But, my dearest, I want you to be happy when you +come home again. If you come back to think that you are badly used, +that----" + +"Oh, but, mother," Cicely interrupted her, "that is all over. I have +only been trying to tell you what I did feel. I never thought of the +other side at all. Last night I lay awake and simply longed for home. I +have been very ungrateful. I love Kencote, and the country and +everything I do there, really. I never knew before how much I loved it. +It was a sort of madness that came over me." + +"I am glad you feel like that. You have a very beautiful home, and you +are surrounded by those who love you. You _ought_ to be able to make +yourself happy at home, even if you have not got everything that you +might like to have. Can you do so?" + +"Yes, mother, I can. I was happy enough before." + +"Before you went to London." + +"Oh, yes, I suppose it was that. I must be very foolish to let a visit +to London upset me. I don't want to see London again now for a long +time. O mother, I have been very wicked. You won't be different to me, +will you?" + +She buried her face in her mother's lap. She was overwrought and +desperately tired. Mrs. Clinton felt that except for having done +something towards healing the wound made by her late experience she had +accomplished little. Cicely's eyes had been partially opened, and it was +not in her mother's power to close them again. It was only natural that +she should now turn for a time eagerly towards the quiet life she had +been so eager to run away from. But when her thoughts had settled down +again, when weeks and months had divided her from her painful awakening, +and its memory had worn thin, would she then be content, or would these +desires, which no one could say were unreasonable, gain strength again +to unsettle and dispirit her? It was only too likely. And if they did, +what chance was there of satisfying them? + +Mrs. Clinton thought over these things when she had tucked Cicely up in +her bed and sat by her side until she was asleep. Cicely had begged her +to do this, Cicely, her mother's child again, who, the night before had +lain awake hour after hour, alone, trembling at the unknown and longing +for the dear familiar. There was deep thankfulness in the mother's heart +as she watched over her child restored to her love and protection, but +there was sadness too, and some fear of the future, which was not +entirely in her hands. + +Cicely was soon asleep. Mrs. Clinton gently disengaged the hand she had +been holding, stood for a time looking down upon her, fondly but rather +sadly, and crept out of the room. It was nearly one o'clock, so long had +their confidences lasted, but as she came downstairs, for Cicely's room +was on the second floor, Walter came out of his bedroom dressed to go +out. + +"Hullo, mother!" he said. "Not in bed yet! I've been called up. Child +with croup. I don't suppose I shall be long, and Muriel is going down to +make me some soup. If you'd like a yarn with her----" + +Muriel came out in her dressing-gown. "I said I would always make him +soup when he was called out at night," she said, "and this is the first +time. I'm a good doctor's wife, don't you think so, Mrs. Clinton? Is +Cicely asleep?" + +"Yes, I have just left her. I will come down with you, dear, and help +you make Walter's soup." + +So they went down together and when they had done their work, bending +together over a gas stove in the kitchen, which was the home of more +black beetles than was altogether desirable, although it was otherwise +clean and bright and well-furnished, they sat by the dining-room table +awaiting Walter's return. + +There was sympathy between Mrs. Clinton and her daughter-in-law, who +recognised her fine qualities and loved her for them, privately thinking +that she was a woman ill-used by fate and her husband. Mrs. Graham +thought so too, but she and Mrs. Clinton had little in common, and in +spite of mutual esteem, could hardly be called friends. But the tie +which had bound Muriel to Kencote all her life had depended almost as +much upon Mrs. Clinton as upon Cicely, and until the last few months +more than it had upon Walter. They could talk together knowing that each +would understand the other, and Muriel's downrightness did not offend +Mrs. Clinton. + +She plunged now into the middle of things. "You know it is Jim I am +thinking of, Mrs. Clinton," she said, "now that this extraordinary +business is over. I want to know where Jim comes in." + +"I am afraid, my dear," said Mrs. Clinton, with a smile, "that poor Jim +has come in very little." + +"Did you know," asked Muriel, "that Jim was head over ears in love with +Cicely, or did you think, like everybody else, that he was slack about +it?" + +Mrs. Clinton thought for a moment. "I have never thought of him as head +over ears in love with Cicely," she said. + +"And I didn't either, till Walter told me. But he is. He behaved like a +brick to-day. Dick told Walter. And Cicely told me too. It was Jim who +got her away from that man--the horrible creature! How can a man be such +a brute, Mrs. Clinton?" + +"I don't want to talk about him, Muriel," said Mrs. Clinton quietly. "He +has come into our life and he has gone out again. I hope we shall never +see him again." + +"If I ever see him," said Muriel, "nothing shall prevent my telling him +what I think of him. How Cicely could! Poor darling, she doesn't know +how she could herself, now. She told me that she saw him as he was +beside Jim and Dick. He isn't a gentleman, for all the great things he +has done, and somehow that little fact seemed to have escaped her until +then. Don't you think it is rather odd that it matters so tremendously +to women like us whether the men we live with are gentlemen or not, and +yet we are so liable at first to make mistakes about them?" + +Mrs. Clinton was not quite equal to the discussion of a general +question. "It would matter to any one brought up as Cicely has been," +she said, "or you. Can you tell me exactly what you mean when you say +that Jim is head over ears in love with Cicely? I don't think he has +shown it to her." + +"Nobody quite knows Jim, except Walter," replied Muriel. "I don't, and +mother doesn't; and dear father never did. I suppose there is not much +doubt about his being rather slow. Slow and sure is just the phrase to +fit him. He is sure of himself when he makes up his mind about a thing, +and I suppose he was sure of Cicely. He was just content to wait. You +know, I'm afraid Walter thinks that Cicely has behaved very badly to +him." + +"Do you think so?" asked Mrs. Clinton. + +Muriel hesitated. "I think what Walter does," she said, rather doggedly. +"But I don't feel it so much. I love Cicely, and I am very sorry for +her." + +"Why are you sorry for her?" + +"Oh, well, one could hardly help being after what she has gone through." + +"Only that, Muriel?" + +Muriel hesitated again. "I don't think she has had quite a fair chance," +she said. + +"She has had the same chances that you have had." + +"Not quite, I think," said Muriel. She spoke with her head down and a +face rather flushed, as if she was determined to go through with +something unpleasant. "I'm not as clever as she is, but if I had +been--if I had wanted the sort of things that she wants--I should have +had them." + +"I think she could have had them, if she had really wanted them," said +Mrs. Clinton quietly. "I think I should have seen that she did have +them." + +"Oh, dear Mrs. Clinton, don't think I'm taking it on myself to blame +you. You know I wouldn't do that. But I must say what I think. Life is +desperately dull for a girl at houses like Kencote or Mountfield." + +"Kencote and Mountfield?" + +"Well, don't be angry with me if I say it is much more dull at Kencote +than at Mountfield. Cicely isn't even allowed to hunt. I was, and yet I +was glad enough to get away from it, although I love country life, and +so does Walter. We never see anybody, we never go anywhere. I am heaps +and heaps happier in this little house of my own than I was at +Mountfield." + +"Muriel," said Mrs. Clinton "what is it that Cicely wants? You and she +talk of the same things. First it is one thing and then it is another. +First it is that she has had no chances of learning. What has she ever +shown that she wants to learn? Then it is that she does not go away, and +does not see new faces. Is that a thing of such importance that the want +of it should lead to what has happened? Then it is that she is not +allowed to hunt! I will not add to Cicely's trouble now by rebuking +these desires. Only the first of them could have any weight with me, and +I do not think that has ever been a strong desire, or is now, for any +reason that is worth taking into consideration. But the plain truth of +the whole trouble is that Cicely had her mind upset by her visit to +London two months ago. _You_ should not encourage her in her discontent. +Her only chance of happiness is to see where her duty lies and to gauge +the amusements that she cannot have at their true value." + +"I haven't encouraged her," said Muriel, "I said much the same as you +have when she first talked to me. I told her she had had her head +turned. But, all the same, I think there is something in what she says, +and at any rate, she has felt it so strongly as nearly to spoil her life +in trying to get away from it all. She'll be pleased enough to get home +now, if--if--well, excuse my saying it, but--if Mr. Clinton will let her +alone--and yet, it will all come back on her when she has got used to +being at home. Do you know what I think, Mrs. Clinton? I think the only +thing that will give her back to herself now is for her to marry Jim as +quickly as possible." + +"But Kencote and Mountfield both are desperately dull for a girl!" + +Muriel laughed, "She wouldn't find Mountfield so if she really loved +Jim. I don't know whether she does or not. She won't hear of him now." + +Mrs. Clinton was silent for a time. Then she said slowly, "It was Jim +who rescued her to-day from a great danger. I think it is only Jim who +can rescue her from herself." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +CICELY'S RETURN + + +"When Cicely comes, send her in to me at once," said the Squire, with +the air of a man who was going to take a matter in hand. + +Cicely, convoyed by the reliable Miles, was returning to Kencote after +having stayed with Muriel for a fortnight. Mrs. Clinton had left her at +Melbury Park after a three days' visit. + +"And I won't have the children meeting her, or anything of that sort," +added the Squire. "She is not coming home in triumph. You can go to the +door, Nina, and send her straight in to me. We'll get this business put +right once for all." + +Mrs. Clinton said nothing, but went out of the room. She could have +small hopes that her husband would succeed when she had failed in +putting the business right. She told herself now that she had failed. +During her many talks with Cicely, although she had been able, with her +love and wisdom, to soothe the raw shame that had come upon her daughter +when she had looked back in cold blood to her flight with Mackenzie, she +had not been able to do away with the feeling of resentment with which +Cicely had come to view her home life. Her weapons had turned back upon +herself. Neither of them had been able to say to each other exactly what +was in their mind, and because Cicely had to stay herself with some +reason for her action, which with her father, at any rate, must be +defended somehow, she had fallen back upon the causes of her discontent +and held to them even against her mother. And there was enough truth in +them to make it difficult for Mrs. Clinton to combat her attitude, +without saying, what she could not say, that it was the duty of every +wife and every daughter to do as she had done, and rigidly sink her own +personality where it might clash with the smallest wish or action of her +husband. She claimed to have gained her own happiness in doing so, but +the doctrine of happiness through such self-sacrifice was too hard a one +for a young girl to receive. She had gained Cicely's admiration and a +more understanding love from the self-revelation which in some sort she +had made, but she had not availed to make her follow her example, and +could not have done so without holding it up as the one right course. +Cicely must fight her own battle with her father, and whichever of them +proved the victor no good could be expected to come of it. She was firm +in her conviction now that in Jim Graham's hands lay the only immediate +chance of happiness for her daughter. But Jim had held quite aloof. No +word had been heard from him, and no one had seen him since he had +parted with Dick on the evening after their journey to London, when they +had dined together and Jim had said he would bide his chance. If he were +to sink back now into what had seemed his old apathy, he would lose +Cicely again and she would lose her present chance of happiness. + +The twins, informed by their mother that they must not go to the station +to meet Cicely, or even come down into the hall, but that she would come +up to them when she had seen her father, of course gathered, if they had +not gathered it before, that their elder sister was coming home in +disgrace, and spent their leisure time in devising methods to show that +they did not share in the disapprobation; in which they were alternately +encouraged and thwarted by Miss Bird, whose tender affection for Cicely +warred with her fear of the Squire's displeasure. + +Mrs. Clinton was in the hall when the carriage drove up. Cicely came in, +on her face an expression of mixed determination and timidity, and her +mother drew her into the morning-room. "Father wants to see you at once, +darling," she said. "You must be good. If you can make him understand +ever so little you know he will be kind." + +It was doubtful if this hurried speech would help matters at all, and +there was no time for more, for the Squire was at his door asking the +servants where Miss Clinton was, for he wanted to see her at once. + +"I am here, father," said Cicely, going out into the hall again. + +"I want you in here," said the Squire. They went into his room and the +door was shut, leaving Mrs. Clinton alone outside. + +The Squire marched up to the empty fireplace and took his stand with his +back to it. Cicely sat down in one of the big chairs, which seemed to +disconcert him for a moment. + +"I don't know whether you have come home expecting to be welcomed as if +nothing had happened," he began. + +"No, I don't expect that, father," said Cicely. + +"Oh! Well now, what is the meaning of it? That's what I want to know. I +have been pretty patient, I think. You have had your fling for over a +fortnight, the whole house has been upset and I've said nothing. Now I +want to get to the bottom of it. Because if you think that you can +behave in that way"--here followed a vivid summary of the way in which +Cicely had behaved--"you are very much mistaken." The Squire was now +fairly launched. It only rested with Cicely to keep him going with a +word every now and then, for she knew that until he had wrought himself +into a due state of indignation and then given satisfactory vent to it, +nothing she could say would have any effect at all. + +"I am very sorry, father," she said. "I know it was wrong of me, and I +won't do it again." + +This was all that was wanted. "Won't do it again?" echoed the Squire. +"No, you won't do it again. I'll take good care of that." He then went +on to bring home to her the enormity of her offence, which seemed to +have consisted chiefly in upsetting the whole house, which he wouldn't +have, and so on. But when he had repeated all he had to say twice, and +most of it three or four times, he suddenly took his seat in the chair +opposite to her and said in quite a different tone, "What on earth made +you do it, Cicely?" and her time had come. + +"I was not happy at home, father," she said quietly. + +This set the Squire off on another oration, tending to show that it was +positively wicked to talk like that. There wasn't a girl in England who +had more done for her. He himself spent his days and nights chiefly in +thinking what he could do for the happiness of his children, and the +same might be said of their mother. He enumerated the blessings Cicely +enjoyed, amongst which the amount of money spent upon keeping up a place +like Kencote bulked largely. When he had gone over the field a second +time, and picked up the gleanings left over from his sheaves of oratory, +he asked her, apparently as a matter of kindly curiosity, what she had +to grumble about. + +She told him dispiritedly, leaving him time after each item of her +discontent to put her in the wrong. + +Item: She had nothing to do at home. + +He said amongst other things that he had in that very room a manuscript +volume compiled by her great-great-grandmother full of receipts and so +forth, which he intended to get published some day to show what women +could do in a house if they really did what they ought. + +Item: She hadn't been properly educated. + +That was wicked nonsense, and he wondered at a daughter of his talking +such trash. In the course of further remarks he said that when all the +girls in the board schools could play the piano and none of them could +cook, he supposed the Radicals would be satisfied. + +Item: There were a great many horses in the stable and she was not +allowed to ride one of them. + +Did she think she had gone the right way to work to have horses given +her, bolting out of the house without a with your leave or a by your +leave, etc.? Had her six great-aunts ever wanted horses to ride? Hunting +he would not have. He might be old-fashioned, he dared say he was, but +to see a woman tearing about the country, etc.----! But if she had come +to him properly, and it had been otherwise convenient, he gave her to +understand that a horse might have been found for her at any time. He +did not say that one would be found for her _now_. + +Item: She never went anywhere. + +A treatise on gadding about, with sub-sections devoted to the state of +drains in foreign cities, the game of Bridge, as played in country +houses, and the overcrowded state of the Probate and Divorce Court. + +Item: She never saw anybody interesting. + +A flat denial, and in the course of its expansion a sentence that +brought the blood to Cicely's face and left her pale and terrified. +"Why, only the other day," said the Squire, "one of the most talked of +men in England dined here. I suppose you would call Ronald Mackenzie an +interesting man, eh? Why, what's the matter? Aren't you well?" + +"Oh yes, father dear. Please go on." + +The Squire went on. Fortunately he had not noticed the sudden blush, but +only the paleness that had followed it. Supposing he had seen, and her +secret had been dragged out of her! She gave him no more material on +which to exercise his gift of oratory, but sat silent and frightened +while he dealt further with the subject in hand and showed her that she +was fortunate in living amongst the most interesting set of people in +England. Her uncle Tom knew as much as anybody about butterflies, her +Aunt Grace played the piano remarkably well for an amateur, Sir Ralph +Perry, who lived at Warnton Court, four miles away, had written a book +on fly-fishing, the Rector of Bathgate had published a volume of +sermons, the Vicar of Blagden rubbed brasses, Mrs. Kingston of Axtol was +the daughter of a Cambridge professor, and the Squire supposed he was +not entirely destitute of intelligence himself. At any rate, he had +corresponded with a good many learned gentlemen in his time, and they +seemed anxious enough to come to Kencote, and didn't treat him exactly +as if he were a fool when they did come. + +"The upshot of it all is, Cicely," concluded the Squire, "that you want +a great many things that you can't have and are not going to have, and +the sooner you see that and settle down sensibly to do your duty the +better." + +"Yes, father," said Cicely, longing to get away. + +The Squire bethought himself. He had nothing more to say, although as he +was considering what to do next he said over again a few of the more +salient things that he had said before. He hoped he had made an +impression, but he would have liked to end up on a note rather less tame +than this. With Cicely so meek and quiet, however, and his indignation +against her, already weakened by having been spread over a fortnight, +having now entirely evaporated by being expressed, as his indignation +generally did evaporate, he had arrived somehow at a loose end. He +looked at his daughter for the first time with some affection, and +noticed that she was pale, and, he thought, thinner. + +"Come here and give me a kiss," he said, and she went to him and put her +head on his big shoulder. "Now you're going to be a good girl and not +give us any more trouble, aren't you?" he said, patting her on the +sleeve; and she promised that she would be a good girl and not give any +more trouble, with mental reservations mercifully hidden from him. + +"There, don't cry," said the Squire. "We won't say any more about it; +and if you want a horse to ride, we'll see if we can't find you a horse +to ride. I dare say you think your old father a terrible martinet, but +it's all for your good, you know. You must say to yourself when you feel +dissatisfied about some little twopenny-halfpenny disappointment that he +knows best." + +Cicely gave him a hug. He was a dear old thing really, and if one could +only always bear in mind the relative qualities of his bark and his bite +there would be no need at all to go in awe of him. "Dear old daddy," she +said. "I am sorry I ran away, and I'm very glad to get home again." + +Then she went upstairs quite lightheartedly, and along the corridor to +the schoolroom. The twins, arrayed in long blue overalls, were tidying +up, after lessons, and Miss Bird was urging them to more conscientious +endeavour, avowing that it was no more trouble to put a book on a shelf +the right way than the wrong way, and that if there were fifty servants +in the house it would be wrong to throw waste paper in the fireplace, +since waste paper baskets existed to have waste paper thrown into them +and fireplaces did not. + +After a minute pause of observation, the twins threw themselves upon +Cicely with one accord and welcomed her vociferously, and Miss Bird +followed suit. + +"My own darling," she said warmly, "we have missed you dreadfully and +how are Muriel and Walter I suppose as happy as anything now Joan 'n +Nancy there is no occasion to pull Cicely to pieces you can be glad to +see her without roughness and go _at once_ and take off your overalls +and wash your hands for tea I dare say Cicely will go with you." + +"Have you been to your room yet, darling?" asked Joan. + +"Not yet," said Cicely. + +"Now _straight_ to your own room first," said Miss Bird, clapping her +hands together to add weight to her command. "You can go with Cicely +afterwards." + +"All right, starling darling, we'll be ready in time for tea," said +Nancy. "You finish clearing up" and one on each side of Cicely, they led +her to her own bedroom, and threw open the door. The room was garlanded +with pink and white paper roses. They formed festoons above the bed and +were carried in loops round the walls, upon which had also been hung +placards printed in large letters and coloured by hand. "Welcome to our +Sister," ran one inscription, and others were, "There is No Place like +Home," "Cicely for Ever," and "No Popery." + +The twins watched eagerly for signs of surprised rapture and were +abundantly rewarded. "But that's not all," said Joan, and led her up to +the dressing-table, upon which was an illuminated address running as +follows: + + "We, the undersigned, present this token of our continued esteem to + Cecilia Mary Clinton, on the occasion of her home-coming to Kencote + House, Meadshire. Do unto others as you would be done by. + + "_Signed_, Joan Ellen Clinton Nancy Caroline Clinton." + +"I think it's rather well done," said Nancy, "though our vermilions had +both run out and we didn't like to borrow yours without asking. Starling +bought us the gold paint on condition that we put in the Golden Rule. It +doesn't look bad, does it, Cicely?" + +"I think it's lovely," said Cicely. "I shall always keep it. Thanks so +much, darlings." + +After the subsequent embraces, Nancy eyed her with some curiosity. "I +say, there _was_ a dust-up," she said. "Have you made it up with father, +Cis?" + +"Don't be a fool," said Joan. "She doesn't want you bothering her. It is +quite enough that we're jolly glad to have her back." + +"I was rather dull," said Cicely, with a nervous little laugh, "so I +went away for a bit." + +"Quite right too," said Joan. "I should have done the same, and so would +Nancy. We thought of putting up 'Don't be Downtrodden,' but we were +afraid mother wouldn't like it, so we put up 'No Popery' instead. It +comes to the same thing." + +"We're doing the Gordon Riots in history," Nancy explained further. +"Father was awful at first, Cis, but he has calmed down a lot since. I +think Dick poured oil on the troubled waters. Dick is a brick. He gave +us half a sovereign each before he went up to Scotland." + +"We didn't ask him for it," said Nancy. + +"No," said Joan, "we only told him we were saving up for a camera, and +it took a long time out of a bob a week each pocket-money." + +"Flushed with our success," said Nancy, "we tried father; but the moment +was not propitious." + +"It was your fault," said Joan. "You would hurry it. Directly I said, +'When we get our camera we shall be able to take photographs of the +shorthorns,' you heaved a silly great sigh and said, 'It takes _such_ a +long time to save up with only a shilling a week pocket-money,' and of +course what _could_ he say but that when he was our age he only had +sixpence?" + +"I don't believe it for a moment," said Nancy. + +"It doesn't matter. He had to say it. I was going to lead up much more +slowly. How often has starling told you that if a thing's worth doing at +all it's worth doing well?" + +Here Miss Bird herself appeared at the door and said it was just as she +had expected, and had they heard her tell them to do a thing or had they +not, because if they had and had then gone and done something else she +should go straight to Mrs. Clinton, for she was tired of having her +words set at nought, and it was time to take serious measures, although +nobody would be more sorry to have to do so than herself, Joan and Nancy +being perfectly capable of behaving themselves as they should if they +would only set their minds to it and do exactly as she told them. + +Cicely heard the latter part of the address fading away down the +corridor, shut the door with a smile and began to take off her hat with +a sigh. The chief ordeal was over, but there was a good deal to go +through still before she could live in this room again as she had lived +in it before. If, indeed, she ever could. She looked round her, and its +familiarity touched her strangely. It spoke not of the years she had +occupied it, the five years since she had left the nursery wing, but of +the one night when she had prepared to leave it for ever. It would be +part of her ordeal to have that painful and confusing memory brought +before her whenever she entered it. She hated now to think of that night +and of the day and night that had followed it. She flushed hotly as she +turned again to her glass, and called herself a fool. Then she +resolutely turned pictures to the wall of her mind and made herself +think of something else, casting her thoughts loose to hit upon any +subject they pleased. They struck against her aunts at the dower-house, +and she grappled the idea and made up her mind to go and see them after +tea, and get that over. + +She found them in their morning-room, engaged as before, except that +their tea-table had been cleared away. "Well, dear Aunt Ellen and Aunt +Laura, I have come back," she said, kissing them in turn. "Muriel's +house _is_ so pretty. You would love to see it." + +But Aunt Ellen was not to be put off in this way. The Squire had come +down to them on the afternoon of the day after Cicely had disappeared, +and had gained more solid satisfaction from the attitude taken up by +Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura when he had unfolded his news than from any +reception it had before or after. Cicely was still in their black books. + +"Oh, so you have returned at last," said Aunt Ellen, receiving her kiss, +but not returning it. Aunt Laura was not so unforgiving. She kissed her +and said, "O Cicely, if you had known what unhappiness your action would +cause, I am sure you would have thought twice about it." + +Cicely sat down. "I have made it all right with father now," she said. +"I would rather not talk about it if you don't mind, Aunt Laura. Muriel +sent her love to you. I said I should come and see you directly I came +back." + +"When I was a girl," said Aunt Ellen--"I am speaking now of nearly +eighty years ago--I upset a glass of table ale at the commencement of +luncheon, and your great-grandfather was very angry. But that was +nothing to this." + +"I have seldom seen your dear father so moved," said Aunt Laura. "I +cannot see very well without my glasses, and I had mislaid them; they +were on the sideboard in the dining-room where I had gone to get out a +decanter of sherry; but I believe there were tears in his eyes. If it +was so it should make you all the more sorry, Cicely." + +"I am very sorry," said Cicely, "but father has forgiven me. Mayn't we +talk about something else?" + +"Your father was very high-spirited as a child," said Aunt Ellen, "and I +and your aunts had some difficulty in managing him; not that he was a +naughty child, far from it, but he was full of life. And you must always +remember that he was a boy. But I feel quite sure that he would never in +his wildest moments have thought of going away from home and leaving no +word of his address." + +"I sent a telegram," pleaded Cicely. + +"Ah, but telegrams were not invented in the days I am speaking of," said +Aunt Ellen. + +"Pardon me, sister," said Aunt Laura. "The electric telegraph was +invented when Edward was a boy, but not when we were girls." + +"That may be so, sister," said Aunt Ellen. "It is many years since we +were girls, but I say that Edward would not have run away." + +"Certainly not," said Aunt Laura. "You should never forget, Cicely, what +a good father you have. I am sure when I heard the other day from Mr. +Hayles that your dear father had instructed him to refuse Lady Alistair +MacLeod's most advantageous offer to rent this house, solely on account +of your Aunt Ellen and myself, I felt that we were, indeed, in good +hands, and fortunate to be so." + +"It is quite true," said Aunt Ellen, "that this house is larger than +your Aunt Laura and I require, I told your father that with my own lips. +But at the same time it is unlikely that at my age I have many more +years to live, and I said that if it could be so arranged, I should wish +to die in this house as I have lived in it for the greater part of my +life." + +"He saw that at once," said Aunt Laura. "There is nobody that is quicker +at seeing a thing than your dear father, Cicely. He spoke very kindly +about it. He said we must all die some time or other, which is perfectly +true, but that if your Aunt Ellen did not live to be a hundred he should +never forgive her. He is like your dear Aunt Caroline in that; he is +always one to look at the bright side of things." + +"But didn't he tell you at once that he didn't want to let the house?" +asked Cicely. "Did he leave it to Mr. Hayles to tell you afterwards?" + +"There was a delicacy in that," replied Aunt Laura. "If there is one +thing that your dear father dislikes, it is being thanked. And we could +not have helped thanking him. We had gone through a week of considerable +anxiety." + +"Which he might have saved you," Cicely thought, but did not say. + +"When we lived at Kencote House with our father," said Aunt Ellen, "it +was never thought that the dower-house possessed any advantages to speak +of. I do not say that we have made it what it is, for that would be +boasting, but I do say that it would not be what it is if we had not +made it so; and now that the danger is past, it causes both your Aunt +Laura and myself much gratification, and would cause gratification to +your other dear aunts if they could know what had happened, as no doubt +they do, that it should now be sought after." + +The topic proved interesting enough to occupy the conversation for the +rest of Cicely's visit. She kept them to it diligently and got through +nearly an hour's talk without further recurrence to her misdoings. Then +she took her leave rather hurriedly, congratulating herself that she had +got safely over another fence. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE LIFE + + +Mrs. Graham, in spite of her good points, was not overburdened with the +maternal spirit. She had little love for children as children, and when +her own were small she had lavished no great amount of affection on +them. In the case of other people's children she frankly averred that +she didn't understand them and preferred dogs. But she was equable by +nature and had companionable gifts, and as Jim and Muriel had grown up +they had found their mother pleasant to live with, never anxious to +assert authority, and always interested in such of their pursuits as +chimed in with her own inclinations; also quite ready with sensible +advice and some sympathy when either was required of her, and showing no +annoyance at all if the advice was not followed. + +It was not altogether surprising then that Jim, when he had been back at +Mountfield for three or four days, should have taken her into his +confidence. She had heard what, thanks to the Squire, every one in that +part of the county had heard, that Cicely had run off to London without +taking any clothes with her--this point always emerged--and that Dick, +and, for some as yet unexplained reason, Jim, had gone up after her. But +when Jim returned, and told her simply that Cicely was staying with +Muriel and that everything was all right, she had asked no further +questions, although she saw that there was something that she had not +been told. She had her reward when Jim, sitting in her drawing-room +after dinner, told her that he would like to talk over something with +her. + +The drawing-room at Mountfield was a long, rather low room, hung with an +old French paper of nondescript grey, upon which were some water-colours +which were supposed to be valuable. The carpet was of faded green, with +ferns and roses. The curtains were of thick crimson brocade under a gilt +canopy. There was a large Chippendale mirror, undoubtedly valuable, over +the white marble mantelpiece, upon which were three great vases of blue +Worcester and some Dresden china figures. The furniture was upholstered +in crimson to match the curtains. There was an old grand piano, there +were one or two china cabinets against the walls, a white skin rug +before the fire, palms in pots, a rosewood table or two, and a low glass +bookcase with more china on the top of it. There was nothing modern, and +the chairs and sofas were not particularly comfortable. The room had +always been like that ever since Jim could remember, and his mother, +sitting upright in her low chair knitting stocking tops, also belonged +to the room and gave it a comforting air of home. She had on a black +gown and her face and neck were much redder than the skin beneath them, +but, like many women to whom rough tweeds and thick boots seem to be the +normal wear, she looked well in the more feminine attire of the evening. + +"Talk away, my dear boy," she said, without raising her head. "Two heads +are better than one. I suppose it is something about Cicely." + +"When Cicely went away the other day she didn't go to see Muriel; she +went to marry Mackenzie." + +She did raise her head then to throw an astonished look at her son, who +did not meet it, but she lowered it again and made one or two stitches +before she replied, "She didn't marry him, of course?" + +"No. Dick and I found them, and got her away just in time. That is all +over now, and I can't think about that fellow." + +"Well, I won't ask you to. But I suppose you won't mind telling me why +she did such an extraordinary thing." + +"Because she is bored to death at Kencote, and I don't wonder at it." + +"And do you still intend to bring her to be bored to death at +Mountfield?" + +"Yes, I do, if she will come. And I'll see that she's not bored. At +least that is what I want to talk to you about. Muriel could tell me +what she wants to make her happy, but I can't go to Muriel as long as +Cicely is there, and I can't write; I've tried. You've been happy enough +here, mother. You ought to be able to tell me." + +Mrs. Graham kept silence for a considerable time. Then she said, "Well, +Jim, I'm glad you have come to me. I think I can help you. In the first +place, you mustn't play the martinet as Mr. Clinton does." + +"It isn't likely I should treat her as he does Mrs. Clinton, if that is +what you mean." + +"I mean a good deal more than that. If Mr. Clinton knew how disagreeable +it was to other people to hear him talk to her as he does, he probably +wouldn't do it. But even if he didn't he might still make her life a +burden to her, by taking away every ounce of independence she had. I +don't know whether her life is a burden to her or not; I don't pretend +to understand her; but I do know that you couldn't treat Cicely like +that, and I suppose this escapade of hers proves it." + +"The poor old governor was a bit of a martinet," said Jim, after a +pause. + +"He thought he was," said Mrs. Graham drily. + +Jim looked at her, but did not speak. + +"I know what it all means," his mother went on. "I think things over +more than you would give me credit for, Jim, and I've seen it before. +This quiet country life happens to suit me down to the ground, but I +don't believe it satisfies the majority of women. And that is what men +don't understand. It suits _them_, of course, and if it doesn't they can +always get away from it for a bit. But to shut women up in a country +house all the year round, and give them no interests in life outside +it--you won't give one woman in ten what she wants in that way." + +"What _do_ they want then?" + +"It is more what Cicely wants, isn't it? I don't know exactly, but I can +give a pretty shrewd guess. If you want to find out something about a +person, it isn't a bad thing to look at their parentage on both sides. +On one side she comes of a race of yokels." + +"Oh, come, mother. The Birkets are----" + +"I'm not talking about the Birkets, I'm talking about the Clintons. Poor +dear Mr. Clinton _is_ a yokel, for all his ancestry. If he had been +changed at birth and brought up a farm labourer, he wouldn't have had an +idea in his head above the average of them; he would only have had a +little more pluck. Any Birket's brains are worth six of any Clinton's in +the open market. Mrs. Clinton is a clever woman, although she doesn't +show it, and her dear, stupid old husband would smother the brains of +Minerva if he lived with her. You've only got to look at their children +to see where the Birket comes in. Dick is exactly like his father, +except that he is not a fool; Humphrey _is_ a fool to my thinking, but +not the same sort of fool; Walter--there's no need to speak of him; +Frank I don't know much about, but he isn't a yokel; Cicely simply +hasn't had a chance, but she'll take it fast enough when she gets it; +and as for the twins, they're as sharp as monkeys, for all their blue +eyes and sweet innocence." + +"Well, what does it all lead to, mother?" + +"It leads to this, Jim: I believe Cicely will be as happy living in the +country as most girls, but at Kencote she doesn't even get the pleasures +that a woman _can_ get out of the country; those are all kept for the +men. You _must_ take her about a bit. Take her to other houses and get +people to come here. Don't shut her up. Take her to London every now and +then, and try and let her see some of the sort of people that go to her +Uncle Herbert Birket's house. I believe she could hold her own with any +of them, and you'll be proud of her. Let her stir her mind up; she +doesn't know what's in it yet. Take her abroad. That always helps; even +I should have liked it, only your father didn't, and I wasn't keen +enough to let it make a disturbance. Give her her head; that's what it +comes to. She won't lose it again." + +Jim thought for a long time while Mrs. Graham went on knitting. + +"A woman wants some brightness in her life, especially before the babies +begin to come," she said, before he spoke. + +"Thanks, mother," he said simply. "I'll think it all over." + +"I have thought it over," she answered, "and it's all sound sense." + +Jim's next speech was some time coming, but when it did come it was +rather a startling one. + +"I've given Weatherley notice to leave the Grange at Christmas." + +Mrs. Graham's needles stopped, and then went on again rather more +quickly. Her voice shook a little as she said in a matter-of-fact tone, +"I suppose you won't mind altering the stables for me. There is only one +loose-box." + +"I thought it would be best to add on a couple under another roof," said +Jim, and they went on to discuss other alterations that would be +necessary when Mrs. Graham should leave Mountfield to go to live at the +Grange, but without any approach to sentiment, and no expressions of +regret on either side. + +When they had done, and there had followed another of those pauses with +which their conversations were punctuated, Mrs. Graham said, "You are +making very certain of Cicely, Jim." + +"I'm going to claim her," said Jim quietly. "I was a fool not to do it +before. I've wanted her badly enough." + +Perhaps this news was as fresh to Mrs. Graham as it had been to all +those others who had heard it lately. Perhaps it was no news at all. She +was an observant woman and was accustomed to keep silence on many +subjects, except when she was asked to speak, and then she spoke +volubly. + +"I have often wondered," she said, "why you left it so long." + +Jim did not reply to this, but made another surprising statement. "I'm +going to stand for Parliament," he said. + +Mrs. Graham's observation had not covered this possibility. "Good +gracious!" she exclaimed. "Not as a Liberal, I hope!" + +"No, as a Free Trade Unionist." + +"I should think you might as well save your time and your money." + +"I don't expect to get in. But if I can find a seat to fight for, I'll +fight." + +"Well, I'll help you, Jim. I believe the others are right, but if you +will give me something to read I dare say I can persuade myself that +they're wrong. I like a good fight, and that is one thing you don't get +the chance of when you live with your pigs and your poultry. Excuse me +asking, but what about the money?" + +"I've settled all that, and I'm going to let this place for two years at +least." + +Mrs. Graham dropped her knitting once more. "Well, really, Jim!" she +said. "Have you got anything else startling to break to me, because I +wish you would bring it out all at once now. I can bear it." + +"That's all," said Jim, with a grin. "I shall save a lot of money. I +shall take a flat or a little house in London and do some work. There +are lots of things besides Free Trade; things I'm keener about, really. +I don't think Cicely will mind. I think she will go in with me." + +Mrs. Graham took up her knitting again and put on another row of +stitches. Then she said, "I don't know why you asked my advice as to +what Cicely wanted. It seems to me you have thought it out pretty well +for yourself." + + * * * * * + +Jim rode over to Kencote two days after Cicely's return. It was a lovely +morning, and harvesting was in full swing as he trotted along between +the familiar fields. He felt rather sad at being about to leave it all; +he was a countryman at heart, although he had interests that were not +bucolic. But there was not much room for sadness in his mind. He was +sure of himself, and had set out to grasp a great happiness. + +He met the Squire on his stout cob about a mile from Kencote, and pulled +up to speak to him. + +"How are you, Jim?" he said heartily. "Birds doing all right? Ours are +first-class this year." + +"I was coming to see you," he said. "I've got something to say." + +"Well, say it here, my boy," said the Squire, "I'm not going to turn +back." + +So they sat on their horses in the middle of the road and Jim said, "I +want to marry Cicely as soon as possible." + +The Squire's jaw dropped as he stared at the suitor. Then he threw back +his head and produced his loud, hearty laugh. "Well, that's a funny +thing," he said. "I was only saying to my wife this morning that Cicely +would die an old maid if she looked to you to come and take her." + +Jim's red face became a little redder, but the Squire did not give him +time to reply. "I was only joking, you know, Jim, my boy," he said +kindly. "I knew _you_ were all right, and I tell you frankly there's +nobody I'd sooner give my girl to. But why do you want to rush it now? +What about those rascally death duties?" + +"It's only a question of income," said Jim shortly. "And I'm going to +let Mountfield for a year or two." + +The Squire's jaw fell again. "Let Mountfield!" he cried. "O my dear +fellow, don't do that, for God's sake. Wait a bit longer. Cicely won't +run away. Ha! ha! Why she did run away--what? Look here, Jim, you're +surely not worrying yourself about that. She won't do it again, I'll +promise you that. I've talked to her." + +"I think it is time I took her," said Jim, "if she'll have me." + +"Have you? Of course she'll have you. But you mustn't let Mountfield. +Don't think of that, my boy. We'll square it somehow, between us. My +girl won't come to you empty-handed, you know, and as long as the +settlements are all right you can keep her a bit short for a year or +two; tell her to go easy in the house. She's a good girl, and she'll do +her best. No occasion to let down the stables, and you must keep a good +head of game. We'll make that all right, and it won't do you any harm to +economise a bit in other ways. In fact it's a good thing for young +people. You might put down your carriage for a year, and perhaps a few +maids--I should keep the men except perhaps a gardener or two. Oh, there +are lots of ways; but don't let the place, Jim." + +"Well, I'll think about it," said Jim, who had no intention of +prematurely disclosing his intentions to the Squire, "but you'll let me +have her, Mr. Clinton? I thought of going over to see her now." + +"Go by all means, my boy," said the Squire heartily. "You'll find her +about somewhere, only don't make her late for lunch. You'll stay, of +course. You haven't seen Hayles about anywhere, have you? He's not in +the office." + +Jim had not, and the Squire trotted off to find his agent, with a last +word of dissuasion on letting Mountfield. + +The ubiquitous twins were in the stableyard when he rode in, raiding the +corn bin for sustenance for their fantails. "Hullo, Jim, my boy," said +Joan. "You're quite a stranger." + +"You'll stay to lunch, of course," said Nancy. "How are the birds at +Mountfield? I think we ought to do very well here this year." + +"Where is Cicely?" asked Jim, ignoring these pleasantries. + +"She's out of doors somewhere," said Joan. "We'll help you find her. We +ought to be going in to lessons again, but starling won't mind." + +"I can find her myself, thanks," said Jim. "Is she in the garden?" + +"We'll show you," said Nancy. "You can't shake us off. We're like the +limpets of the rock." + +But here Miss Bird appeared at the schoolroom window, adjuring the twins +to come in _at once_. "Oh, how do you do, Jim?" she cried, nodding her +head in friendly welcome. "Do you want to find Cicely she has gone down +to the lake to sketch." + +"Bother!" exclaimed Joan. "Starling is so officious." + +"You will find our sister in the Temple of Melancholy," said Nancy. "It +will be your part to smooth the lines of trouble from her brow." + +"Oh, coming, coming, Miss Bird!" called out Joan. "We've only got an +hour more, Jim--spelling and dictation; then we will come and look you +up." + +Jim strode off across the park and entered the rhododendron dell by an +iron gate. He followed a broad green path between great banks of shrubs +and under the shade of trees for nearly a quarter of a mile. Every now +and then an open grassy space led to the water, which lay very still, +ringed with dark green. He turned down one of these and peeped round the +edge of a bush from whence he could see the white pillared temple at the +head of the lake. Cicely was sitting in front of it, drawing, and his +heart gave a little leap as he saw her. Then he walked more quickly, and +as he neared the temple began to whistle, for he knew that, thinking +herself quite alone. Cicely would be disagreeably startled if he came +upon her suddenly. + +Perhaps she thought it was a gardener who was coming, for she did not +move until he spoke her name, coming out from behind the building on to +the stained marble platform in front of it. Then she looked up with a +hot blush. "O Jim!" she said nervously. "I was just trying to paint a +picture." + +"It's jolly good," said Jim, looking at it with his head on one side, +although she had not as yet gone further than light pencil lines. + +"It won't be when I've finished," she said hurriedly. "How is Mrs. +Graham? I am coming over to see her as soon as I can, to tell her about +Muriel." + +"She's all right, thanks," said Jim. "She sent her love. Do you mind my +watching you?" + +"I'd much rather you didn't," she said, with a deprecating laugh. "I +shall make an awful hash of it. Do you want to see father? I'll go and +find him with you if you like." + +"No, I've seen him," said Jim, going into the temple to get himself a +chair. "I've come to see you, to tell you something I thought you'd be +interested in. I want to stand for Parliament, and I'm going to let +Mountfield." + +She looked up at him with a shade of relief in her face. "O Jim," she +said, "I do hope you will get in." + +"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't expect to get in," said Jim. "They +won't have fellows who think as I do in the party now if they can help +it. But there's a good deal to do outside that. I kept my eyes open when +I was travelling, and I do know a bit about the Colonies, and about land +too. There are societies I can make myself useful in, even if I don't +get into Parliament. Anyway I'm going to try." + +"I am so glad, Jim," said Cicely. "But won't you miss Mountfield +awfully? And where are you going to live?" + +"In London for a year or two. Must be in the thick of things." + +"I suppose you won't go before the spring." + +"I want to. It depends on you, Cicely." + +She had nothing to say. The flush that coloured her delicate skin so +frequently, flooded it new. + +"I want you to come and help me," said Jim. "I can't do it without you, +my dear. You're much cleverer than I am. I want to get to know people, +and I'm not much good at that. And I don't know that I could put up with +London, living there by myself. If you were with me I shouldn't care +where I lived. I would rather live all my life at Melbury Park with you, +than at Mountfield without you." + +"O Jim," she said in a low voice, bending over her drawing board, "you +are good and generous. But you can't want me now." + +"Look here, Cicely dear," he said, "let's get over that business now, +and leave it alone for ever. I blame myself for it, I blame--that man, +but I haven't got the smallest little piece of blame for you, and I +shouldn't have even if I didn't love you. Why, even Dick is the same. He +was angry at first, but not after he had seen you. And Walter thinks as +I do. I saw him one day and we had it all out; you didn't know. There's +not a soul who knows who blames you, and nobody ever will." + +"I know," she said, "that every one has been most extraordinarily kind. +I love Dick and Walter more than ever for it, because I know how it must +have struck them when they first knew. And you too, Jim. It makes me +feel such a beast to think how sweet you were to me, and how I've +treated you." + +Jim took her hand. "Cicely, darling," he said. "I'm a slow fellow, and, +I'm afraid, rather stupid. If I hadn't been this would never have +happened. But I believe I'm the only person in the world that can make +you forget it. You'll let me try, won't you?" + +She tried to draw away her hand, but he held it. + +"Oh, I don't know what to say," she cried. "It is all such a frightful +muddle. I don't even know whether I love you or not. I do; you know +that, Jim. But I don't know whether I love you in the right way. I +thought before that I didn't. And how can I when I did a thing like +that? I'm a girl who goes to any man who calls her." + +She was weeping bitterly. All the shame in her heart surged up. She +pulled her hand away and covered her face. + +"You never loved that man--not for a moment," said Jim firmly. + +"No, I didn't," she cried. "I _hate_ him now, and I believe I hated him +all the time. If I were to meet him I should die of shame. Oh, why did I +do it? And I feel ashamed before you, Jim. I can't marry you. I can't +see you any more. I am glad you are going away." + +"I am not going unless you come with me, Cicely," he said. "I want you. +I want you more than ever; I understand you better. If this hadn't +happened I shouldn't have known what you wanted; I don't think I should +have been able to make you happy. Good heavens! do you think I believe +that you wanted that man? I _know_ you didn't, or I shouldn't be here +now. You wanted life, and I had never offered you that. I do offer it +you now. Come and help me to do what I'm going to do. I can't do any of +it without you." + +She smiled at him forlornly. "You _are_ good," she said. "And you have +comforted me a little. But you can't forget what has happened. It isn't +possible." + +"Look here, my dear," said Jim simply. "Will you believe me when I say +that I have forgotten it already? That is to say it doesn't come into my +mind. I don't have to keep it out; it doesn't come. I've got other +things to think of. There's all the future, and what I'm going to do, +and you are going to help me to do. Really, if I thought of it, I ought +to be glad you did what you did, in a way, for all I've thought of since +comes from that. I saw what you were worth and what you could make of a +man if he loved you as I do, and you loved him. We won't play at it, +Cicely. I'm in earnest. I shall be a better fellow all round if I'm +trying to do something and not only sitting at home and amusing myself. +We shall have to make some sacrifices. We shall only be able to afford a +flat or a little house in London. I must keep things going here and put +by a bit for an election, perhaps. But I know you won't mind not having +much money for a time. We shall be together, and there won't be a thing +in my life that you won't share." + +She had kept her eyes fixed upon him as he spoke. "Do you really mean +it, Jim?" she asked quietly. "Do you really want _me_, out of all the +people in the world?" + +"I don't want anybody but you," he said, "and I don't want anything +without you." + +"Then I will come with you, dearest Jim," she said. "And I will never +want anything except what you want all my life." + +He took her in his arms, and she nestled there, laughing and crying by +turns, but happier than she had ever thought she could be. They talked +of a great many things, but not again of Cicely's flight. Jim had +banished that spectre, which, if it returned to haunt her thoughts +again, would not affright them. They came no nearer to it than a speech +of Cicely's, "I do love you, dear Jim. I love you so much that I must +have loved you all the time without knowing it. I feel as if there was +something in you that I could rest on and know that it will never give +way." + +"And that's exactly how I feel about you," said Jim. + +Two swans sailed out into the middle of the lake, creasing the still +water into tiny ripples. The air was hot and calm, and the heavy leaves +of trees and shrubs hung motionless. The singing-birds were silent. Only +in the green shade were the hearts of the two lovers in tumult--a tumult +of gratitude and confident happiness. + +The peace, but not the happiness, was brought to an end when the twins, +relaxed from bondage, heralded their approach by a vociferous rendering +of "The Campbells are coming." They came round the temple arm-in-arm. +Cicely was drawing, and Jim looking on. + +"Yes, that's all very well," said Joan, "but it doesn't take two hours +to make three pencil scratches." + +"Girls without the nice feeling that we possess," said Nancy, "would +have burst upon you without warning." + +"Without giving you time to set to partners," said Joan. + +Cicely looked up at them; her face was full of light. "Shall I tell +them, Jim?" she said. + +"Got to, I suppose," said Jim. + +"My child," said Joan, "you need tell us nothing." + +"Your happy faces tell us all," said Nancy. + +Then, with a simultaneous relapse into humanity, they threw themselves +upon her affectionately, and afterwards attacked Jim in the same way. He +bore it with equanimity. + +"You don't deserve her, Jim," said Joan, "but we trust you to be kind to +her." + +"From this day onwards," said Nancy, "you will begin a new life." + + + + +_CHRONICLES OF THE CLINTONS_ + +BY ARCHIBALD MARSHALL + +_To be read in the following order_ + + THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER + THE ELDEST SON + THE HONOUR OF THE CLINTONS + THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH + THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Squire's Daughter, by Archibald Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER *** + +***** This file should be named 31381.txt or 31381.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/8/31381/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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